At the edge of the Wood of Sharp Teeth.
After the forest fire had spread for several hundred meters, the flames grew smaller and smaller, and in the end gradually went out, leaving only wisps of smoke drifting away with the wind.
More than a dozen figures gathered from all directions, holding weapons or clubs, searching through the ashes for something.
"Over here."
A man felt his stick strike metal. With a flick of his wrist, he pried upward, and a dry, hardened object was turned out of the ashes.
The others crowded around. Their gazes swept over it; their bodies stiffened, and they all fell silent.
It was a corpse, but its human shape could no longer be discerned. It looked like a hunched, desiccated monkey wearing a twisted, deformed suit of armor—charred black all over. Only from the skeleton could one tell that he had once been a man.
"What are you standing there for? Move. Take the corpse and the weapons—don't leave anything behind. We only have half an hour," one of the men barked angrily.
At his words, the others did not dare hesitate. They took out the bags and gloves they had prepared in advance and began working.
Not far away, in the treetop, a figure concealed himself within the canopy. His clothing and posture blended perfectly with the trees; even up close, he would be difficult to detect.
He did not step forward. In the end, he and the other party were merely cooperating in action. Each belonged to a different side; even their relationship between the two sides could hardly be considered amicable.
After a long while, he sighed inwardly.
'Very cautious.'
After the battle ended, the winning side did not come down to collect the spoils, nor did they confirm the attackers' identities. They withdrew immediately—calm as Wizards.
He waited below for quite some time, but the man and the woman showed no sign of returning. It seemed this mission had been completely declared a failure.
'That person was Anser?'
Recalling the intelligence he had previously reviewed, his eyes were full of disbelief.
'Impossible. It's only been how many days?'
No matter how talented a Sorcerer was, he could not be this outrageous—unless he was not human.
'Could it be a god reincarnated?'
Combining it with the current confusing situation, he suddenly felt that this explanation was rather reasonable.
'Could it be that the gods have once again fallen into great war, and many have already fallen or reincarnated, which is why the believers can no longer contact Them? Then how many people like Anser are there…'
His thoughts scattered, and his expression grew increasingly grave.
'This matter must be reported immediately!'
...
Fort Jacqueline, a luxurious bedroom.
The old butler Harold patiently introduced various living facilities to Anser, especially the washroom. The layout was actually quite similar to that of the Black Castle, only larger and more fully equipped.
Not only was the design ingenious, but many functions operated through the power of magic.
A sense of dissonance once again arose in Anser's heart. Ordinary people and professionals seemed like the surface world and the inner world—clearly divided from one another.
The world of ordinary people was truly backward: institutions, technology, medicine, living facilities… it was not much different from medieval Europe in his previous life.
And yet professionals—especially spellcasters and great nobles—could enjoy the convenience and comfort that had only existed in his previous life.
There were even magic ships here that could sail in the Astral Plane; the whole style shifted in an instant.
But he also knew these were all the product of civilizational development and evolution—what exists has its reason.
After the old butler left, Anser shut the doors and windows, activated the Rod of Security, and entered Holrewen.
The moment he stepped in, a wave of heat mixed with smoky air rushed at his face, carrying with it a faint hint of meat aroma.
In the plaza, more than three hundred kobolds were busy lighting fires and fanning them. The fire was not big, but the smoke was; it was so choking that people could not open their eyes.
Anser was not surprised either. He had already seen it earlier through the Rod of Security's projection.
Bratt and the others were leading the kobolds in processing dragon meat!
They had skinned the dragon's tail, then bled and cut up the dragon meat. They waited and waited for Anser, but he never came, and the dragon meat—soaked for a night and then aired for half a day—had already begun to show signs of spoilage.
This was somewhat counterintuitive, yet it had indeed happened.
One could only say that although dragon meat was precious, if it was not processed, leaving it as-is would still lead to decay—only much more slowly than ordinary meat.
Fortunately, when they had sold wyvern meat last time, they had discussed how to store dragon meat. Without magical methods, ordinary methods could still work.
For example, curing it with salt and spices, smoking it, air-drying it, and so on.
After Bratt and the others used up all the salt, they could only rely on smoking.
When they saw Anser come in, Bratt and the others hurried over.
"You finally came. How do we deal with this stuff?" Bratt was covered in black ash, his face full of worry.
