Chapter Seventy-One: Mutual Compromise

Zhao Xu gazed at the four players gathered around the tavern bar, and they in turn sized him up. There was a warrior clad in leather armor wielding a massive broadsword, a rogue gripping a dagger, a bard lurking in the corner, and a female novice cleric.

Looking at the warrior’s equipment, Zhao Xu couldn’t help but feel a pang of sympathy. The warrior class was notoriously impoverished: in the early stages they bought only cheap weapons and armor, forced to settle for low-defense light armor despite being able to wear heavy gear. The scratches on the leather armor were obvious, and even the cost of repairs seemed out of reach.

After a subordinate of Caesar finished briefing them on tomorrow’s assembly time and place, he departed. Zhao Xu sat down without hesitation. “Allow me to introduce myself. I’m Midsummer, a spellcaster, and my destination is Mystra.”

“Maple Leaf, level one warrior. Same destination.” The warrior’s voice was rough and gravelly.

“Rainbow, level one rogue, likewise.” The rogue was a young man, probably not yet in college.

“Antarctic Frog, level one bard.” The bard appeared about Zhao Xu’s age, likely another student skipping class to play games.

“Gentle Breeze, novice cleric.” The cleric shrank back into her seat when she saw Zhao Xu.

Hearing that last title, Zhao Xu frowned; his guess had been spot-on. “Miss Cleric, since you haven’t finished your training, there’s really no need to get involved in this mess.” Zhao Xu spoke plainly—no need for polite formalities among players. This was hardly a spring outing; crossing the entire Skybreak Mountains, he had no intention of sparing any of the three trump cards Antinoya had given him.

“No, Gentle Breeze is exactly why we must go to Mystra,” Maple Leaf, the warrior and their leader, said.

Although it was still daytime, a group of adventurers returned with their spoils, filling the tavern with excitement and drowning out their conversation.

“Let’s hear it,” Zhao Xu said, accustomed to the rigors of adventuring and knowing that every thorn must be removed before departure. Who could predict which hidden mine would explode along the way?

“Sir Spellcaster, you’re only teaming up with us. If you don’t wish to cooperate, you can stay behind us if danger arises. As long as the three of us remain standing, you’ll be safe,” Antarctic Frog, the bard, offered.

Zhao Xu smiled inwardly. Such enthusiasm was wasted on a bard rather than a paladin. Yet the fact that the team could speak over their captain’s authority showed they were more a group of friends than a disciplined squad. He needn’t worry about all four attacking him at once; as long as they didn’t strike together, he was confident he could deal with them individually.

“No, I’m simply curious. Even if everything goes smoothly, crossing the mountains could take half a month. You’ll gain levels, but what about Miss Novice Cleric?” Zhao Xu fixed his gaze on Gentle Breeze, whose ceremonial robes lacked even the most basic holy symbol at her chest. In the early days, with the gods’ churches rigorously policing cleric players’ conduct, failing to wear a holy symbol would earn at least a minor punishment.

Only someone like Zhao Xu, fearless and with the audacity to pocket his own holy symbol, would dare to flaunt such disregard—someone who could reclaim his level one divine spells if he wished.

“Actually, I’ve changed my faith.” Gentle Breeze finally spoke, her voice soft and fragile.

Zhao Xu’s eyebrows rose. The cleric was indeed quite delicate—a classic girl-next-door. If she knew that Arthur’s clerics could wield divine spells and charge into battle with warhammers, she probably wouldn’t have donned those ceremonial robes so lightly.

“Cleric changing faith?” Zhao Xu pondered the term. “You didn’t switch faith halfway through your training, did you?” A bad feeling crept over him.

“She switched after she received divine spells,” Rainbow, the rogue, explained.

Zhao Xu, with lifetimes of experience, could only marvel at the audacity. Did she think the gods’ churches were mere restaurants—order a dish, eat, and leave as she pleased? No wonder Gentle Breeze couldn’t transfer to a church within the Northern Trade Alliance. The stripes on her ceremonial robes were unmistakably those of the goddess of commerce and wealth.

Their destination was Mystra—clearly, Gentle Breeze intended to convert to the goddess of magic. The goddess of commerce and the goddess of magic belonged to the same faction, making such internal transfers especially sensitive. A cleric who already possessed divine spells could return to their faction’s faith, as long as the faction could supply those spells. That was Zhao Xu’s own backup plan.

If one switched to an opposing deity, the new faith would handle the matter, and would certainly offer sufficient incentive. But switching to another god within the same faction meant undergoing a test of faith.

Fortunately, Gentle Breeze hadn’t formally become a level one cleric—she’d only received divine spells. Thus, her test of faith was simply to traverse the mountains step by step to Mystra. Had she become a level one cleric before switching, she’d have been tasked with slaying demons to prove her devotion.

No wonder the other three players looked so glum; they’d finally secured a healer, only to encounter new complications.

“What about you, Mr. Midsummer? You say you’re a spellcaster—what kind?” asked Maple Leaf.

“Me? My class is simply called spellcaster,” Zhao Xu lied, unable to reveal his dual-specialist status. If he claimed to be a level one cleric and level one mage, the forums would explode tomorrow.

This team was without a cleric; once combat began, he’d need to cast healing spells, exposing himself. But he resigned himself—after all, the girl would soon become a cleric of the goddess of magic. He hoped the church’s clergy would reward him for escorting a future cleric across a great distance.

“You’re lying, Mr. Mage,” Gentle Breeze piped up from her corner.

“Hm?” Zhao Xu hadn’t expected his fib to last even thirty seconds.

“I’ve read the church’s scriptures—there’s no class called ‘spellcaster.’”

Zhao Xu grinned; truly, birds of a feather flock together. She’d just entered the game and already loved reading—she belonged with the goddess of magic.

“Oh, perhaps I misremembered. Maybe it’s called Mentor?” Zhao Xu improvised, naming a nearly non-combat spellcasting class.

The four players froze; it seemed Zhao Xu was the one who needed their protection. After the game launched, some players who couldn’t adapt to the eleven basic adventurer classes switched to ordinary professions—Martial Artist, Mentor, Noble, Expert, and so forth.

These classes shared one trait: weakness. Lacking combat capability was putting it mildly.

The group began to understand, realizing Zhao Xu was embarrassed about choosing a weak class. “Very well, Mr. Midsummer, let’s meet at the time and place Mr. Rack just set. Any objections?”

“None,” Zhao Xu replied decisively.

“Good. Let’s cooperate smoothly,” said Maple Leaf.

By now, he’d lost interest in what spells Mr. Midsummer might possess.