The few remaining crew members of the Conch saw their captain fall and completely lost their fighting spirit. One by one, they jumped into the sea.
Anser did not pursue them. Ordinary crew members yielded too little experience; spending effort chasing them down was not worth it compared to quickly looting the spoils.
He swept his gaze across the surroundings. Among Ragna's group, some were delivering finishing blows, some were checking the ship's hold, some were calming the civilians, and there was also a middle-aged man in a long robe, holding a rapier, standing not far from him.
Earlier, when Anser had been fighting the Conch's captain, that man had rushed over to provide support. Unfortunately, the battle had ended too quickly, and he had failed to get an assist.
Now was clearly not the time for conversation. The two exchanged nods and then each went about their own tasks.
Anser stripped the Conch's captain clean, gathering together everything that looked even remotely suspicious. He did not spare even the undergarments or the damaged leather armor.
A coin pouch, two magic short swords of fairly good quality, an enchanted leather armor, a waist pouch, and a palm-sized piece of… scaled dragon hide.
[Carved Dragonhide Scale Amulet, Wondrous Item, Rare]
'These slave traders are far too wealthy.'
At that thought, he could no longer sit still. Putting the items away, he hurried into the aftcastle in search of the captain's cabin.
However, the doors to every compartment stood wide open—clearly, they had already been searched.
'So fast. Looting bodies and searching compartments this professionally?'
Thump, thump, thump. The middle-aged man strode over quickly and casually tossed him a large bundle.
"For you."
"Thanks." Anser had not expected the other party to be so particular.
"Come up and have a chat?" The middle-aged man's face always carried a faint smile.
"Sure." Anser agreed readily.
The two of them, one in front and one behind, came to the ship's rail. Corpses lay everywhere under their feet. Fortunately, with the sea breeze blowing, the smell was not too unpleasant.
Anser quietly sized the man up. His skin was slightly dark, his features handsome, and he had a kind of steady composure and poise tempered by time that made people feel favorably toward him.
[Harpers Elite, Half-Elf, Level 7 Bard (College of Dance)]
He secretly sucked in a breath of cold air. The Harpers was far too famous—one of the oldest behind-the-scenes organizations in Faerûn's history. Although it had gone through multiple disbandments and reorganizations, it was still powerful.
They could be called the backbone of the good-aligned forces, pursuing and upholding fairness, resisting tyranny, opposing evil—their ideology was highly noble.
"My name is Titch, from the Harpers. Today's operation was organized by me. You know Ragna. That fighter is Matthew, and that rogue is Carnisa." Titch spoke as if reciting, but his rhythm was brisk and did not make people dislike it.
"My name is Anser." Anser did not hide his name—not out of trust, but because there was simply no way to hide it from the Harpers.
"I know. I didn't expect you to come as well. We share the same ideals." Titch looked approving.
"Uh, maybe." Anser turned his head slightly, faintly catching a whiff of a charlatan's tone.
"Actually, I had already heard about you a few days ago." Titch looked gentle, his gaze fixed straight on Anser. "You saved many people. Stories about you are still circulating in Baldur's Gate."
Anser's expression nearly broke. He had only just left Baldur's Gate, yet the way it was said made it sound as if he were already dead.
"Why don't we discuss how to get the people in the hold out first?" He changed the subject.
"Look—" Titch pointed toward several lights ahead on the right. "Our ship is here. It's a bit small, but it should be able to carry them."
"Oh." Anser nodded slightly. As expected of a large organization—the planning was very thorough.
At this moment, the hold grew increasingly noisy, with faint waves of crying sounds drifting out.
Kree—
An eagle's cry suddenly rang out overhead.
Anser froze for a moment, then immediately reacted. It was Grey Eagle's warning!
He swept his gaze around. Aside from the lights approaching from the right front, there did not seem to be anything unusual.
"How's your eyesight? Take another look—that seems to be a medium-sized sailing ship." He pointed at the white sail under the dim lights.
