What is an offensive priest?

Chapter 22 Seeking Help from the Druids

The church and temple in Los Santo.

After trying various methods without success, Richard also gave up on seeking help.

The saying "It's better to rely on yourself than on others" applies equally to deities.

Richard stood up and stretched his somewhat stiff joints.

Just then.

The side door of the temple was gently pushed open, and three figures filed in.

"Reverend Richard, you wanted to see me?" Chief Justice Weiss's voice was tired, but he remained respectful.

His right sleeve was empty, and his leather armor was still covered in dust left over from the wall repairs.

Richard raised his hand, gesturing for the other person to sit down.

"Kroo and the others should have told you about the goblin camp, right?"

Chief of Staff Weiss nodded, his one hand unconsciously clenching tighter.

"I've heard about it... but I never imagined those green-skinned bastards would target children!"

Richard instructed.

"This matter needs to be kept secret."

"Especially the matter of the voters; once it gets out, panic will destroy the town before the goblins do."

The veteran immediately understood the implications and nodded solemnly.

"Reverend Richard, rest assured, I will handle it properly."

Sharon handed over a teacup containing moonflower tea that she had prepared.

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"The situation is worse than we thought."

Richard's eyes were serious, and his fingertips tapped unconsciously on the table.

"The army of the Underdark has assembled: drow elves, heavily armored grey dwarves, and the creations of the Horned Demon King Baffom, not to mention the nearby goblin tribes under their control."

He looked at Chief of Staff Weiss: "How many men in the guard are currently capable of fighting?"

"Twenty-eight men," Chief of Staff Weiss's voice was hoarse. "Many of them are still injured, and no more than twenty can actually fight."

Richard's eyes remained silent; these numbers were quickly converted into a cold, hard probability of victory in his mind, which was almost zero.

"And us!" Avel stepped forward, his crimson eyes burning with an almost obstinate determination. "The Goddess's Lament Squad will stay behind to protect the town."

"Crow's paladin oath will not allow him to back down, and although Maurice is taciturn, he will not desert his post, and I..." She looked at Richard, "I will never leave either."

Richard shook his head; the lives of all the villagers weighed on his shoulders, making him always prepared for the worst.

That's not enough.

"Even with you all, it's just a drop in the ocean against the army of the Underdark."

"Unless we find some more capable help," he continued.

Chief of Staff Weiss looked worried.

"The Blackstone Bridge leading to Waterdeep is now in ruins. Even if we start repairing it now, it will take half a month, and..."

He hesitated for a moment, a hint of anger showing in his weathered eyes.

"The nobles of Waterdeep probably don't care about the life or death of a small border town!"

Sharon stood quietly beside Richard, her fingers unconsciously twisting the edge of her apron, as if struggling with something.

Just then, Avel suddenly raised his head.

"In the Emerald Valley southeast of the Wailing Mountains, there is a verdant and tranquil camp. Perhaps we can ask the druids for help."

"Druid?" Richard frowned.

The Druids' belief in the balance of nature often led them to keep their distance from worldly conflicts.

The rise and fall of human towns may be seen by them as just part of the natural cycle, and they may not necessarily offer assistance.

But right now, this is indeed the only hope.

Richard pondered for a long time.

"I will go to Emerald Valley with you first thing tomorrow morning."

He turned to look at Chief of Staff Weiss. Having learned a painful lesson from last time, Richard dared not risk sending out all the troops again; someone had to stay and guard the town.

"Crow and Maurice will stay to assist; the two of us will go and return quickly."

"I will cooperate with both of you," Chief Secretary Weiss nodded vigorously. "At the same time, we will send men to reinforce the walls and defenses. Even if we ultimately cannot hold them, we will make those subterranean bastards pay the price!"

Richard stood up, the setting sun casting dappled light and shadow on him through the stained glass windows.

His brows still bore the marks of fatigue, but his eyes had regained their former clarity.

"Sharon," he said, looking at the nun who had remained silent, "I'm entrusting the church to you."

Sister Sharon nodded slightly, her lips moved as if she wanted to say something, but in the end she only responded in a low voice.

