In the open clearing Haldryn and Skurge faced each other, both settling into fighting stances. The difference in skill was immediately obvious.
Haldryn had only begun studying the Paladin Combat Arts, yet even basic training in such a refined system put him well ahead of someone who had never practiced at all. His posture looked sharp and ready, coiled with purpose.
Skurge blinked. "When did you learn how to fight?"
Haldryn didn't answer. "Come on."
Skurge steadied himself, then roared and charged like a gray bear—pure brute force, zero technique.
Haldryn sidestepped and drove a fist straight into Skurge's stomach.
The blow landed cleanly. Skurge had no concept of defense. The difference in their builds, however, was enormous—monkey versus wild boar. The punch that should have doubled a normal opponent over only made Skurge grunt. He spun and charged again almost immediately, barely slowed.
Haldryn was startled and dodged once more.
They circled and clashed. Haldryn's footwork was light and precise; Skurge's was nonexistent. Yet none of Haldryn's strikes did meaningful damage, and he refused to aim for truly vulnerable spots. Before long he was sweating heavily, his timing starting to fray.
At last Skurge caught an opening and slammed half his body into Haldryn.
Oh, for—
It felt like being hit by a small mountain. Stars exploded behind Haldryn's eyes. He hit the ground hard and nearly blacked out.
"See? I told you you couldn't beat me." Skurge hauled him up. "But those moves of yours look pretty good. Who taught you?"
Haldryn stayed quiet for a moment, catching his breath.
He had landed several clean hits and still accomplished nothing. One casual body-check from Skurge had ended the fight.
Raw power and physique really did outweigh technique in close combat. In Asgard the true first priority was divine power—Thor's lightning, Heimdall's all-seeing sight—but such gifts were rare. Most Aesir had nothing of the sort.
Looking at his own slight frame, Haldryn wondered whether he was really suited to swinging a warhammer as a paladin. A rogue or assassin build might have fit him better.
He had no choice. The Tome of the Kings had already chosen for him. And as a lifelong hardcore paladin player, he was not about to abandon the class.
Improving his body would have to come from training while he was still young… and from the Flask of Talent later.
At dinner that evening he deliberately ate far more than usual.
Strength required fuel as much as exercise. Unfortunately the family, being herbalists, preferred light meals with little meat.
Uncle Peter, who already found Haldryn irritating, watched the sudden appetite with growing displeasure. His expression darkened by the second.
Haldryn quickly stopped and wiped his mouth. "I'm going to make healing stones."
"Why is he eating so much today?" Aunt asked, puzzled.
"Probably decided to become a rice bucket," Peter muttered. "Is there any left in the pot?"
"None… I'll cook a little more."
…
In the preparation room Haldryn worked on healing stones. Before long Elle came in holding a dark-gold coin the size of a large button and handed it to him.
"Here. Your allowance for the next two months."
Every two months he received one Rune coin. It was Asgard's high-denomination currency—one Rune equaled one hundred large gold coins, or a thousand small ones.
He had estimated earlier that a single large gold coin contained roughly a hundred grams of gold. Converted to the currency of his previous life that was nearly thirty thousand. One Rune coin was therefore worth about three million. An absurd sum by Earth standards.
In Asgard it was simply a teenager's pocket money—or, more accurately, an apprentice's wages after room, board, and Uncle Peter's permanent disdain had been deducted.
"Thanks, Elle." He accepted it happily.
"Try to save some. It's a good habit." She smiled and turned to her own work.
Haldryn hesitated, then said, "Elle… could you teach me the Greenhild Pharmacopoeia?"
The Greenhild Pharmacopoeia was Asgard's most important herbal text—broad, deep, and essential for anyone who wanted to become a true master apothecary.
"Of course. But it's not easy. I haven't finished it myself. Be ready for that."
Haldryn nodded. "I've decided I want to become a great apothecary."
Elle paused, then turned fully and studied him for a long moment.
Finally she smiled and ruffled his hair. "Looks like my little brother is growing up."
…
The next morning Haldryn took the finished healing stones from the oven, pocketed his money and the Tome, and went to Taylor's Tailoring Shop—the main clothing store in town.
The proprietor was a middle-aged man whose scalp was polished smooth. The few remaining strands on the sides had been combed upward in a doomed attempt to cover the shine, looking rather like wilted vegetable leaves.
Baldness was not incurable in Asgard, but the treatments were expensive. Most men simply lived with it.
"I need a cloth satchel," Haldryn said.
"Pick one yourself." Taylor waved lazily toward a rack.
Haldryn selected several single-shoulder bags that looked suitable and tested each with the Tome until he found one that fit properly.
He wanted something to carry the book. The classic image of a paladin was the Tome chained at the side, but that felt a bit too flashy—and too attention-grabbing—for his current situation.
He settled on a pale-yellow satchel. "How much?"
"Two hundred sixty-nine."
Small gold coins, of course. Still expensive enough to make him suck in a breath.
The fabric was extremely tough, though—tough enough that on Earth it could have served as stab-proof or even bullet-resistant material. And he liked the style.
For the Light, then.
He gritted his teeth, handed over the Rune coin, received his change, and headed home with the satchel over his shoulder.
Back in his room he stood in front of the mirror and tried a few poses, attempting to look more like a proper paladin.
It failed completely. He still looked like a novice thief—or a street peddler.
He sighed, took out the Tome, and flipped through it.
Maybe… a little more investment?
He felt the seventy-three large gold coins and single small one still in the satchel. The urge to spend won.
After all, how could a paladin grow stronger without dedication? How else was he supposed to demonstrate his commitment to justice?
He donated a portion of the coins, then purchased several Holy Strike fragments and a few more Gifts of Fate.
[Obtained: [Thank You for Your Patronage]
[Obtained: [Judgment (Spell Fragment)]
Judgment!
His eyes lit up.
Judgment was one of the few ranged attacks available to a paladin. Its raw power was average, but its utility was excellent—throw a Judgment before closing to melee and the fight became much more comfortable.
Luck was still with him. He continued.
[Obtained: [0.01 Piety]
[Obtained: [Thank You for Your Patronage]
[Obtained: [Sword of Justice (Fragment)]
Sword of Justice.
In World of Warcraft it was a solid but unremarkable attack ability. Here the nature behind the visual was made explicit.
It was a dirty trick of a skill.
The blade struck the ground; the actual force erupted from beneath the enemy's feet. A true underground ambush—impossible to guard against cleanly.
He liked it.
Feeling fortunate, he decided to donate more gold. When the amount still felt insufficient he added another handful.
The moment the additional coins approached the Tome, light flared across its pages.
[Evil detected. Fulfill a paladin's duty. Carry out the sanction.]
What?
More text appeared at once:
[Evil Appraisal: Theft
Investigation difficulty: Simple
Requirement: Before the evil dissipates, sanction the thief so that he writes a Book of Apology and obtain a Book of Gratitude from the victim. Submit at least one of the two books to the Appraisal Codex. After successful appraisal, donate it.
Reward: Commendation of Justice (random item).]]
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