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In addition to the medicinal herbs and Lightning Mead, Forseti also exchanged a substantial amount of gold coins. After all, donating coins was more convenient and cost-effective than other items.

The caravan provided two wine glasses. After acquiring the Thunder Mead, Forseti poured two glasses—Sigurd and himself each took one.

*Sizzle... Sizzle...*

The dark blue mead flowed into the glasses, emitting faint electric arcs accompanied by a mild tingling sensation, truly remarkable.

They clinked glasses and sipped the mead.

A sharp pungency hit Forseti; he felt small sparks dancing in his mouth, causing a brief numbness and an involuntary exhale, "Hi-ha-"

*Cough! Cough-cough--* Sigurd choked, coughed violently, his face flushed.

After a while, he composed himself, frowned, and remarked, "This wine is awful, Forseti. You wasted your money."

Forseti: "..."

At that moment, a lean young warrior approached teasingly, "Sigurd, sneaking a drink here like an adult? Aren't you afraid I'll report you to your father?"

Sigurd retorted, "If you dare tell him, I'll spill your secrets too."

A hint of embarrassment flickered on the young man's face, "Just kidding, you lack a sense of humor."

After chatting briefly, he excused himself, "Enough talk, I've got business."

Sigurd paused, then queried, "Commander, are you planning to escort the caravan?"

"You guessed it," the lean young man affirmed. "This should be a safe escort; after the recent war, the Skrins' numbers are halved. They shouldn't pose a threat on the road."

"By the way, how long will you stay in Vanaheim?" he inquired further.

Sigurd replied, "I've just arrived. Are you heading back soon?"

The lean young man nodded, "It's been a while since I was in Asgard. Once this escort is done, I'm heading back."

With that, he departed.

Forseti asked, "Who is he?"

"Heidi, Asgard's fastest runner, aged 158 years and three months," Sigurd remarked casually.

...

Six months passed.

The aftermath of a major war had severely depleted the Skrins' ranks. Over the past half-year, Forseti's life in the camp had been relatively quiet, marked only by sporadic minor skirmishes.

These skirmishes, led by one or two Skrins Lords, typically did not breach the camp's interior.

Given the Skrins' blood and bodily secretions, Forseti preferred avoiding direct combat, waiting instead for an opportunity to eliminate a rogue Lord with the Sword of Justice.

Three months prior, he discovered that, in addition to the Lords, a few elite Skrins warriors also possessed intelligence and formidable skills—albeit fewer in number.

These elites remained cautious, often lurking behind cannon fodder, yet were easier targets than the Lords.

In half a year, Forseti had slain two elite Skrins, though their rewards—a mundane experience tome and the Illumination of Holy Light technique—had yielded little practical use beyond illumination.

That night, a warning cry echoed outside.

"Enemy attack! Enemy attack!"

The camp mobilized swiftly, Protoss soldiers forming an ironclad defensive perimeter.

"Attack!!" Skrins poured in from all sides, targeting the Third Camp with fierce cries.

Over six months, Forseti had picked up a few Skrins words. Aside from battle cries, they only hurled crude insults.

Forseti waited calmly by a window.

As before, waves of cannon fodder charged, falling like crops harvested in moments, taxing the Protoss soldiers' stamina.

Once the cannon fodder were dispatched, the resilient Skrins elites took the forefront, slowing the battle's pace.

Forseti leaped from the window, wielding Verrigan's Fist, patrolling the defense line.

The Holy Deed could only sense heinous crimes at close range; severe sins differed.

For severe crimes, the Holy Light or the Sword of Justice could identify the guilty.

"You're here again?" Ander, engaged in combat, spotted Forseti and turned.

"Yes," Forseti nodded, silent.

Ander grinned, "Lord Scala killed a Skrins Lord by chance. If you take down another, you'll be Asgard's sole healer to have slain two Skrins Lords."

Forseti circled the defense line, eyes on the attacking Skrins.

Suddenly, the Holy Deed emitted a brilliant light, the Holy Light pointer aiming straight ahead.

Focused, Forseti tightened his grip on Verrigan's Fist, pinpointing the target's location.

"Ah—uh!" A Protoss soldier nearby screamed, a sharp sword striking his neck, blood spraying as he fell silent.

Simultaneously, a fierce-eyed Skrins appeared before Forseti, having swiftly dispatched the soldier.

Forseti wouldn't let him escape, swinging Verrigan's Fist.

Judgment!

An energy blast of light and fire struck the Skrins' arm before he could retreat into the melee.

*Boom!*

Empowered by grave sin, the energy hammer exploded, engulfing the Skrins elite in golden Holy Light and red flames.

Though only his arm was hit, the blast mortally wounded the Skrins elite, ending his threat.

Such villains had fragile defenses; even a brush with Holy Light meant certain death.

After dispatching the enemy, Forseti swiftly evacuated the critically injured soldier from the defense line.

"Uh... uh..." The soldier, bleeding from his neck, trembled, unable to speak.

Fortunately, the wound wasn't deep enough to sever his neck bone or cause immediate fatality.

Forseti retrieved a healing stone, grinding it into powder and applying it to the soldier's wound.

As the powder took effect, the wound scabbed over, bleeding stopped, and the soldier's labored breathing eased.

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