In addition to medicinal herbs and lightning mead, Luo Wei also exchanged a lot of gold coins. After all, donating gold coins is more convenient and more cost-effective than donating other items.
The caravan sent two wine glasses, so after getting the Thunder Mead, Rowe immediately poured two glasses—one for himself and one for Sigurd.
"Sizzle... sizzle..."
The dark blue mead was poured into the glasses, emitting arcs of electricity and causing a slight tingling sensation upon contact. It was truly an astonishing sight.
The two clinked their glasses and drank the mead.
A strong pungency hit them immediately. Luo Wei felt as if tiny arcs were crackling in his mouth, numbing his entire tongue. He couldn't help but exclaim, "Hi-ha—"
"Cough! Cough—" Sigurd choked on the drink, coughing and turning red.
After a moment, he composed himself, frowned, and said, "This wine is terrible, Luo Wei. You got ripped off."
Rowe: "..."
At that moment, a lean young warrior approached and joked, "Sigurd, are you of age? Drinking here in secret—aren't you afraid I'll tell your father?"
Sigurd curled his lips. "If you dare tell my father, I'll spill some of your secrets too."
A trace of embarrassment flickered across the young man's face. "Just kidding. You have no sense of humor."
After some idle chatter, the young warrior excused himself. "No time to talk—I have business to attend to."
Sigurd was startled, blinked, and seemed to realize something. "Commander, don't tell me you've been assigned to escort the caravan?"
"You guessed it right," the lean young man confirmed. "But I think this will be the safest escort mission yet. After all, after the war, the Skrins' numbers have been halved. We shouldn't encounter any trouble on the road."
"By the way, how much longer are you staying in Warnerheim?" he asked.
Sigurd replied, "I've only just arrived. Are you heading back?"
The young man nodded. "It's been a long time since I returned to Asgard. After this escort mission, I'll be heading home."
With that, he turned and left.
Rowe asked, "Who is he?"
"Heimd, the fastest runner among Asgard's 158-year-old and three-month-old youth," Sigurd replied nonchalantly.
...
Six months passed.
The war had significantly reduced the Skrins' numbers. During this time, Rowe's life in the camp had been mostly peaceful, with only a few minor skirmishes.
These so-called small-scale attacks were usually led by one or two Skrins Lords. Generally, such attacks never breached the camp's defenses.
Given the Skrins' excessive bodily fluids, Rowe had initially been reluctant to engage in battle. He preferred to wait for an opportunity to single out another Skrins Lord and defeat them with the Sword of Justice.
Three months ago, however, he made an important discovery: aside from the Lords, some high-ranking Skrins elites also met the criteria for intelligent life and carried sinful attributes.
Though these elites were cautious and tended to hide behind the cannon fodder, they were still much easier to kill than the Lords.
In six months, Rowe had successfully slain two Skrins elites. Unfortunately, his rewards were disappointing: an ordinary experience book and a Holy Light Illumination spell—useful only for lighting, with no practical combat application.
That night, an alarm sounded throughout the camp.
"Enemy attack! Enemy attack!"
The camp quickly mobilized, and groups of Asgardian soldiers formed an ironclad defense line, standing ready for battle.
"Kill!" A wave of Skrins warriors charged toward the third camp, their battle cries echoing in the night.
Over six months, Rowe had picked up some of the Skrins' language. These low-intelligence cannon fodder could only shout "kill" and a few crude insults.
Rowe waited silently by the window.
As usual, the cannon fodder rushed forward in waves, only to be swiftly cut down, serving merely to tire out the Asgardian soldiers.
Once the cannon fodder had fallen, the Skrins elites took the field. These elite warriors were far harder to kill, and the battle grew more intense.
Rowe leaped from the window, wielding Verrigan's Fist, and moved around the outer perimeter.
Petty crimes required close proximity for the Holy Deed to sense them, but serious sins were different.
For grievous crimes, as long as Judgment or the Sword of Justice could reach the target, the Holy Light pointer would detect them.
"You again?" Ander, an Asgardian soldier in the fray, spotted Rowe and called out.
"Yes," Rowe responded curtly.
Ander grinned. "Lord Scala has only managed to kill one Skrins Lord. If you can take down another, you'll be the only active healer in Asgard to have slain two Skrins Lords."
Rowe continued scanning the battlefield, his eyes searching for his target.
Suddenly, the Holy Deed flared up, its pointer locking onto a specific direction.
The intense glow of the Holy Deed was visible only to Rowe.
His expression turned serious as he gripped Verrigan's Fist and moved toward the target.
"Ahhh!" At that moment, an Asgardian soldier let out a choked scream. A sharp sword had suddenly pierced his neck, spraying blood. His cries were cut short as he collapsed.
A Skrins warrior with a ruthless gaze emerged from the shadows. After delivering the fatal strike, he prepared to retreat.
Rowe wasn't about to let him escape. He immediately swung his warhammer.
"Judgment!"
A warhammer composed of Holy Light and fire shot forward, striking the Skrins warrior just as he was about to disappear into the fray.
"Boom!"
Triggered by the warrior's severe sins, the warhammer exploded in a brilliant burst of golden light and red flame, engulfing him completely.
Though the hammer had only struck his shoulder, the sheer force of the explosion obliterated half of the Skrins elite's body, killing him instantly.
These vile individuals had weak defenses. Even the slightest brush with Holy Light meant certain death.
With the enemy vanquished, Rowe hurried to the fallen Asgardian soldier and dragged him behind the defensive line.
"Uh... uh..." The soldier gurgled as blood bubbled from his mouth, his body convulsing. He was unable to speak.
Fortunately, the wound wasn't too deep. It hadn't severed his spine, so it wasn't immediately fatal.
Rowe retrieved a Healing Stone, ground it into powder, and sprinkled it over the wound on the soldier's neck.
As the powder settled, the wound rapidly scabbed over, and the bleeding stopped. The soldier's breathing steadied, and the blood trickling from his mouth began to slow.