Dragon meat was something out of legend. None of them had ever seen it, and they were afraid of wasting it.
"Smoking is fine too." Anser patted his shoulder. "How much dragon meat is left?"
"Less than half has been smoked. There's too much, and too few people." Bratt pointed behind him at a vast stretch of wooden racks, all piled with chunks of meat.
By "people," he was of course referring to humans. The kobolds did not understand what he was saying, and Giant Tail would not translate either, so efficiency was very low.
"Has the storeroom been cleared out?" Anser asked.
"Half of it. The two ice cellars in the corner have already been cleared," Bratt immediately understood Anser's purpose.
The storeroom on the basement level also had a cold room, but it had long since been emptied out; they would have to make ice again.
"Excellent. Come on—we'll start making ice." With a sweep of his hand, Anser got to work.
Making ice was as simple to him as eating and drinking; he only needed to slightly change the casting pattern of Ray of Frost.
They did not use river water, but the water source that had been purified in the black tower—absolutely clean.
Giant Tail led the kobolds in hauling water. Anser stayed in the ice room making ice; with a tap of his finger he produced dozens of pounds of ice lumps at a time—simpler than Ray of Frost.
Bratt and Finn roughly shaped the ice blocks and then stacked them together. It did not matter if they were not neat; they could pack the gaps with crushed ice.
Later on, they did not even need crushed ice anymore. Because the ice room was getting colder and colder, splashing water turned to ice, freezing the two of them so badly that Bratt and Finn had to take turns going out to warm up.
The ice room quickly took shape. The dragon meat and dragon blood were all thrown inside; for the short term, there was no need to worry about spoilage.
The dragon bones, dragon sinews, and dragon hide were also placed into the storeroom. Because of the ice-making, the temperature of the entire basement level was very low, making storage convenient.
Giant Tail and Finn had experience processing hides, but their work was not refined enough. Anser decided to ask Iris about it and find a few professionals to handle the job.
After the battle in the forest, the relationship between the two of them had already changed. This small matter should not be a problem.
Before he knew it, the sky had already darkened. Judging from that, it must be getting dark outside as well.
After giving Bratt a few instructions, Anser hurried away.
When he returned to his room in the castle, there was urgent knocking at the door.
He strode over and opened it. Iris was standing outside, arms folded across her chest, her gaze sweeping over the room with a teasing expression.
"You're quite hard to invite. I even had to come in person."
"Uh, I was meditating just now. Didn't hear you." Anser let out an awkward laugh and offered a clumsy excuse.
"Heh. Dinner." Iris turned and walked away, leaving him only her back.
Only then did Anser notice that Iris had changed into a black dress, soft and close-fitting, revealing astonishing curves. She wore a pair of soft slippers, bare feet inside them, moving as silently as a cat.
The two went downstairs one after the other and arrived at the dining hall on the first floor, where the old butler stood at the entrance to receive them.
The dining hall was large and brightly lit. The air was filled with the fragrance of wheat and meat. In the center stood a long table. The seat at the head was empty; only an elderly woman sat on the left side.
There were also two attendants standing on either side, one man and one woman. From their appearances, neither was young—perhaps in their thirties or forties.
After Anser entered, almost everyone's gaze fell upon him, mostly with curiosity.
"Apologies, I lost track of time." He inclined his head slightly; it was indeed impolite to have kept the elder waiting.
"Sit, sit. There aren't so many rules here." The elderly woman stood up, a warm smile on her face.
Although her face was full of wrinkles and her hair white, her back was straight, her bearing elegant, and her features delicate. One could imagine that she had been a great beauty in her youth.
"This is my grandmother." Iris helped her grandmother sit down and gestured for Anser to take the seat opposite.
Anser sat silently, inwardly curious why such a large castle housed only two people.
The elderly woman seemed to see through his thoughts and explained with a smile, "Iris's parents passed away in an accident. All these years, she has supported everything on her own."
From that time on, Fort Jacqueline had never again lodged outsiders.
"Let's eat." Iris clearly did not wish to dwell on the topic. She picked up her wine glass and took a sip of grape wine, her lips becoming even more vivid in color.
It was clear that the noble etiquette here was not so strict. Everyone was quite at ease.
This suited Anser perfectly. If everything had been too formal and cumbersome, with everyone putting on airs, he would certainly have moved out.
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