The rest of the adventure group remained oblivious to Anthony's thoughts, currently locked in combat with a pack of giant lizards.
The paladin held the front line with his shield, flanked by the warrior and monk to prevent encirclement. The bard, lacking instruments, relied on her melodic voice and occasional dazing spells, while the rogue prowled the periphery, unable to find an opening.
After two combat rounds (six seconds each), only three lizards bore minor wounds—pitiful progress.
Hardly surprising. The newcomers had been thrust unprepared into this unfamiliar world. The bard and rogue carried no ranged weapons, and even Zad the warrior wore no armor, wielding only an ornate but impractical longsword. Landing killing blows proved nearly impossible.
Fortunately, they had mage support.
Not from Anthony, but from Lolo, mid-spellcasting.
Anthony had annihilated the lead lizard with a scorching ray, but upon seeing the measly 50 EXP reward, lost all interest in further involvement.
Shuttling between worlds meant coddling teammates would only cripple them.
Nor did he fancy playing babysitter. Aloof authority suited him—hence his blatant idling at the rear.
His prolonged inaction strained the melee professionals.
"Mage, we require spell support."
"Currently observing these underground beings' weaknesses. Patience—they're perfect for combat experience and teamwork drills."
"Besides, my spells might accidentally obliterate you. Hardly ideal."
The logic sounded plausible yet oddly suspect. Dissenters swallowed their protests.
Antagonizing a temperamental archmage risked an "accidental" spell—a gruesome fate.
They were weak. He was strong. Beggars couldn't afford attitude.
These lizards could withstand a paladin's strikes, yet their alpha had been obliterated by a casual gesture.
The power disparity was staggering.
Worse, this was the Underdark—a lawless place where only moral bottom lines governed. Death here meant no burial, let alone justice.
With the archmage slacking, Lolo bore the burden.
The little witch began with mage armor, her mother's first lesson upon becoming a witch:
"A mage's first priority is always self-preservation."
Only the living could strategize.
Had humanoids been present, she'd have layered on protection from arrows.
Torchlight revealed roughly ten lizards. After ensuring her spell wouldn't harm allies, she began incantations.
Her hands wove intricate patterns as recited spells synchronized with gestures. Within moments, head-sized rocks materialized overhead, crushing lizards assaulting the paladin.
1st-level Spell: Rock Press
The spell's power was mediocre, its only redeeming quality being its area-of-effect nature. Against living creatures or undead, it paled in comparison to Burning Hands.
The former could dodge falling rubble, while the latter suffered extra damage from flames.
But this spell didn't discriminate by terrain. Casting it from a distance was safe—perfect for dealing with beasts that relied solely on instinct.
The rocks crashed down. The lead giant lizards remained unharmed—Lolo's reluctant choice to avoid friendly fire.
The rear, however, was a different story. One unlucky lizard took a direct hit to its spinal joint. It shrieked, its hind legs instantly paralyzed. Then, a second Rock Press crushed its belly. Blood gushed from its maw as it thrashed twice before lying still.
After two rounds of spellcasting, the lizard pack was decimated—one dead, four severely wounded. No melee specialist could've matched such results.
The frontliners breathed easier. Yoda quickly called out to prevent the witch from wasting precious spell slots: "Enough. Leave the rest to us. We can handle this."
But before they could press their advantage, the relentless barrage of falling stones sent the lizards into a frenzy. These mindless creatures, believing the tunnel was collapsing, abandoned their hunt for fresh meat and scattered in panic.
The adventurers gave chase, but the lizards had no intention of fighting. The reptiles twisted through narrow crevices, vanishing into the depths within moments.
With the battle over, Anthony strode forward. In one smooth motion, he plucked the finely crafted longsword from Zad's grip. As the group gaped, he effortlessly finished off the wounded lizards—each strike precise, each thrust lethal.
"Look at you fools. If slashing doesn't work, stab. Did a donkey kick your heads in?"
Zad's beady eyes bulged. Being swarmed was nothing like picking off weakened prey. Tegal bristled. "That's unfair, Mage. These things were already crippled by the rocks. Of course it's easy now! When we fought, they were fresh!"
Anthony smirked but didn't argue. Instead, he approached the last lizard—standing motionless, longsword gripped in reverse.
Some watched in confusion. Others waited for spectacle.
Wouldn't it be funny if the archmage got bitten?
A longsword wasn't a dagger. Attacking properly required adjusting his stance first.
The lizard lunged without hesitation. Anthony sidestepped effortlessly.
The giant lizard, having missed its bite, flew into a rage. It whirled around, spotting a glistening arm above its head. Enraged, it snapped upward.