"Please...be very careful."

Inside the blacksmith's shop.

The blacksmith Gronn's wife was preparing dinner to entertain the adventurers who had rescued her child.

Their child, Timmy, perhaps because of the fright, locked himself in his room after returning home.

With the extract from the lava lizard brought back by the group, the long-extinguished forge was once again ablaze with raging flames.

Bang bang bang,

The sound of the heavy hammer striking echoed throughout the shop.

The blacksmith, Gronn, was a dwarf with a beard covered in iron filings. He was bare-chested and had muscular muscles that bulged with each swing of his hammer.

To thank the adventure team for saving its child, Gronn swung its hammer with more effort each time.

"Those ugly green swarms of scavengers, if my cousin were here, would they dare to be so arrogant?"

Kro was drawn to its words.

"Your cousin?"

Gron nodded, a proud look on his face.

"It's a member of the Harpists' Alliance, specifically tasked with dealing with these corner scum!"

"It returns to Blackrock Town every year to pay homage to its ancestors, and judging by the time, it should be soon."

"The Harpists' Alliance?" Kro raised an eyebrow slightly.

He had heard of this name before—a loosely organized but highly influential secret society with members throughout the continent of Faerûn.

From bards to nobles, from monks to knights-errant, it encompasses all walks of life.

He frequently intervenes in various crises, but his style of doing things is mysterious and unpredictable, and he rarely reveals his identity.

Upon hearing this, the thief Maurice couldn't help but sneer, his voice cold and mocking.

"It's better to pray for a miracle than to rely on those unreliable guys."

clang--

The dwarf Grun slammed his hammer down, slowly turned around, clearly somewhat displeased.

"What do you mean by that?"

Morris maintained his indifferent expression, but his right hand had already silently rested on the hilt of the dagger at his waist.

Kro stepped forward in time, placing his body between the two to prevent a conflict.

"It was just a joke; he didn't mean any disrespect to you."

Gron snorted and turned back to continue punching, muttering something under his breath.

"When it returns, you'll witness the power of the Harpists' Alliance!"

Deepwater City.

The second floor of the Flower Fragrance Tavern.

Even through the thick oak flooring, the noise from the first-floor lobby still surged up like a tide.

The dwarf drinkers' boisterous drinking games, the bard's off-key lute playing, and the clinking of glasses.

But the VIP suites at the far end of the second floor present a completely different scene.

The room was completely enveloped by a silencing magic circle, preventing any outside noise from entering.

Deep red velvet curtains hung on the walls, and carpets made of winter wolf skins covered the floor.

Several well-equipped adventurers stood in the center of the room, maintaining a standard guard formation.

The leader was a half-elf warrior with pointed ears and a slender build, but the human blood between his brows made his features more rugged.

He wore a set of mithril chainmail, covered by a dark green cloak embroidered with golden vine patterns.

Sitting on the wooden chair in front of him was a monk dressed in a red robe, swirling a wine glass in his hand; the wine was crystal clear.

His face was thin, with high cheekbones and deep-set eyes.

But what's most striking is his bald head.

"Is the mission complete?"

The leading half-elf warrior stepped forward, placed his right hand on his chest, and gave a standard mercenary salute.

"Yes, we lured him out under the guise of sweeping away goblins, and then personally executed him in the Wailing Mountains!"

The words had barely left his mouth.

boom--

A wine glass was smashed on his head, the crystal glass shattered instantly, and bright red wine flowed down his hair.

The excruciating pain made him groan, but he didn't raise his hand to wipe it, nor did he dare to breathe heavily.

"Idiot, he's still alive!"

"You've got the wrong person!"

The red-robed mage's voice was filled with anger.

Upon hearing this, his fellow adventurers immediately knelt down as well, their bodies trembling involuntarily.

"Please...please give us another chance. This time, we will definitely take his head!"

The red-robed mage's gaze was cold, as if he were looking at several cold corpses, and his voice was as venomous as a snake.

"Remember, this is your last chance."

"If we fail again, I wouldn't mind having a few more obedient corpse demons under my command!"