"Gladly."
The drow captain tugged the reins, urging his lizard forward. Watching his opponents walk into their own trap, he clenched his teeth, barely restraining a burst of manic laughter.
He snapped his fingers. His companion understood instantly, falling in step behind the captain with a mocking grin.
These surface-dwellers must have been addled by that vile sunlight to believe such nonsense. Even a captive cave lizard wouldn't be this stupid.
They probably skimmed some adventure novels, heard about underground riches, and rushed in without a clue how cruel the Underdark truly was.
But their suffering would end soon. Death would spare them further torment—and their captain would claim a bag of holding as spoils of war, plus an honor insignia engraved with "Mage-Slayer."
What enviable luck.
As the drow captain closed the distance, the smirk at the corners of his eyes grew wilder.
A mage's tricks might be myriad, but at arm's length? That ridiculous robe, even layered with mage armor, wouldn't withstand more than a few strikes.
Closer. Just two yards now. His lips curled, twelve white teeth gleaming under the light spell's glow.
One more step from his mount, one thrust of his 20-inch longsword, and the blade would meet flesh.
As the lizard took that final step, the captain roared a battle cry, his deft hands drawing the razor-edged longsword—only for his throat to erupt in agony. The laughter died, replaced by a guttural choke.
He gasped, but the stone shard lodged in his windpipe let only a wet wheeze escape. His left hand clutched his neck as his legs buckled. Then, a thunderous bellow—and darkness took him.
The drow patrol, poised to revel in their captain's prowess, froze. Why had his draw been so sluggish today?
By the time his body swayed and collapsed, it was too late. Yoda's deafening shout stunned them briefly.
The farthest drow, wielding a hand crossbow, shook off the daze first—sealing his fate.
Anthony snatched the fallen longsword and hurled it like a throwing knife. The blade punched through armor and flesh alike, sending the drow sprawling five meters before his corpse hit the ground.
Chaos erupted. Leaderless, the giant lizards hesitated—advance or flee? Then, a primal terror seized their limbs, rooting them in place.
Dragonfear.
The invisible aura scrambled their minds. Even the little witch, mid-cast with a Melf's acid arrow, blanked out momentarily.
By the time the remaining three drow regained their bearings, they had already lost the initiative entirely. One was struck in the face by an acid arrow, blinded and screaming as he wildly swung his scimitar; another was tackled off his giant lizard by the bound paladin and warrior working together—his slender frame stood no chance against the sheer bulk of the two human brutes.
He barely managed to draw his blade, only managing to graze Zad's arm before Yoda delivered a flying kick to the back of his skull, knocking him unconscious.
The last one died the ugliest. He took a direct hit from Bigby's interposing hand, shattering his ribcage and rupturing his organs. Gurgling blood, he dropped dead on the spot.
"Pathetic trash, trying to rob me." Anthony spat in disdain, picking up a scimitar and slitting the throats of the unconscious drow. A flicked stone shattered the skull of the blinded one, finally ending the skirmish.
In ten seconds, a Patrol Team consisting of five Drowwarriors were cleanly executed one by one.
When the Little Witch regained consciousness, she saw Anthony humming a strange tune and bleeding the Giant lizards one by one. These Giant lizards did not dare to move until they died.
Anthony was in high spirits. The drow had given him between 600 to 1,000 EXP each, and every giant lizard contributed 100 points, totaling 4,200 EXP.
If another patrol team like this showed up, he'd have more than enough to reach Level 5.
Of course, such smooth success was purely due to catching them off guard. Had they been prepared, Anthony wouldn't have feared them, but these bound prisoners might not have fared so well.
The little witch cast Cure Light Wounds on Zad's injured arm. By the time the wound healed, the goblin had already freed his hands from the rope. He helped the other three unbind themselves, and then they quickly stripped the equipment from the drow corpses, leaving the little witch utterly baffled.
They'd just finished a battle—shouldn't they rest? Instead, they rushed to loot the dead. Unfathomable.
As it turned out, stripping equipment from corpses was far quicker than skinning animals. In under five minutes, the drow were left in nothing but their undergarments. Their chainmail and weapons were all stashed into Anthony's backpack, and with each piece handed over, his grin widened.
