In the open space, Rowe and Skorch stood opposite each other, both assuming combat stances.
Although Rowe had only recently begun learning Paladin combat techniques, he had practiced them diligently. Moreover, Paladin fighting skills were incredibly refined—far surpassing most other combat styles.
As a result, his stance appeared significantly more "professional" than Skorch's, who had never trained at all. Rowe exuded an air of readiness, while Skorch looked as if he was simply engaging in a casual brawl.
Seeing this, Skorch couldn't help but hesitate. "Since when did you learn combat skills?"
Rowe didn't answer. Instead, he said, "Come at me."
Skorch steadied himself before charging forward like a grizzly bear, relying solely on brute strength and lacking any technique.
Rowe swiftly dodged and countered with a punch aimed at Skorch's abdomen.
However, Skorch didn't even attempt to dodge. Perhaps he wasn't used to avoiding attacks, or maybe he simply thought his physique could withstand the blow. The punch landed cleanly, but given the vast difference in their builds—like that of a monkey and a wild boar—it did little to faze him. Skorch let out a brief grunt of discomfort but recovered almost immediately. He turned around and lunged again, unaffected.
Rowe was slightly taken aback but quickly adjusted, dodging once more.
Thus, the two continued their engagement—Rowe was nimble, evading and countering, while Skorch had no particular skill but overwhelming strength and resilience.
Despite Rowe's precise attacks, his strikes had little effect on Skorch. His opponent's sheer bulk absorbed most of the impact, making it difficult to land a decisive hit.
After a prolonged exchange, Skorch finally managed to seize an opening. With a powerful lunge, he rammed into Rowe mid-motion.
Damn it!
Rowe felt as though a mountain had collided with him. Stars danced in his vision as he was sent sprawling to the ground, momentarily disoriented.
"How was that? I told you that you couldn't beat me," Skorch said smugly, extending a hand to help Rowe up. "But seriously, who taught you those combat moves? They're pretty impressive."
"…" Rowe remained silent for a moment, focusing on steadying his breathing.
He had executed numerous precise strikes, yet none had significantly affected Skorch. Meanwhile, a single charge from Skorch had completely knocked the wind out of him.
It was clear now—physical strength and durability were the foundations of close-quarters combat. Techniques mattered, but they were secondary to raw power.
This realization left Rowe momentarily disheartened. With his current physique, was he truly suited for wielding a Paladin's heavy weaponry? Perhaps an assassin or rogue-like combat style would fit him better.
But that wasn't an option. The Holy Deed had already chosen his path—he was to be a Paladin. And as a devoted Paladin player in his past life, Rowe was determined to follow through with this destiny, no matter the obstacles.
If that was the case, he would need to focus on building his strength. That meant intense physical training and, more importantly, securing a powerful talent mixture in the future.
That evening, during dinner, Rowe consciously increased his food intake, consuming much more than usual.
After all, in addition to exercise, diet played a crucial role in building strength. Unfortunately, due to their work in the herbal shop, the Peter family preferred lighter meals, rarely serving meat or protein-rich foods.
Uncle Peter, who already had a strict demeanor, immediately noticed Rowe's increased appetite and frowned.
Feeling his uncle's disapproving gaze, Rowe reluctantly put down his utensils, wiped his mouth, and said, "I'm going to make another batch of healing stones."
Auntie, noticing the change, asked curiously, "Why are you eating so much today, Rowe?"
"Probably trying to become a glutton," Peter muttered. "Is there anything left in the pot?"
"No… I'll make some more," Auntie replied.
---
Later that night, Rowe was in the pharmacy, preparing another batch of healing stones when El entered the room. She held a dark-gold coin resembling a button and handed it to Rowe.
"Here, this is your pocket money for the next two months."
Rowe's allowance was one rune every two months. Runes were Asgard's high-value currency, with one rune being equivalent to one hundred large gold coins or a thousand small gold coins.
Based on his earlier estimates, a single large gold coin contained about 100 grams of pure gold—making its value roughly 30,000 Midgardian yuan. In other words, a single rune was worth nearly three million yuan.
To a mortal, this would be an astronomical amount. But in Asgard, it was simply a standard allowance for a young apprentice. It also accounted for living expenses, meaning it wasn't as extravagant as it seemed.
"Thanks, El," Rowe said, accepting the rune.
"You should save more," El advised with a smile. "It's a good habit."
Rowe hesitated briefly before asking, "El… can you teach me the Greenhilde Pharmacopoeia?"
The Greenhilde Pharmacopoeia was Asgard's most comprehensive and authoritative book on herbal medicine, covering an extensive range of topics. Any aspiring master pharmacist needed to study it.
El raised an eyebrow in surprise but then nodded. "Of course. But it's not an easy book to learn. Even I haven't fully mastered it yet, so prepare yourself for a challenge."
Rowe nodded resolutely. "I've decided—I want to become a great pharmacist."
El stared at him for a moment before suddenly smiling. She reached out and ruffled his hair. "Looks like my little brother is finally growing up."
---
The next morning, Rowe retrieved a newly forged healing stone from the furnace before heading to the town's Taylor Tailor shop. He carried some money and the Sacrament of Kings with him.
The shop's owner was a middle-aged man with an unfortunate balding problem. To compensate, he had combed over a few remaining strands of hair from the sides, attempting to cover the smooth expanse on top—like wilted leaves clinging to a barren tree.
Baldness wasn't an incurable condition, at least not in Asgard. However, hair restoration treatments were expensive, and most men weren't willing to spend fortunes on their hair.
"What do you need?" the shopkeeper asked lazily.
"I'm looking for a messenger bag," Rowe replied.
The shopkeeper pointed toward the corner. "Go pick one out yourself."
Rowe browsed through several one-shoulder messenger bags, testing their size by placing the Sacrament of Kings inside.
He needed a durable and inconspicuous bag to carry the holy deed. While most Paladins used chains to secure their holy artifacts, Rowe found that approach too ostentatious for his current self.
After some deliberation, he picked up a light-yellow bag and asked, "How much for this one?"
"Two hundred and sixty-nine."
That was in small gold coins, but the price still made Rowe wince.
Expensive!
Still, the bag's fabric was sturdy—possibly tough enough to serve as makeshift armor.
For the sake of the Holy Light…
After some internal struggle, Rowe pulled out a rune and paid for it.
Upon returning home, he admired himself in the mirror, testing various poses.
Unfortunately, no matter what stance he struck, he didn't look like a noble Paladin. Instead, he resembled a wandering rogue—or worse, a traveling salesman.
Sighing, he turned to the Sacrament of Kings and considered his next move.
Maybe… it was time to earn more money.