CHAPTER 123
Holy Light Strikes!
Wrapped in radiant divine brilliance and surging sacred flame, the Fist of Verrigan crashed down upon Whitemane's shield of holy light.
"Boom!"
The barrier quaked violently under the divine impact but held firm—for the moment. Without pause, Rowe raised the warhammer again, channeling another burst of sanctified wrath.
"Boom!"
This second strike, powered by both holy fury and scorching flame, strained the luminous shield to its limits. At last, it cracked and vanished in a scatter of celestial sparks.
But Rowe's moment of triumph was cut short. In a flash of scarlet mist, Commander Durand teleported beside him, his blood-enchanted blade cleaving through the air. Rowe, still recovering from the hammer's recoil, couldn't fully evade—the blade bit into his back, drawing a cry of pain.
Fortunately, Rowe's body had grown significantly stronger since his awakening, and he now wore enchanted dragon armor. The blade failed to pierce deep. Once, such a strike might have shattered his ribs.
Durand pulled back immediately, giving Whitemane the opening to retreat and recast her holy shield, the divine radiance enclosing her form anew.
Rowe pressed his hand to his wound, casting Faith Healing, then slammed his hammer into the earth.
The Sword of Justice, forged from burning holy light, erupted from the ground directly beneath Whitemane, piercing upward toward her defensive aura.
The celestial blade clashed with her radiant shield, both magics churning in violent friction and releasing a blinding explosion of light.
Yet Whitemane's barrier held strong, woven with ancient rites and reinforced by her unshaken resolve. Its defense rivaled that of the purest shields of light—airtight and absolute.
But Rowe anticipated this. Spinning his warhammer with practiced fluidity, he launched a divine strike of Judgment, forcing Durand—who had moved in to strike again—to back off. Then, without delay, he pivoted and charged Whitemane anew.
The duel continued in deadly cycles, divine attacks hammering holy shields, war cries echoing through the sanctified battlefield. At last, as Durand staggered from another powerful Judgment, Rowe broke through Whitemane's shield and surged forward with another radiant strike.
"Crack!"
Whitemane blocked desperately with her staff. It shattered instantly under the Fist of Verrigan's smoldering fury.
Holy flame seared her arms. She screamed, reeling back in agony, her sleeves catching fire.
Durand, seeing this, blinked into action. With another flash of scarlet energy, he reappeared beside Rowe and swung his crimson blade once more.
But Rowe, drained from prolonged combat, couldn't keep the divine flame active over his entire form. He activated Divine Protection, forming a golden sigil over his body, then used Judgment again as he chased the retreating Whitemane.
He knew all too well—if Whitemane had the chance to cast Resurrection, the entire battle could shift out of his favor.
This was his final chance.
Rowe's divine power was nearly gone, and the holy flames would not answer his call any longer.
As he lunged forward, Durand's blade cleaved through his left forearm. Blood arced through the air. But with one final effort, Rowe hurled the Hammer of Judgment directly at Whitemane.
It struck her chest with divine finality before her shield could reform.
"...Mograine…" she whispered, eyes wide with fading recognition, before her body was hurled back and vanished upon impact with the far wall—banished from the battlefield.
With Whitemane dead, only Durand remained.
Rowe stood barely upright—his left arm gone, his armor shattered in multiple places. Durand, however, was equally ravaged. Flames had seared across his armor, his face scorched, and one eye burned blind.
"I—I am a LEGEND!!" Durand screamed in madness and desperation, charging forward with his final breath.
Teleportation no longer answered his call, and Rowe's divine energy was all but spent. With magic depleted, both warriors fought with nothing but steel, will, and fury.
The death of Whitemane had driven Durand into a berserker frenzy. His strikes became erratic but powerful. The two traded blows hundreds of times—shield bashing hammer, blood blade crossing divine steel.
Finally, Rowe feinted, ducked under Durand's wide slash, and brought the hammer down on his forehead.
"Boom!"
Durand's body disintegrated into a mist of blood and light. From the haze, three items descended slowly:
[Forging Blueprint: Scarlet Commander's Shield]
[Divine Shield (Shard)]
[Book: History of the Scarlet Crusade]
Rowe collapsed to the ground, his vision blurred, breath ragged. He ignored the glowing Piety counter for now and focused on the loot.
The shard of the Divine Shield spell drew his immediate attention.
[Scarlet Commander's Shield]
Item Level: 5
Main Materials: Iron Ingot, Heavy Leather, Malachite
It was a rare-quality shield—durable and viable for combat. Rowe turned toward the Fist of Verrigan lying beside him, thoughts spinning.
His post-awakening height had increased over twenty centimeters. The warhammer, once imposing, now seemed small in his larger hands.
He had originally considered upgrading to Conn the Beheader or the Aojin Axe, both formidable weapons, but their crafting costs were significant.
Aojin Axe was prohibitively expensive. Even Conn the Beheader demanded black iron, a rare metal.
Fortunately, Rowe had already obtained an even rarer material in this world—immortal palace steel, the metal of the gods.
It was the same used in Hela's sword, enhanced by mystic enchantments and sharper than normal divine alloys. In Asgard, it was no ordinary metal.
To prepare for his divine transformation, Rowe had invested nearly all his savings in alchemical reagents and training materials. To forge Conn the Beheader now might bankrupt him.
Thus, he considered a practical alternative: wielding the Fist of Verrigan as a one-handed weapon and pairing it with a shield.
It wasn't ideal, but the enchanted flames of the Fist still matched his divine nature perfectly—and practicality often outmatched extravagance.
Poverty breeds creativity.
With the new shield blueprint, Rowe began envisioning the holy anti-cavalry build in Asgardian battle doctrine.
The final item was the Book: History of the Scarlet Crusade—a chronicle of the fanatical order's rise, sins, and downfall. A grim warning to all paladins who walked the edge of zealotry.
Rowe closed his holy codex and stared into the silent void where battle had once raged.
Though the path had been brutal, he had conquered both Whitemane and Durand—the infamous holy duo.
From lowly Hogg to the champions of the Scarlet Crusade—his rise had been monumental.
The holy codex now rated him as a Level Five Elite.
One step closer to unlocking the next divine tier of magic.
As he meditated on his victories, a chilling roar interrupted his reverie.
A war cry.
"Kill them!" shouted a troll, his guttural voice echoing from the jungle's edge.
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