Fort Jacqueline, Underground Vault.
Anser, Iris, and Brunhilde had just finished their meal. The three of them gathered beside the Cauldron of Rebirth, waiting for Stoll to return to life, chatting idly as they passed the time.
Maeve was napping in Iris's arms. The pseudodragon Rex cautiously crept closer, only to be smacked across the face by Maeve's tail and sent tumbling several times across the floor.
Yet Rex showed no sign of anger. He crawled forward a few steps and, this time, didn't dare get too close. Instead, he simply sat quietly beside Iris's feet.
Anser chuckled and shook his head, having no intention of interfering.
From the moment Rex first laid eyes on Maeve, he had insisted on approaching her. Even after being taught the same lesson several times, he stubbornly refused to give up.
He could tell that Maeve wasn't an ordinary black cat, but he had no idea she was a highly intelligent Arcane Spirit. The two were fundamentally different beings.
Naturally, Rex couldn't understand that. Brunhilde, however, seemed to have noticed something.
Her gaze settled on the spellbook protruding from beneath Maeve's body, and a strange look crossed her face.
"You're a wizard?"
"Multiclassing," Anser replied casually.
"You neglect developing your innate magic, yet you're simultaneously multiclassing as a Paladin and a Wizard. Do you even have enough time for that? You're wasting your talent. Only specialization can carry you farther."
Though Brunhilde's expression remained calm, there was unmistakable admonition in her voice.
Most elves possessed greater talent than humans, but once one reached the higher levels, that advantage had long since disappeared. The only thing left was to rely on a longer lifespan to continue studying magic.
Brunhilde had been stuck at the high-tier stage for many years. Only with the aid of divinity had she barely managed to advance further. She had suffered greatly because of it, and naturally didn't want such a gifted sorcerer to squander half his life.
In Faerûn, multiclassing was common enough. But a level 18 Sorcerer / level 2 Wizard had a far lower chance of reaching legendary status than a level 20 Sorcerer.
"Thanks for the advice. I'll keep it in mind."
Anser knew she meant well, but his circumstances differed from those of ordinary adventurers.
"Heh. Young people."
Brunhilde saw through his perfunctory response immediately and said nothing more.
Some lessons simply couldn't be taught. One could only understand them through experience.
Anser found it amusing. Her tone sounded exactly like Iris's. Clearly, Iris had been heavily influenced by her.
The hands of the pocket watch turned silently, and midnight soon approached.
The grains of sea salt inside the cauldron began to tremble.
Then a large hand suddenly emerged from within, gripping the rim tightly as its owner hauled himself upward. He rose to his waist and began gasping for breath, his chest heaving violently.
The deathly grayness had vanished from his face, but he was still pale as a sheet. Fear and anger lingered in his dark eyes as he frantically looked around.
"Uncle Stoll, it's over now."
Iris hurried over, crouched beside him, and gently supported his elbow.
Anser deliberately stayed where he was. The last thing he wanted was to agitate the man further. Instead, he cast Aura of Vitality.
A white radiance spread outward from his body, forming an aura more than a dozen meters in radius.
A faint glow appeared around Stoll.
His complexion improved at a visible rate. His body gradually relaxed, and his emotions slowly stabilized.
"I... I'm alive again."
After a brief pause, clarity gradually returned to his eyes.
Then he slowly rose to his feet, gripping his greatsword tightly in his right hand as though it were the only thing that could make him feel safe.
Anser examined him from head to toe.
He had seen plenty of dead people.
But people who had died and come back to life? Only two.
The first had been Zahir, the Paladin of the Church of Final Hope.
Stoll fit Anser's stereotypical image of a warrior perfectly: bald, nearly two meters tall, broad-shouldered and powerfully built, with a neck almost as thick as his head. His features were rugged, and his jaw muscles were pronounced.
The die spun slightly and displayed his information:
[Stoll, Human, Level 17 Fighter (Champion)]
'I remember he could fly. Must have been some kind of flying item.'