These drow were truly wealthy. Even the standard warriors wore +2 handcrafted chainmail alloyed with mithral. Just the materials and craftsmanship alone could fetch 2,000 gold coins if sold on the surface.
The drow captain's armor was even more impressive—a full mithral-forged +4 mithral chain shirt. In the right buyer's hands, that could sell for nearly 10,000 gold coins.
Running a shop to earn money? Pathetic. Nothing compared to the speed of outright robbery.
Of course, these stolen goods could only be sold on the surface. Trying to offload them in Menzoberranzan would mean immediate arrest for illegal arms trafficking—and losing more heads than one possessed.
Beyond that, the drow's weapons were +2 extraordinary weapons alloyed with adamantine. Aside from the hand crossbows, each weapon was enchanted with a keen edge. Unfortunately, the enchantments weren't particularly valuable.
Drow weapon designs were deeply tied to their racial traits. Their standard arms were forged specifically for their physiology, making them awkward exotic weapons for other races to wield without extensive practice.
Even their equipment enchantments carried their racial signature—stronger than those crafted by surface mages, but with a major side effect. Their magic only functioned in the sunless underground or under the cover of night.
If these enchanted weapons and gear were exposed to sunlight, their magical effects would fade within days, reducing them to masterwork items.
For equipment like mithral chainmail, the value would drop by one tier. But weapons losing their enchantments? Their worth would plummet by a factor of ten, leaving them fit only for the smelter. Extracting the rare metals for resale might even turn a better profit.
But Anthony had another option.
Feed it to that system of his, untouched for fifty years.
The system didn't care for enchantment effects, but rare materials? Absolutely.
Of course, now wasn't the time to fuss over this. Anthony tossed all the spoils of war into his bag of holding.
It could hold the load, but the backpack noticeably grew heavier—around fifty pounds or so.
No way the little witch could carry that. Anthony grudgingly shouldered it himself, immediately feeling much more secure.
As for the other melee combat meatheads, they followed Anthony's orders, dragging the corpses to a corner and piling them up. Then they tied each other's hands—for easier entry into the city later.
Well, after the fight, their clothes were even more ragged, and their appearance suitably wretched. They looked the part of slaves now.
Perfect. Anthony was pleased.
The little witch watched, dumbfounded. "Is all this really necessary?" she asked, puzzled.
"Of course. In the eyes of the drow, servants should look like servants. That's exactly why we stood out and got harassed by these drow in the first place. But if you don't want to be tied up, you don't have to." Anthony incinerated the drow and giant lizard corpses with a single Dragon's Breath, then used Dust Removal to erase the scent of blood.
No telling how long the ruse would last. All they could do now was hurry into the city.
As they set off again, silence fell over the group.
For some reason, the others had grown quiet. Lolo felt a pang of loneliness.
Watching the drow corpses turn to ash had shattered her rosy illusions about Menzoberranzan.
With nothing else to do, she brought up the earlier skirmish: "Master, what if someone finds out we killed those drow?"
"Deny it. What else?" Anthony gave her a strange look. "Or should we just stand there and let them stab us first? That'd be idiotic."
The little witch rolled her eyes. Yeah, that had been a stupid question. She changed the subject. "Back there, in the heat of the moment—was releasing Acid Arrow the right call?"
"Hmm." Anthony considered it. "Squad tactics. Normally, control spells take priority, but drow have high spell resistance. Your spells might not land. Acid Arrow wasn't a bad choice, tactically. But don't use it next time."
"Why?" The little witch puffed her cheeks, annoyed. After all that, he was still criticizing her spellcasting decisions?
"This time, you caught them while they were stunned—hit them right in the face. Luck and timing were on your side. But if they'd dodged, you'd have wasted a precious spellcasting opportunity. And if that Acid Arrow had landed on their bodies, their equipment would've melted. Then how would we sell it?"
"Sell it?" The little witch felt dizzy. That thought had never crossed her mind.
"Obviously. Fighting a battle with no spoils of war is a total waste. If I weren't thinking about loot, I'd have just melted all five of them with Dragon's Breath from the start. Why bother with all this trouble?"
"..." The little witch stared at her master. For the first time, she realized that "money-grubbing" wasn't just an exaggerated figure of speech.
Was this master… that desperate for funds for his magic experiments?
If so, she might just have a way to handle him.