"Huh!" Before Rowe and the others could react, a spear shot through the air, instantly piercing the black-haired woman's chest. Blood splattered across the earth as she screamed and collapsed. The trolls, knowing their pursuit was bordering the Protoss camp, didn't dare press forward. After landing their deadly blow, they turned and fled, melting back into the shadows beyond the hills. Heimdall swiftly grabbed Rowe, teleporting both of them to the woman's fallen figure in the blink of an eye. "Ugh… uhh…" The woman coughed blood, her chest gaping with a spear wound. Blood oozed from her nose and mouth—it was fatal. But even at death's door, she struggled to speak, sobbing weakly. Rowe knelt, placing a glowing hand over her forehead. His holy light flowed gently over her, soothing the pain and giving her just enough strength to utter her final words. "King… King…" "King what?" Rowe asked urgently. "Prince…" she gasped, voice cracking. "Prince…" Heimdall's eyes narrowed. "A prince? Of the Vanir royal family?" The Frost Giants and trolls had recently staged a sudden invasion of Vanaheim, exploiting a concealed spatial channel to breach the realm's defenses. The royal city had fallen, but rumors persisted that scattered remnants of the Vanir Protoss remained hidden. Locating surviving royalty was paramount for Asgard's effort to rally Vanaheim's defenders. Rowe turned his eyes to the retreating trolls. "Let's catch one. We need answers." "Go!" Heimdall responded. In a flash of radiant movement, Heimdall transported them in front of the fleeing trolls. He slowed, allowing Rowe to launch forward with his warhammer raised high—Verigan's Fist glowing with holy judgment. Hammer of Justice! A troll raised a jagged broadsword to parry. CLANG! The hammer struck with a bone-rattling force, sending shockwaves down the sword and through the troll's arms. Stunned, the troll collapsed, disoriented and unable to stand. "Kill the intruders!" the remaining trolls roared, surging forward. Heimdall acted fast, grabbing both Rowe and the downed troll. They vanished in a shimmer of golden energy and reappeared within the camp perimeter. With help from their comrades, they bound the captured troll in chains infused with runes. Heimdall grabbed the creature by the collar. "Who were you hunting?" The troll growled, hate in his eyes. "His Majesty Ulik will claim Kuur's head!" Heimdall pulled back just in time to dodge the troll's spiteful spit. "If you won't speak, I'll hand you over to the torturers," he said coldly. "You'll soon learn that the history of the Protoss includes a deep and creative understanding of pain." "Even if I die, I'll never speak a word!" the troll bellowed, and was dragged away. Their patrol mission ended, the warriors returned to the camp to rest and rearm. Brunnock approached Rowe with a shield slung over his shoulder. "Rowe." Rowe raised a brow. "Where's your sword?" "Our agreement was that I'd survive ten moves. I figured I wouldn't need a sword to do that." Rowe smirked. "Maybe that's progress. You've learned something." In recent days, Brunnock had sparred daily with Rowe, but with crude skills and little tactical sense, he had never lasted more than a few blows. "But remember," Rowe added, drawing Verigan's Fist from his spatial cache, "sometimes offense is the best defense. Ditching your blade doesn't automatically make you a defender." They moved to the open sparring grounds. Rowe paced calmly, then suddenly feinted left. Brunnock flinched and adjusted his stance, only to fall for the bait. Rowe spun sharply, raising his warhammer and halting it just inches from Brunnock's nose. "One move," Rowe said calmly, lowering his weapon. "Yesterday, you lasted three. Today, only one." Brunnock groaned, tossing his shield aside and walking off. Heimdall stepped up beside Rowe, watching the disgruntled warrior go. "What do you think of Brunnock's fighting style?" "Awful," Rowe said bluntly. "He only knows basic drills. No instincts, no technique. He mimics what he's seen others do." Heimdall smiled faintly. "But I think he's got potential." Rowe glanced sideways. "Based on what?" Heimdall shrugged. "Just a feeling." Rowe: "…" --- Two days later Odin led a vanguard force to strike a heavily fortified enemy encampment. Frost Giants were weaker under the midday sun, and the warm climate of Vanaheim offered Asgardians a tactical advantage. They frequently launched noon raids to exploit this weakness. Now, under the searing sun, thousands of Asgardian warriors marched swiftly across the open wastelands. But as they approached the target zone, the temperature plummeted. The Frost Giants had used glacial magic and enchanted ice runes to recreate the cold of Jotunheim around their camp, countering their environmental disadvantage—just as Asgard had once erected solar mirrors to reshape Jotunheim's weather. In the midst of yellow-green plains, the warriors suddenly encountered a vast expanse of white—snow and ice blanketing the terrain. The enemy stronghold was a joint base of frost giants and demons. On the outskirts, battalions of both races rallied into formation. Odin rode forth at the vanguard, astride his eight-legged steed Sleipnir. Clad in golden armor and gripping Gungnir, he roared, "CHARGE!" "FOR ASGARD!" The ground shook as the Asgardian host surged forward. Rowe, Heimdall, and the rest followed, weapons ready. The allied forces of trolls and frost giants responded in kind, forming lines of defense. As the two armies collided, Heimdall led Rowe's squad toward a flank where demonic forces clustered. Roughly a hundred meters ahead, Rowe spotted a demon platoon—his holy light flared with anticipation. But before they could advance, another enemy formation intercepted them. More than a dozen frost giants with two demons at their rear charged into the fray. Rowe raised his hand, releasing a pulse of radiant power. Blinding Light! "Argh!" The giants were momentarily stunned by the searing flash, but the demons fared worse—blood wept from their eyes as the holy energy scorched their senses. Seizing the moment, Rowe lunged at the closest demon, his shield glowing with holy fire. Shield Bash—Light Infusion! SIZZLE! The demon screamed, its skin blistering under the sacred energy. It stumbled back, smoking and writhing. Rowe followed with a swing of Verigan's Fist— Holy Strike! BOOM!
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