The Wight scrambled to his feet in a disheveled state, let out a low snarl, raised his necromantic sword high, and broke into a long-stride charge.
There was no fear in his eyes—only cold killing intent.
Nornoth let out a shrill screech. While sprinting, he shifted direction again at a small angle; in the moment they crossed paths, searing dragon's breath swept across the field.
The Wight had been prepared, but the dragon's breath was too fast and its area too wide. There was no way to dodge it. The flames curled his leather armor, his flesh sizzled and smoked, and a foul stench spread through the air.
These superficial wounds were far from fatal, but they made the Wight increasingly frustrated. He could not catch up, nor could he escape.
Fury drove him into even greater agitation—impotent rage.
Taking advantage of the fact that the Dragon's Breath spell had not yet ended, Anser lightly patted Nornoth and launched another charge.
This time, the Wight had learned his lesson and rolled early to evade.
Anser had already anticipated that. He deliberately delayed the cast, and only after the Wight finished dodging did he twist his head and breathe fire, granting him another round of cremation service.
I predicted your prediction!
The Wight rolled on the ground to extinguish the flames on his body. His flesh was charred black, his limbs twitching, and his ability to exert force was severely affected.
He turned his head to glance at Anser, sprinted a few steps, then leapt into the lake and vanished from sight.
After quite a while, he finally surfaced from the distant water, swimming toward the center of the lake with an odd dog-paddle stroke.
"Uh… you can even dive. You picked that up pretty fast."
Anser looked at the three figures—one near, two far—all swimming desperately, and felt rather helpless.
Water was a natural barrier. When attacked, diving into the water greatly reduced the effectiveness of low-damage spells.
But every advantage had its drawbacks. Moving in water consumed enormous stamina, making it difficult to exert force or cast spells. Without specialized training, entering the water meant losing most of one's combat strength.
The Wight had infinite stamina—but with his rotting body soaked in water, was he really sure it would not decay?
"Block them," he said softly, patting the horse's back.
Nornoth burst into a full sprint. His speed was far greater than swimming; before the Amn people trying to flee in the chaos could even reach the shore, Anser had already arrived.
The condition of the two of them was not good. Both were bare-chested, their bodies covered in wounds that had been soaked until they were pale and swollen; they likely would not last much longer.
Anser did not approach. He simply stood quietly by the lakeside, watching them. His indifferent gaze frightened the two so much that neither dared to come ashore.
They could still hide in the water, but once they came up, it would be a flat wasteland. Even if they grew two more legs, they still would not outrun a horse.
What was more, they had watched the entire battle clearly from the water. This Sorcerer was very strong, and his mount was anything but ordinary. His combat and spellcasting techniques were well-practiced. In their current state, they had no chance of victory at all.
After a brief standoff, the middle-aged man shouted, "My lord, as long as you spare us, I am willing to give you all my possessions. This is the deposit."
As he spoke, he stretched a hand out of the water and threw a small item with force onto the shore.
Nornoth trotted over in short steps. Under the glow of the staff, a silver goblet lay quietly on the grass. Its shape resembled an hourglass, and it emitted specks of soft white radiance.
"This is the Guardian Chalice, a Rare holy item. Do I need to say more about its value?" The middle-aged man looked at the holy symbol glowing on Anser's chest, his heart uneasy.
"Me too." The black dragonborn raised a hand and pointed toward the direction of Cloakwood Forest. "Our camp is right at the forest's edge. I can take you there."
Anser did not go to take it. He put on an air of indifference, pointed at the Wight at the center of the lake, and shouted: "Go. Kill it. This is your only chance. I do not compromise easily—make good use of it."
As he finished speaking, he deliberately touched the hot holy symbol on his chest.
"You're clearly sending us to our deaths," the black dragonborn said through clenched teeth.
"You have the right to choose," Anser said calmly. He could wait until dawn.
The gray hawk gave no warning, which meant there were no signs of the undead group returning. Everything was under control.
