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Chapter: Heimdall

Aesir soldiers swiftly formed a defensive circle around the camp.

The Skrinthian army surged forward like a relentless tide, crashing against the Asgardian defenses like iron meeting iron.

Facing the might of Asgardian warriors and their formidable weapons, the Skrins proved as fragile as paper; their vanguard fell swiftly under the blades of Aesir soldiers.

Unscathed, the Aesir soldiers stood resolute, unwavering in their positions.

The strength of the Protoss was undeniable.

Yet, despite this, the soldiers' faces showed no signs of complacency. They remained on high alert, treating each wave of attackers as a serious threat. Some even betrayed traces of nervousness.

When a locust swarms, no one assumes they can be easily dismissed. The Skrins, akin to locusts, posed a significant threat to Vanirs—not due to individual prowess, but sheer overwhelming numbers.

The first wave of Boskerlins fell in moments, swiftly followed by the second and third, their frenzied charges ending in quick deaths at the hands of Protoss soldiers.

However, wave after wave continued unabated.

A mound of Skrins corpses soon rose, taller than a man, staining the ground crimson with blood.

Skrinthian blood, dark green and pungent, filled the air with a sickening stench, reminiscent of a slaughterhouse.

Even within his room, Forseti couldn't help but wrinkle his nose at the distant smell. The scene of Aesir and Vanir soldiers surrounded by Skrinthian corpses painted a grim picture.

Amidst the carnage, the Protoss soldiers began to show signs of weariness despite their lack of injuries. The tension in the air was palpable.

Suddenly, another group of Skrins surged forward.

Unlike their predecessors, these Skrins wore partial armor and wielded noticeably better weapons—metal, at the very least.

Scaling the mound of fallen comrades, they leaped down, charging headlong at the Protoss ( gods) soldiers.

This leap allowed several to breach the Protoss defense line. Although swiftly dispatched by alert soldiers, their incursion marked the beginning of breaches in the Protoss' once-impenetrable line.

More Skrins breached the defenses, and occasional survivors darted into the camp interior.

Inside the camp, soldiers mobilized to eliminate these infiltrators.

The skirmish continued, and Protoss soldiers began sustaining injuries.

While most Skrinthian weapons were too fragile to pierce Protoss armor, a few possessed sufficient sharpness or toxicity to wound them.

Observing the battle from his window, Forseti couldn't help but feel his nerves fray.

*Dong dong.*

A knock on the door interrupted his thoughts.

Forseti rose to open it, finding Sigurd and other healers waiting outside.

Sigurd held a dagger, stating, "The Skrins' attack is larger than anticipated. Commander Skala has called for our readiness."

Another healer added, "Take your weapon."

Forseti grasped his warhammer, Verrigan, and shook it lightly. "No need, I have this."

Silver light gleamed from Verrigan's fist, reflecting on the healers' bewildered faces.

One whispered, "Since when did a healer wield a warhammer? I might want one too..."

"Enough chatter. Let's proceed," Sigurd interjected, leading the group downstairs.

Curiously, Forseti asked, "Where are we headed?"

"To Commander Heimdall, naturally," Sigurd replied matter-of-factly. "The healers are under protection."

"Heimdall?" Forseti was surprised.

Sigurd smiled knowingly. "You've been here a few days and didn't know the commander's name?"

Forseti remained silent, realizing his oversight.

To his surprise, the commander of the third camp was Heimdall, the Asgardian gatekeeper from the era of Thor.

Soon, all healers gathered in the central open space. Commander Heimdall, Medical Officer Skala, and other leaders stood surrounded by soldiers.

Forseti discreetly observed Heimdall.

Dark-skinned and imposingly tall, Heimdall appeared young, far from the age of Thor's legend, and wielded an oversized battle-axe rather than the standard sword of future gatekeepers.

Most reminiscent of later depictions were the horned helmet atop Heimdall's head—a longstanding Asgardian tradition. Warriors' helmets sported exaggerated, elongated horns, which could prove lethal in combat.

Sensing Forseti's gaze, Heimdall turned to meet his eyes. Though silent, Forseti shuddered slightly.

He then remembered Heimdall possessed the All-Seeing Eye.

With no magical concealment or reality gem hindering him, Heimdall could peer wherever he willed, irrespective of spatial distance.

Such a person was unlikely to go unnoticed by admirers... Forseti mused to himself.

"Soldiers, prepare for battle," Heimdall commanded, lifting his battle-axe.

At that moment, a breach in the outer defense line allowed a group of well-equipped Skrins to charge through with a roar.

Standing at the forefront, Heimdall prepared to showcase his prowess, only for Medical Officer Skala to act first.

Skala's beard bristled as he rubbed his hands together.

*Crack!*

Arcane energy surged forth, thunder erupting from Skala's hands, striking the Skrinthians head-on, reducing them to charred remains.

*Boom!*

The Skrinthians barely had time to scream before being obliterated by the thunderous blast.

Forseti was taken aback. He hadn't expected the seemingly mild-mannered Medical Officer Skala to possess such potent magical abilities.

With the first wave neutralized, subsequent waves followed suit.

Facing a relentless onslaught of Skrins, the soldiers at the outer defense line found themselves increasingly stretched thin.

More Skrins exploited the breaches, engaging in brutal combat with soldiers within the camp. Soon, green corpses and Skrinthian blood stained the ground.

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