Under the harsh glare of the Holy Light, the four Kronan warriors were momentarily blinded. Their thick, stone-like eyelids did little to shield them from the sudden burst of brilliance, and they stumbled in disarray, roaring in confusion.
Rowe advanced without hesitation, wielding his warhammer with divine purpose. Empowered by the King's Blessing, even a simple swing of his weapon radiated with holy might. As the warhammer connected with the closest Kronan, a radiant burst of light erupted.
The struck Kronan let out a grunt of pain, staggered back with hands to his face—but it was too late. Rowe's second blow was unrelenting, smashing into the warrior's head. The Kronan's body shattered into rubble, disintegrating with a thunderous crash upon the ground.
Without slowing down, Rowe continued his assault. In swift, fluid motions, he pivoted and brought down two more crushing hammer strikes. With each holy-infused attack, another Kronan crumbled into dust and stone fragments, leaving only their leader standing amid the wreckage of his companions.
Blinded, disoriented, and now alone, the Kronan leader turned slowly, his breathing heavy and erratic. His sightless gaze swept over the remnants of his brethren. The sense of dread was tangible—his confidence shattered like the bodies of his fallen warriors.
Rowe sneered. "Your end is here."
He leapt forward, channeling the divine force of his blessing into his next strike. The warhammer soared toward the Kronan leader's face with incredible momentum.
Clang!
Despite his blindness, the Kronan leader managed to deflect the attack using his large obsidian staff. He had tracked Rowe's movement through sound alone, instinctively raising his weapon in defense. The impact rang through the air like a temple bell.
Rowe narrowed his eyes, taken aback by the precision of the block. But he did not relent. He unleashed a barrage of hammer strikes—each one faster and heavier than the last. The battlefield echoed with the relentless rhythm of divine fury.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
The Kronan leader grunted with each hit, his defensive stance faltering under the continuous onslaught. He staggered backward, chunks of his armored hide breaking off. Still blind, his sense of survival kicked in. Recognizing he could not win, he turned and began to flee.
But Rowe would not allow it.
He slammed his warhammer into the earth.
Sword of Justice!
With the King's Blessing amplifying the invocation, the radiant blade of justice burst from the ground beneath the Kronan leader, exploding upward and impaling him from below, driving through his core.
"ARRRGH!" The leader's cry was agonizing, echoing across the stony chamber. His lower torso disintegrated, chunks of stone and glowing fragments raining to the floor.
Had the Kronan not been made of stone, the result would have been far more grotesque. But even now, the scene was unsettling.
Rowe approached calmly.
The leader writhed on the floor, attempting to rise, but his injuries were too great. His voice trembled, no longer proud, only pitiful. "I… I surrender! Please!"
Rowe did not flinch. Raising the Fist of Verigan, he struck downward.
Holy Light Strike!
The divine energy surged forth, exploding upon contact. The Kronan leader's head shattered, and his massive frame collapsed into rubble, ending the conflict once and for all.
Only silence remained.
Rowe exhaled deeply. The power of the Holy Light within him had run dry. Realizing his vulnerable state, he turned to leave.
But then—something caught his eye.
His foot paused mid-step, then lowered slowly. He turned back, scanning the area until his eyes fell on a glinting object amidst the debris of the Kronan leader.
Rowe knelt down, pushing aside the rubble. From within the shattered remains, he uncovered a gleaming, blood-red crystal—roughly the size of a man's fist.
"What in the Realms…?"
He lifted the gemstone, inspecting its deep, almost pulsating hue. It looked like a blood-infused ruby, swirling with an eerie glow.
Suspicious, Rowe opened the Sacred Deed and placed the gem before it.
> [76% Replacement for Blood of the Mountains]
His eyes widened. "By the Light…"
He hadn't expected to find Blood of the Mountains—or even a close substitute—here of all places. But considering Kronans shared a common ancestry with the magma-born beings of the elemental realms, perhaps it wasn't so surprising after all.
Still, a 76% match was lower than ideal. He quickly moved to search the rubble of the other three Kronans, hoping for similar results.
But luck was not on his side. No additional spar could be found.
"Must be exclusive to elites," Rowe muttered. "Ordinary Kronans don't carry them."
Despite the minor disappointment, the discovery was still a major success. Not only had he gathered Lightning Fruit from the Valley of Thunder, he now held a viable substitute for one of the rarest alchemical reagents in the realm.
Satisfied, Rowe triple-checked the battlefield, ensured no stone was left unturned, then departed swiftly.
---
Back in Asgard, Rowe cleansed himself with a long, hot bath. His muscles ached from battle, but his spirit was light. After a brief rest, he approached his herb station and examined the Lightning Fruit he had collected.
Volatile and unstable, Lightning Fruit had a short half-life—at best, a year. More often, it would detonate within days if mishandled. There was no way he'd be able to craft anything with it unless he could first stabilize it—and that required two other legendary ingredients: Dragon's Blood and Sand of Time.
No chance he'd find either of those soon.
Which meant only one thing—it had to be planted.
Rowe had enough herbological knowledge to handle the task. However, due to the fruit's explosive potential, he carefully fenced off a separate patch of land near the gates of his courtyard, far from the rest of his precious herb garden.
He dug methodically, using a reinforced medicinal shovel to prepare the soil, when suddenly—
A soft voice spoke from behind.
"What are you doing?"
Startled, Rowe looked back.
There, standing at the garden gate, was Hela. Clad in her usual battle armor, long black hair cascading down her shoulders, she radiated nobility and power. Her eyes locked on him curiously.
"Y-Your Highness!" Rowe sprang to his feet, dusting soil off his robes. His mind raced, equal parts anxious and flustered.
Hela remained composed, simply observing him in silence. There was no amusement or derision in her gaze—only interest.
Rowe, however, felt strangely embarrassed. Something about being caught squatting in the dirt, planting an explosive fruit, made him uncharacteristically self-conscious.
"I just returned from Jotunheim," Hela said after a moment. "I heard you've opened a popular herbalist shop. I came to see for myself."
"Ah… welcome, then." Rowe offered a small smile. "I hope the campaign went well?"
"It did." Hela nodded. "Ten years ago, we suffered a humiliating loss. This time, the Frost Giants retreated with heavier casualties."
She paused, tilting her head.
"And where have you been? For days, no one could find you."
Rowe blinked, then quickly crafted a plausible excuse. "I've been in Landvety Forest. Hunting four-horned goats, actually. The Hunting Festival is coming soon."
"You're competing?" Hela raised an elegant brow.
"Of course. Who doesn't want the honor?" Rowe replied nonchalantly, though inwardly he cringed.
To his surprise, Hela chuckled. "Brave child."
"Child…?" Rowe stared at her, dumbfounded. "I'm over forty!"
She didn't respond, merely smiled again—calm, elegant, and inexplicably charming.
But then her tone shifted.
"You don't need to search for a goat. I'll speak to my father—Odin will guarantee you a place in the competition."
Rowe's mouth opened slightly.
He hadn't even meant it seriously—but Hela had taken it to heart and offered royal backing?
While part of him wanted to protest, another part recognized this as a golden opportunity.
And with that, he could only murmur a quiet, "Thank you… Your Highness."
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