"Huh?" Titch's composure slipped. His eyes narrowed, then widened, and his expression turned ugly. "Something's wrong!"
With that, he hurried into the hold, likely to call for reinforcements.
'How did they arrive so quickly?' Anser's eyes were filled with doubt.
That captain had indeed fired a signal flare, but weighing anchor and setting sail was a troublesome process. It was impossible for a sailing ship to appear within minutes—this was precisely why none of them had been in a hurry at the start.
'It seems they were already on the way before the signal flare was launched.' He was not flustered at all. With his objective achieved, he could leave at any time.
A short while later, Ragna and the others arrived on deck one after another.
The distant lights grew increasingly clear. White sails appeared and disappeared faintly—it was indeed a medium-sized sailing ship, its silhouette very similar to the Conch.
"What do you plan to do?" he asked.
"Extinguish the lights and trick them into coming alongside," Ragna replied without hesitation.
"No. As soon as they get close, they'll spot the problem." Titch rejected it outright. He pondered for a moment. "Weigh anchor and delay them as much as possible, until our ship comes to provide cover."
After most of a day's repairs, the Conch's sails had partially recovered. Lowering them to take advantage of the wind and current, the ship should be able to get moving.
They were not far from shore here, and they were betting that these slave traders would not dare to open fire.
"Why not burn all the sails and then withdraw?" the hooded young man suggested.
"We're here to rescue people—what kind of plan is that? What if the ship catches fire?" another square-faced, big-headed fighter glared at him in dissatisfaction.
Creak, creak…
The group looked up. Ragna grit her teeth as she cranked the horizontal capstan, veins bulging. The hull shuddered and began to drift toward the anchor chain.
The big-headed fighter immediately stepped forward to help. The young man let out a helpless sigh, dropped his pack, and ran over as well.
'If they're all elite-class professionals, it's not that they can't be fought—just swim over and get it done.' Anser focused his gaze on the other two.
[Matthew, Human, Level 4 Fighter (Champion)]
[Carnisa, Human, Level 4 Rogue (Thief)]
'Uh… it's probably safer to leave.'
On second thought, that made sense. Elite-class professionals were not that easy to come by. With only two elite-class professionals, and with Titch's spellcasting ability restricted, their combat strength was probably not even on par with Ragna's.
If the slave traders dared to come to the rescue, vigilance was one factor, but in terms of strength, they were certainly not weak.
At that moment, the bow of the ship lifted, followed by a shudder through the hull. It began to heave unevenly, its posture changing as well.
"The anchor's broken free—go set the sails!" Titch shouted toward Carnisa.
In the distance, the outline of the sailing ship was already clearly visible, no more than a few hundred meters away. At most, they had only a few minutes left.
"Anser?" Titch looked toward Anser, his gaze blazing.
"I knew it." The moment Anser heard Titch's plan, he knew he was part of it as well. Otherwise, relying on just those tattered sails, how could they possibly delay them?
Titch understood him more deeply than he had expected.
He moved to the middle of the ship, sat down on the deck with his back against the main mast, and gently raised the magic wand in his hand.
"કલા"
Gust of Wind!
Although the once-per-day spell-like ability had already been used up, he could still expend Magic Power to cast Gust of Wind.
The gentle sea breeze suddenly turned violent, gusts growing stronger one after another. The sails snapped loudly, and Carnisa, who was setting them, was almost blown off.
A linear gale nearly thirty meters long and four to five meters wide rapidly took shape, blowing from stern to bow. The mast and rigging creaked and groaned, as if they might snap apart at any moment.
Titch had already moved to the helm to take the wheel, rapidly adjusting the ship's heading.
"The wind direction's off—twenty degrees to the right front—"
Before he could finish, the wind direction shifted accordingly. There was no need for him to explain what compass bearings were.
The sailing ship carved an arc across the sea's surface, heading straight toward the docks.
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