Obtain [Book of Experience: Graf Swifttooth]
Graf Swifttooth (Rare)
Experience Level: Level 3
A rare and strange experience book—not bad. Rowe had an impression of this item.
If he remembered correctly, this Graf Swifttooth should be a gnoll in Elwynn Forest, likely a subordinate of Hogger, possibly his younger brother.
Hogger, the gnoll—the infamous nightmare of Warcraft newcomers, the bane of elven adventurers, and a long-time adversary of the Alliance. Thinking of him, Rowe couldn't help but feel complicated.
The old version of Hogger was a near-legendary menace, the number one rookie killer in Warcraft history. Countless fresh adventurers had fallen to his claws. In fact, Warcraft's developers had even commemorated his 250,000th player kill with a special event.
Among those 250,000 victims, Rowe was once included.
A level-three foe was certainly formidable. Having just experienced a major battle, Rowe had neither the energy nor the desire to engage in another fight, so he set the book aside for now.
His mind returned to a previous question.
Why did the Pointer of Light react so strongly to Lord Skrins but not to the other Skrinthians?
Could it be that the rest of the Skrinthians were innocent while only their leader committed atrocities?
Rowe reopened The Self-Cultivation of Paladins (Volume 1), carefully rereading the sections on sin and punishment. Eventually, he found a key passage:
[Only intelligent beings can possess the attribute of evil.]
Realization struck him.
Most Skrinthians had low intelligence. They were closer to beasts than sentient beings, and beasts operated purely on instinct—they neither chose good nor evil.
The Lords of Skrins, however, were different. As the most intelligent among the Skrinthians, they had clear moral agency and could bear the weight of sin.
Rowe felt a tinge of disappointment. He had thought coming to Vanaheim would allow him to mete out justice in bulk and amass wealth quickly. But now, it seemed far more complicated.
Lord Skrins himself wasn't particularly strong and was especially vulnerable to the Holy Light. However, he was cautious and had countless underlings. With Rowe's current strength, taking him down alone was virtually impossible.
His only chance was a moment like yesterday—an unexpected confrontation where he could deliver the Sword of Justice in a decisive strike.
Still, this was an improvement over Asgard. In Asgard, months could pass without a single criminal to punish, and even if he found a felon, he lacked the authority to execute them.
Speaking of which, the Sword of Justice was truly an incredible weapon—perfect for eliminating foes swiftly and efficiently.
Rowe resolved that after completing ten righteous acts, his first priority would be saving up for the advanced training of the Sword of Justice.
—
The next day.
After battle, the most troublesome task was dealing with the Skrinthian corpses.
The stinking bodies piled up like mountains, and disposing of them was a grueling task. Every soldier involved looked miserable as they worked.
Beyond the corpses, the Skrinthians' blood posed another issue. It seeped into the ground, filling the entire camp with an overwhelming stench, reminiscent of rotting heather in full bloom.
Technically, this odor was toxic. At such a concentration, some species would even perish.
The Asgardians were immune, but that didn't mean they wanted to endure the stench.
The smell would take a long time to dissipate naturally. To speed things up, the camp's medics were busy brewing a neutralizing potion while also tending to the wounded.
At this moment, Rowe stood over a large cauldron, stirring the boiling mixture with a wooden stick. Inside was a pale yellow liquid—the very potion designed to eliminate the foul smell.
Its ingredients were easy to gather in the nearby woods, and its preparation was straightforward, much like cooking a stew. The scent wasn't particularly pleasant, but compared to the Skrinthians' blood, it was a welcome relief.
A soldier hurried over, carrying a large bucket. "Is the potion ready?"
"Yeah, take it." Rowe nodded.
The soldier quickly transferred the potion from the cauldron into his bucket before heading off. He began spreading it across the ground, much like a farmer watering crops.
"Chi-chi-"
As the potion met the green-stained soil, white smoke rose, and in mere moments, the land returned to a more natural hue. The unbearable stench quickly faded.
By day's end, most of the camp was restored, and the air had vastly improved.
With his task complete, Rowe sought out Sigurd. "How's Ander?"
"He's fine. Just left," Sigurd replied.
The injuries the Skrinthians inflicted on the Asgardians were mostly superficial. As long as they weren't killed outright, their divine physiology ensured swift recovery. With a healing stone, they'd be back in action in just a day.
Sigurd grinned and clapped Rowe's shoulder. "You were incredible yesterday! Ander told me you not only saved him but fought alongside him and even killed a Skrins Lord!"
"The camp took down three Lords total—one by Heimdall, one by Captain Gus, and one by you."
Rowe smiled modestly. "It was mostly luck. The Lords of Skrins aren't much stronger than regular Skrinthians. You could take one down too."
"And that hammer of yours! I thought it was just a normal weapon, but it glowed and set things on fire! Duang, duang—absolutely badass! By the way, are you really just a healer?" Sigurd asked, mimicking a hammer swing.
Rowe: "…"
At that moment, Ander entered, holding his helmet. He looked completely recovered. "Rowe, thanks for saving me yesterday."
"No problem."
"Commander wants to see you. Come with me."
Rowe was momentarily surprised but nodded and followed. Soon, they arrived at the camp's command hall, where Commander Heimdall, Medical Officer Scala, and several others were gathered.
"Commander," Ander said.
Heimdall nodded, then turned to Rowe with a slight smile. "Rowe Garrison, in this large-scale battle, our camp managed to take down three Skrins Lords—a rare feat. You played a key role in that."
"It was just luck," Rowe said humbly.
A deep voice interjected. "It was only luck."
Rowe frowned and turned to the speaker—a burly warrior clad in heavy armor, his face partially obscured by his helmet.
At his feet rested a massive round hammer, easily weighing hundreds of pounds. Compared to it, Rowe's Viligan's Fist seemed like a child's toy.
"Gus," Heimdall said, displeased.
Gus fell silent.
Heimdall returned his attention to Rowe. "Asgard rewards merit. According to military protocol, killing a Skrins Lord earns you 100 runes. Alternatively, you can exchange it for a rank advancement."
"You're not an enlisted soldier, so a promotion isn't an option. But if you don't want the runes, you may request something else—I'll do my best to grant it."