8

8 - Holy Light Strike

Simultaneously, a golden arrow appeared on the appraisal book, pointing in various directions and occasionally adjusting its trajectory.

Forseti paused, realizing that some of the gold coins in the pile were stolen goods. The Holy Light possessed the ability to detect and punish wrongdoing, naturally revealing this truth.

A reward ranging from one to three levels of commodities—quite satisfying, considering the Fist of Verrigan was only level four. However, failure to act would result in a penalty: a deduction of ten piety points, equivalent to ten large gold coins or hundreds of thousands in softer currencies.

It seemed inevitable.

A reward for justice...

Forseti pondered briefly, then consulted the appraisal book to identify stolen gold coins among his opponent's belongings.

Placing these coins on the appraisal collection, the golden arrow sharpened its focus, likely indicating the thief's location.

Locating the thief appeared straightforward. But what next?

Turn them over to the sheriff? Obtaining the thief's Book of Apology might prove challenging.

Should he confront the thief directly?

Forseti hesitated, determined to minimize confrontation if possible. If all else failed, he could resort to the sheriff and persuade the victim to provide a Book of Appreciation.

Armed with a wooden stick from Warnerheim—a hardwood far stronger than most Earth metals—Forseti clutched the Saint of Kings in one hand, the stick in the other, resembling a fledgling paladin.

"Forseti, what are you up to?" Auntie inquired upon his return from the medicinal garden, her tone tinged with concern for Forseti's well-being.

"Nothing, just..." Forseti hesitated, hastily concealing the holy deed and leaving.

Moments later, he reached a deserted street corner, where the golden arrow in the appraisal book grew increasingly distinct—a sign the thief was nearby.

With few bystanders, Forseti swiftly identified his target based on the tailor-made attire, unmistakable in style.

The figure appeared youthful, possibly aged anywhere from thirty to three thousand years. Short blond hair, medium height, slender build.

Considering the thief's lean frame, Forseti breathed a sigh of relief.

After all, what macho thief would target plate armor?

Time to intervene. Armed with the Holy Light Strike, Forseti anticipated a significant impact on the thief's guilt.

Yet, as he pondered, a chill ran down Forseti's spine.

Unbeknownst to him, he had wandered into a deserted alley!

Suddenly, the thief whirled around and lunged at Forseti!

Startled, Forseti dodged hastily, striking the thief's kidney with his wooden stick.

The thief, agile and evidently skilled, evaded the blow effortlessly—far from the brute strength of Skorch, who merely charged headlong.

In response, the thief jabbed at Forseti's right hand like a knife, causing intense pain. Forseti's grip loosened, and the stick flew from his grasp.

"Hmph." Disdain flashed across the thief's eyes as he clenched his fist, aiming straight for Forseti's nose.

If that blow connected, Forseti would surely be incapacitated.

Gritting his teeth, Forseti summoned the Saint of Kings and invoked the Holy Light Strike!

"Apologize!" he commanded.

Instantly, Forseti's fist radiated a golden glow, akin to a miniature sun—brilliant, radiant, imbued with sanctity.

The sight stunned the thief.

Moments later, their fists collided. The golden light intensified, almost as if it would explode.

"Ah!" The thief recoiled, dropping to his knees, clutching his injured hand and wailing.

Forseti pressed on, swiftly subduing the thief, who could only moan and collapse.

"Tell me," Forseti demanded, "what have you done?"

"I..." The thief winced, holding his hand, his expression alternating between resentment and pain. Finally, he admitted, "I stole from Gena."

Indeed.

Forseti nodded, prompting the thief further. "Return what you stole."

Reluctantly, the thief complied. "How did you know? Even Gena couldn't suspect."

"No more excuses. Return the items," Forseti urged, producing pen and paper. "And write a confession—a Book of Apology—admitting and repenting your sins."

Fear flashed across the thief's face. "You... you won't turn me over to the sheriff?"

In sparsely populated Asgard, law and order were robust. A thief's capture would become common knowledge, making life untenable. Exposing him to the sheriff meant potential exile from Asgard.

Desperately, the thief implored, "Please, don't tell anyone. I'll return it... no, I'll return it twice over."

"Forget the bribe," Forseti rebuffed sternly.

"Please..." The thief pleaded.

"Fine. I won't involve the sheriff, and you needn't return double," Forseti relented, sighing. "But you must write the Book of Apology."

"Thank you. You're... you're truly kind," the thief muttered gratefully, accepting pen and paper to begin his letter.

The apology letter required specific details: identity, crime, and repentance before the Holy Light.

From the thief's written confession, Forseti learned his name was Yaerlin.

"What is the Holy Light?" Yaerlin asked.

"My belief," Forseti replied vaguely. "It embodies justice, fairness, kindness, and other virtues."

Yaerlin fell silent, a hint of sadness in his voice. "I once wished to be like you..."

Before he could finish, Yaerlin handed over the Book of Apology and the recovered money, then vanished silently.

Forseti held the Book of Apology and the purse, sighing deeply, lost in thought.

Placing the Book of Apology into the appraisal collection of the holy deed, the collection's light flickered. A message appeared, visible only to Forseti:

**[You have fulfilled the duties of a paladin, and the Holy Light is proud of you.]**

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