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The flames on the Scarlet Commander's Shield burned with ferocity, flickering as though the flame patterns etched into the surface had come to life. With a decisive flick of his shield, Rowe sent a Frost Giant stumbling backward, his balance disrupted. Seizing the moment, he surged forward, swinging his war hammer with lethal precision. The frost giant, panicked, rolled and scrambled in a desperate attempt to escape. But before he could get far, Rowe's hammer crashed into his shoulder, crushing bone and flesh. Blood spattered, and the giant cried out in agony. The Sword of Justice! In a swift, merciless motion, Rowe brought down his gleaming blade—infused with divine light—and executed the frost giant leader with the Sword of Justice. With the captain of the Frost Giants slain, Rowe turned his attention to the remaining enemies. To the average frost giant, Rowe's surging divine heat felt like standing beneath the midday sun in Muspelheim. Their strength waned before the battle even began, and those who dared to fight fell swiftly to Rowe's strikes. There were almost none who could endure even three exchanges with him. In little time, this Frost Giant squad met the same fate as the trolls before them—annihilated by the Heimd squad. However, the cost was not light. One Asgardian soldier was lost, and another lay severely wounded. While Heimd led the majority of the team to reinforce other fronts, Rowe remained behind to tend to the wounded. "Brunnock," Rowe called out, stopping him as he prepared to rejoin the fight. "You're injured. Stay put." "It's just a scratch," Brunnock muttered, covering the wound with his hand. "I'll be the judge of that," Rowe replied flatly as he knelt beside the unconscious seriously wounded soldier and began treatment. He pressed two healing stones against the gaping wound in the warrior's abdomen, then activated Faith. Golden holy light flowed from his palms, amplifying the stones' effects. The bleeding ceased, the wound closed, and a scab quickly formed. Brunnock hesitated but eventually approached. With the first soldier stabilized, Rowe turned to Brunnock and examined the damage. As he applied salve and healing energy, he said, "I thought you'd be more capable in a fight." Brunnock scowled but defended himself weakly. "I've trained." "Then you trained poorly," Rowe replied without malice, only honesty. "Your technique could be described as 'painting a tiger by drawing a cat.' If not for your sturdy physique and superior gear, you'd probably be dead in Warnerheim by now." As the blacksmith's son, Brunnock had developed a solid frame—muscles hardened from years of work at the forge. His arms were thick and sinewy, resembling bundles of iron rods. And with his well-crafted armor, he surpassed average warriors in endurance. But strength alone wasn't enough. Brunnock was silent for a moment before asking quietly, "Will you teach me?" Rowe tilted his head. "Perhaps. What are you willing to offer?" "Money?" Brunnock suggested, unsure. Rowe chuckled. "Money isn't everything." Brunnock looked pained. "I ran away from home. I don't have much. But… you can take all of my future spoils." Rowe gestured to the scorched battlefield. "I'm not short on spoils." Brunnock fell into awkward silence, struggling to find a suitable offer. Finally, Rowe said, "Let's make it interesting. Over the next month, challenge me once a day. If you can last ten moves in any one of those bouts—just ten—I'll teach you. Fail every time, and you go home to become a blacksmith. Deal?" Brunnock considered it and nodded. "You won't use divine powers, right?" "Of course not. This will be pure hand-to-hand, skill against skill." Rowe, a trained Paladin, knew this would be a one-sided affair—Brunnock was no match. Later, Heimd returned with his squad as the soldiers secured the battlefield. "Seems the blessing of fate did its work," Heimd said, narrowing his eyes at Rowe. "You tricked me for an entire day." Rowe smirked. "You tricked yourself." Then, mimicking Heimd's tone and hand gestures, Rowe added in mock seriousness, "Turalyon, you remind me of an old friend. Same voice, same aura… Hahaha." Heimd groaned. "Spare me." "Let's collect the spoils." In Asgard, warriors were entitled to a share of the spoils. Enemy bodies, weapons, and valuables taken in combat became the rightful property of the victors. Usually, soldiers claimed what was useful—jewelry, enchanted items, rare metals—while mundane equipment was surrendered to the camp quartermasters. Rowe, however, was different. He collected nearly everything of value—whether practical or symbolic. Most items he offered directly to the Sanctuary, using the Sacred Deed to convert them into piety. [Level 4 item. All donations will yield 2,722 piety.] From the frost giant captain, Rowe unearthed a striking ice-blue dagger. It radiated cold energy and had an elegant, wicked curve—clearly of elite craftsmanship. Still, Rowe already possessed Rowe's Blade, a gift from Odin himself. With no need for another weapon, he offered the dagger to the Sanctuary. Donating high-tier items like this was one of three prerequisites for unlocking new tiers of Paladin spells. The third-tier spells were particularly difficult to unlock. So far, Rowe had completed two boss challenges—Hogg and Whitemane—and was closing in on the final requirement: donating enough fourth-level items to accumulate 100,000 piety points. He wasn't there yet, but the end was in sight. The third condition, "100 Vengeances," still required significant time and effort. But Rowe remained determined. Unlocking the third tier would lead to the Fourth Layer, where the powerful Paladin skill, Vengeful Wrath, resided—a technique he'd long yearned to wield. After collecting the battlefield relics, Rowe suddenly remembered the demon he had slain earlier. He checked the reward: [Standard Space Grid Acquired] "…Just one grid?" Rowe muttered, disappointed. "Seriously?" Grumbling to himself, he dismissed it. A battle had been won, and the next few days brought calm. The camp focused on patrols, drills, and recovery. Then, around midday, while Heimd's team patrolled the outer perimeter— "Help—Help!" A scream rang out—a terrified woman's voice. Instantly alert, Rowe and the others rushed toward the sound. They found a black-haired woman, young and beautiful, sprinting through the woods in terror. Behind her, several trolls gave chase, snarling and howling.
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