Faerun: The arcane mage is still too imprisoned.

After all, their roots are in Rild City, and they really don't want to leave unless absolutely necessary!

Here, they are noble aristocrats, carefree, bullying men and women, and doing whatever they want to commoners.

Once they leave Rilder City, they're like stray dogs; who knows who they are!

"Then let's keep a low profile for a while," Balfour said. "We'll talk about it again when things calm down."

Margaret nodded, and Corwin nodded as well.

But after the meeting, the three of them each had their own ulterior motives.

Balfour returned to his room, took out several account books hidden in a secret compartment, and hesitated for a long time.

In the end, they couldn't bear to burn it, so they just hid it in a more secluded place.

Upon returning to the manor, Margaret's first act was to summon her butler and instruct him to deliver a generous gift to Silvershine Manor, ostensibly to "comfort the righteous act of eradicating the cult."

Corwin went to the city guard, posing as the "tax officer's deputy," to gather information and try to ascertain the true attitude of the city lord's mansion.

They didn't know—or rather, they didn't want to believe it.

Some things can't be avoided by hiding like an ostrich and punishing yourself with three drinks.

……

As dawn broke through the narrow alleys of the slums, the Silvershine family guards who hadn't participated in last night's battle began delivering children from house to house.

The first household was occupied by a one-eyed old woman. When she saw the child in the guard's arms, she froze for several seconds, then her legs went weak, and she knelt down on the ground.

"Auntie!" The guard quickly went to help her up.

The old woman didn't let him help her up.

She knelt on the ground, hugged her grandson, and cried her heart out.

The child also cried, but not as loudly; he just buried his face in his grandmother's arms, his shoulders shaking.

The guards stood by, at a loss for what to do.

After the old woman had cried enough, she let go of her grandson and was about to kowtow to the guards again.

The guard jumped back in fright; the rules of the Silver Glow family were not to be trifled with.

He helped her up, dragging and pulling her along.

"Auntie, please don't do this! We're just following orders!"

"The Yinhui family..." the old woman murmured, "I will remember their great kindness for the rest of my life..."

"No, no, no, we should mainly thank a half-elf mage named Lance. That man is the main contributor."

"Lance..."

She murmured.

The second household was a young couple who happened to live next door to the old woman.

Men carried goods at the docks, while women washed clothes for others.

They discovered their lovely daughter was missing three days ago, and after searching the entire slum, they were almost in despair.

If they're not in the slums, then their destination is quite obvious: human traffickers, nobles, or cults.

Sometimes these three are still one.

When the guards pried open their door, the woman saw her daughter, paused for a second, then hugged her tightly, as if afraid she would disappear again.

The man stood behind, saying nothing.

He silently looked at his daughter and his wife, his fists clenching and unclenching repeatedly.

"Remember, the one who saved your daughter was a half-elf mage named Lance."

As the guard turned to leave after speaking, the man suddenly said, "Please wait."

The guards turned around.

The man walked over, stood in front of him, his lips moved, and finally he only said one sentence: "Please thank that...that sir for me."

The guard nodded: "I will pass it on."

……

The news quickly spread throughout the slums.

Legends of a "mysterious sorcerer" began to circulate among the common people.

Some say he was a powerful figure invited by the Silvershine family, some say he was a passing paladin, and others say he was a messenger sent by the gods to punish evildoers.

The versions are becoming more and more numerous and increasingly outrageous. But everyone agrees on one thing—that "mysterious mage" must be a really good person.

But the remaining gang members didn't think that way.

They just felt panicked.

Masters are already rare, and those willing to personally kill are even rarer.

Then isn't this "mysterious mage" just a "mysterious person"?

In just over ten days, more than twenty gangs were wiped out.

Now even cults with spellcasters have been shut down.

What exactly is that "mysterious person"? Doesn't he get tired? Doesn't he sleep?

Why are you so obsessed with fighting crime?

He's a mage, not a paladin!

As for the possibility that the "mysterious mage" and the "mysterious man" are actually two different people...

If it's not, that's fine; but if it is, wouldn't that be even more terrifying!

One of these sorcerers who fight evil every day would be enough for them, let alone two!

Some people packed their things and fled overnight.

Some people simply quit their illegal activities and found a legitimate job.

……

The sun was shining brightly at noon today.

The three monks gathered in the courtyard behind Goto's roll shop.

Goto brought out a bottle of aged wine from the house and poured a glass for each of his two friends.

"About that half-elf..." Goto cut to the chase, "You all know what happened last night, right?"

The other two nodded.

The young mage's eyes shone like light bulbs: "I heard! He wiped out the Thirsty Hands' entire stronghold overnight!"

Goto took a sip of his drink and smacked his lips. "Not only that, I heard he killed someone's bishop too."

The young monk opened his mouth wide, unable to close it for a long time.

A little wine spilled from the glass and dripped onto his knee, but he didn't even notice.

That bishop is an elite-level priest; I might never even reach that level in my lifetime...

The middle-aged monk leaned back in his chair, his fingers unconsciously tracing the rim of his cup, his gaze fixed on a distant spot:

"If it were Arya as the leader, she wouldn't be a match for an elite-level priest. So it must be Lance as the leader... He is indeed quite powerful."

"And he's so young..." Goto sighed.

"This child's talent is probably superior to mine."

The middle-aged mage gave Goto a strange look and glanced at him:

"Above you? To say you're above me is an understatement. They're like clouds, you're like mud."

Goto got annoyed and slammed his cup on the table: "If I'm mud, then what are you?"

The middle-aged monk chuckled self-deprecatingly, picked up his cup, took a sip, and said slowly, "I'm like a weed growing on mud."

The young mage looked on with admiration, leaning forward and resting his elbows on the table: "When will I be able to do this...?"

The middle-aged mage glanced at him and said in a nonchalant tone, "You should figure out how to level up to level 2 first. Don't end up like old Goto, who's still only level 1 at his age."

The young monk slumped back, causing the wooden bench to wobble. He looked down at the wine in his glass and remained silent.

Goto put down his glass and tapped his fingers on the table with a dull thud: "I'm thinking I need to find a way to talk to him more."

The middle-aged monk looked at him and asked, "How do you communicate?"

"Give me a gift?" Goto scratched his head, his hair a mess. "But what should I give you..."