Anser recalled the scene and was certain he hadn't remembered it incorrectly.
'If he'd been level 18, he might not have died.'
At level 18, a Champion gained the ultimate feature Survivor, granting the ability to Defy Death. Someone like that was far harder to kill.
"Uncle Stoll, are you feeling better?" Iris helped Stoll sit down on a nearby blanket.
Having finally recovered his bearings, Stoll spread his mouth into a wide grin.
"Haha! I'm alive again!"
Having only just returned from the dead, his body was still weak. Though his laughter was hearty, it lacked its usual vigor.
After a long moment, he let out a breath and said, "Iris, I knew you'd come."
As he spoke, he turned and nodded solemnly to Anser and Brunhilde.
"Thank you."
"Don't thank me. It was only a transaction. Someone else paid the bill."
With that, Brunhilde walked over to the cauldron and lightly touched it. The cauldron shrank back down, and the slightly discolored sea salt inside spilled across the floor.
She cast Prestidigitation, cleaning the cauldron repeatedly several times before finally storing it in her dimensional pouch.
Stoll clearly knew Brunhilde and seemed long accustomed to her attitude.
Still, she had saved his life.
He decided not to hold any grudges. Whatever unpleasantness had existed between them before was now water under the bridge.
Stoll glanced at Iris, naturally assuming she had paid for his resurrection, but he didn't bring it up. Instead, he turned toward the eye-catching young man beside her.
"And this is...?"
"His name is Anser Holrewen..."
Seeing that Stoll seemed to be in good condition, Iris began recounting everything that had happened during this period.
Starting from the time she and Anser recovered his corpse, she told him about their repeated clashes with the Amnians, the werewolf crisis, the Mind Flayer infiltration, the trouble caused by foreign nobles, and the plans for the Viheral Dungeon and White Stone Island.
Some matters involved Anser's private affairs, so she only mentioned them briefly rather than going into detail.
Even so, Stoll was left dumbfounded. He stared at Anser, eyes wide with disbelief.
Even Brunhilde couldn't help but take another look at him.
She had been to Durlag and knew a little of what had happened there, but until now she had treated most of it as stories. After all, folk tales were notoriously distorted.
A bard's mouth was basically an amplifier. Killing a few goblins could somehow become an epic war in the retelling.
Who would believe that?
Yet she hadn't expected reality and legend to differ so little.
It took Stoll quite a while to digest everything he had heard.
Rubbing his temples, he said helplessly, "So you're saying I'm no longer the President, and Durlag has nothing to do with me anymore?"
Anser raised an eyebrow and was about to speak, but when he noticed the look in Iris's eyes, he decided to leave the matter to her.
"How could that be? Uncle Stoll is still a Union Councilor. If you want to be, you're still the President. Why would Anser compete with you for it?"
A playful smile curled at Iris's lips as her eyes shimmered.
"Oh, spare me. Things are fine the way they are."
Stoll immediately caught the jab hidden in her words and shot her an annoyed glare.
He knew himself well enough.
Even if he returned now, nobody would be willing to listen to him.
Besides, he couldn't bring himself to do such a thing.
Anser had saved his life, saved Iris, and protected Durlag. No matter how thick-skinned he was, he couldn't possibly take Durlag for himself.
He wasn't angry.
It was just that Iris had always sided with outsiders. Thinking back on all the years he had spent protecting and guiding her, his emotions became rather complicated.
"Uncle Stoll, you're one of the pillars of the Union. How could the Union do without you? Faerûn is full of crises right now. We should stand together and face them as one."
Anser deliberately lowered his posture, doing his best to reassure him.
There was no question that Stoll was the strongest member of the Union.
Unless Brunhilde fully recovered her spellcasting abilities, even she might not be able to defeat him with certainty.
If he joined them, hunting the Godsworn would no longer be such a difficult task.
Stoll remained silent.
Seeing this, Anser was about to continue persuading him when he suddenly stiffened, his expression changing.
The Arcane Lock he had placed in the Rock of Bral had been broken!
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