But before it could savor the taste of flesh, a longsword thrust from below pierced clean through its upper jaw, scrambling its brains into pulp.
Anthony's fluid combat left the inexperienced youngsters gaping. None had expected an archmage to be so adept at melee.
It might seem simple, but melee combat demands boldness and precision—timing strikes perfectly requires practice.
Though these lizards lacked lethal venom, their scavenger's maws teemed with vicious bacteria. A single bite, nearly impossible to heal in the wild without medicine, would require a second-level divine spell like Remove Disease—a spell none present knew.
And now, the archmage wielded a sword like a seasoned warrior? That was just unfair.
Anthony paid no mind. Truthfully, he'd only joined for the experience—had the paladin not goaded him.
Longsword to Zad, the fat man was stunned and asked"Should we skin these beasts and take some meat for rations? Adventurers in tales always do."
Before Anthony could reply, Yoda shook his head. "Unwise. My pack holds a week's food if rationed. And remember—gnolls and kobolds dig lairs, but even they tread carefully. This is the Underdark."
"Drow territory. Hundreds, maybe thousands of feet below. Most creatures here are blind, with heightened smell and hearing. Carrying lizard hides and blood? We'd attract horrors that'd doom our trek to Menzoberranzan."
Zad sighed in relief—he'd never skinned anything. But as he wiped his blade on a hide, the archmage countered Yoda.
"Leave the meat. Take the hides."
The group exchanged uneasy glances. Though Yoda was a goblin, his words made sense. Could it be that the archmage was displeased at Yoda stealing his thunder?
Dagger, noticing the silence, spoke up to break the tension. "I'm decent at skinning. Tanning these lizard hides shouldn't be too hard. They'd be useful for rest and warmth. Besides, we can always stash them in Mr. Yoda's Bag of Holding, right?"
Yoda paused, thinking for a moment before responding. "Respected Archmage, if rest is your concern, worry not. My Bag of Holding carries simple supplies—not much, but enough for us to squeeze in.
"Moreover, even if we tan the lizard hides, they won't dry quickly. Storing them in the Bag of Holding might contaminate our food."
"Obviously. We won't use the Bag of Holding. Once skinned, Zad and Tegal can carry the hides."
The two men froze. Zad spoke up, annoyed. "Mage, no offense, but do we really need these? Those giant lizards already gave us trouble. What if more monsters catch the scent and come after us? We're outnumbered here."
"Mortals and their wisdom…" Anthony muttered under his breath before casting a pitying look at the melee combat dullards. "Tell me, what's our mission?"
"Uh… to enter Menzoberranzan," Tegal answered.
"Are we drow?"
"...No. Not even an elf among us." Tegal's reply carried a dawning realization.
"Exactly. We're not drow, nor do we have ties to them. So tell me—do you think the drow will just let us waltz into their city?"
"...If the rumors about drow are true, definitely not."
Anthony smirked. "Let me enlighten you. The drow are more evil than you can imagine. A race that knows neither loyalty nor mercy, only power and betrayal.
"In their house wars, the victors slaughter underage children of rival families without hesitation. Do you think they'd let unidentified strangers like us just stroll in? Or would they capture us first as surface-world spies?
"Remember, our mission doesn't end at entering the city. If that were the case, I'd risk my life to get us in.
"But there's another task after this one—likely tied to the city itself. If we anger its rulers, completing the next mission will be near impossible."
Silence fell over the group.
His logic was airtight. Arguing further would just be stubbornness.
After a pause, the young woman chuckled softly. "Master~ Skinning's no trouble. Even if those two can't carry it, the rest of us can help~ But how do we earn the drow's trust and enter smoothly?"
Her voice was sweet as honey. Nearby, the little witch pursed her lips in displeasure.
Flirting while talking. Disgusting.
Though Anthony pegged her as loose, her words were undeniably smooth—far more tactful than the blunt warriors. She knew how to charm.
In a better mood, Anthony dropped the cryptic act. "My plan is to pose as a small trading caravan. We'll spend three days hunting suitable game, then bring the goods to Menzoberranzan to sell. Better than charging in headfirst."
The group saw the merit—but also the flaws. "Master, your plan sounds good, but what if the drow don't buy it?"
Anthony smiled confidently. "I'm coming with peaceful trade intentions. No matter how evil, drow won't turn away merchants. They have goods to sell too."
"But what if they just rob us instead?" The little witch pouted, suspecting the archmage's grand speech was just to mask his pettiness.
Anthony frowned at the team's second chatterbox. "Evil doesn't mean insane. They're intelligent and follow rules—otherwise, their infighting would've wiped them out.
"To deal with evil races, you give them a reason not to fight you—and show you're not weak. I am an archmage. They'll at least give me that respect."