"Fine. Let's do it. I hope you keep your word." The middle-aged captain did not trust Anser, but he trusted that holy symbol.
The moral standards of the followers of the god of justice were always high, and for them, eliminating undead was indeed more important than killing two slave traders.
"Captain?" The black dragonborn looked shocked.
"Listen to me. Move." The middle-aged captain turned and swam toward the Wight.
After hesitating for a moment, the black dragonborn followed.
At the center of the lake, a cruel smile appeared on the Wight's charred face. It understood Common, but it was not afraid.
Undead did not need to breathe and did not suffer from exhaustion. Fighting in water gave it an innate advantage.
It also needed two new zombies to help it out of its predicament, and the two adventurers were undoubtedly the best material.
Both sides closed the distance quickly. The Amn captain struck first, thrusting with his sword. His movements were slow, and the Wight easily knocked the attack aside.
The melee began. The violently churning surface of the water showed that the fight was extremely fierce, and the splashes that flew up from time to time carried a tinge of blood.
Anser sat on horseback, watching all of this calmly.
"Am I being too cruel?"
He clearly remembered that he had not been like this before.
But he really did not want to drag it out until dawn. There were too many variables, and this was the best solution he could think of.
"People have to learn to adapt. It's not like I'm deliberately trying to torture them."
He shook his head, throwing off these messy thoughts. The fight in the water was about to be decided.
The Wight was indeed very strong, and its condition was not bad either, but it was not smart enough.
After closing in, the black dragonborn, at the cost of taking a sword strike head-on, used both hands to lock the Wight's arms and necromantic sword. He wrapped his legs around its waist. No matter how the Wight struggled, it could not break free.
The Wight's strength was not weak, but its attributes were very balanced. Strength was not its strong suit.
Seizing the opportunity, the middle-aged captain launched an attack, forcing his longsword into the Wight's mouth, straight up to the top of its skull. Then he twisted hard, and the Wight went completely still.
[Target dead, gained 101 experience points]
"Not bad." Anser raised his brows slightly, and a hint of a smile appeared.
The two Amn men dragged the Wight to the lakeside, then, with considerable effort, climbed onto the shore. They threw their weapons aside, lay on the ground, and panted heavily.
This completely unguarded posture was not trust, but a lack of options. Since they could not run, they might as well act more open about it.
"All my personal belongings and my breastplate—I threw them into the lake. Go into the water along the north shore, and you should be able to find them," the middle-aged captain panted.
Anser did not move closer. "Where are you from? What are you doing here?"
"Alaron Island. We came here to do a bit of small business…" the black dragonborn replied with his eyes closed.
A sharp, ringing phrase in Draconic abruptly cut him off. Three glittering missiles flashed through the air in an instant, striking the black dragonborn's chest one after another.
Bang, bang, bang—
The black dragonborn's mouth hung half open as blood sprayed out. His head tilted to the side, his hollow gaze fixed on the captain beside him.
[…Target dead, gained 23 experience points]
"You don't keep your word—you promised—" the middle-aged captain exclaimed in shock. He rolled over and lay prone on the ground, his expression panicked, his tone bordering on hysteria.
"Amn man, what exactly did I promise you? From start to finish, I never made any promise at all. That was something you imagined yourself." Anser touched the holy symbol on his chest; it was scorching hot.
He would have to be an idiot to let them go. They might very well redirect their hatred for the undead onto him instead.
The middle-aged captain froze for a moment. "You already knew? You've been deceiving us all along. The Nashivaar family won't let you off—"
What answered him was a red orb of energy trailing a short tail.
With a thunderous boom, the man was blasted away. His skin was charred black and twisted, leaving no trace of his original appearance.
[…Target dead, gained 61 experience points]
"I gave you a chance, but I knew you wouldn't be able to take it," Anser said calmly.
He looked toward the direction of Cloakwood Forest. A dark mass loomed there—it seemed they had accomplices. "Nashivaar" sounded somewhat familiar.
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