"One hundred and eighty years, I finally caught the four-horned goat!" Tialfi exclaimed, his face beaming with excitement as if the pain from his wound had been forgotten completely.
Rowe continued healing him, a faint glow from his divine spell mending the injuries. "Are you going to participate in the Hunting Festival?" he asked casually.
"Of course! Catching a four-horned goat means you have to participate. Not only that—I want to win! I'm aiming for the championship," Tialfi said with fiery determination.
Rowe gave a small chuckle. "I should probably tell you—this year's Hunting Festival has some fierce competition. Both Princess Hela and Princess Skadi are participating. Their hunting teams will be stacked with the best. You may be in for some disappointment."
"What?" Tialfi was stunned. "How do you know that?"
"I heard it from a reliable source," Rowe replied. "Apparently, this year's event is essentially a showdown between the two princesses."
Tialfi stared blankly for a long time, his shoulders slowly sagging. "No way… I waited one hundred and eighty years. One hundred and eighty years! And the Hunting Festival I've waited for ends up like this—stacked against me?"
Rowe offered a light-hearted grin. "Hey, it's not impossible. Maybe you'll stumble upon three young dragons who lost their parents during the hunt."
He added with a wink, "And if that happens, don't forget to send one my way."
"All three will be yours," Tialfi replied with a dry laugh.
"Actually," Rowe said, "you might consider joining Princess Hela's hunting group. If she wins first place, the whole group is honored."
"Why Hela's group?" Tialfi asked, confused. "From what I've heard, Princess Skadi's group is stronger."
Rowe smirked. "Because I'm in Hela's group. If you go with Skadi, we'll be rivals."
Tialfi blinked. "You? When did you catch a four-horned goat?"
Rowe cleared his throat and coughed. "I didn't. I was personally recommended by Princess Hela."
Tialfi's jaw dropped. "Why?"
"Maybe because I'm too good-looking to ignore. It's a burden, really." Rowe sighed theatrically.
Tialfi stared at him, dumbfounded.
"Alright, alright," Rowe said, waving a hand. "Truth is, I performed pretty well in Jotunheim. Princess Hela thought I could contribute, so she personally brought me in."
He gave a playful shrug. "Of course, the handsomeness didn't hurt."
"So, what do you think? Want to join us?" he asked.
Tialfi fell silent. His fists clenched after a long pause. "No… I waited one hundred and eighty years. Do you have any idea what I went through during that time?"
He exhaled slowly. "I have to enter this Hunting Festival on my own terms—even if my chances of winning are slim."
Seeing his resolve, Rowe didn't press further. He nodded solemnly. "Alright. Then I hope you do encounter those three young dragons."
With Tialfi's wounds healed, the two returned to Landvety Town, dragging the body of the four-horned goat with them. As they walked, they became the center of attention.
"Tialfi caught the four-horned goat!" people exclaimed repeatedly, their voices echoing throughout the streets.
Rowe eventually returned home. After some rest, he opened the Holy Deed and examined its content.
[Alchemy Recipe: Agility Potion]
[Standard Item Level: Level 4]
[Main Ingredients: Golden Thorn Grass, Sun Grass]
This recipe had been a reward from defeating Lord Skrins—a Level 4 alchemical formula, and a valuable one at that.
There was a subtle yet significant difference between a Swiftness Potion and an Agility Potion. While the former enhanced running speed, the latter sharpened one's reaction time.
Running speed could improve with training, discipline, and time. But reaction speed? That was largely innate, determined by natural talent. Training offered only marginal gains in that domain.
In the chaos of close-quarter combat, reaction speed often meant the difference between life and death. A boost in that aspect meant a true boost in combat effectiveness.
For the next several days, Rowe immersed himself in studying the formula, searching for potential substitutes.
Golden Thorn Grass was easy—he had already planted some in his medicinal garden during earlier experiments with the talent potion. They were thriving.
But Sun Grass… was elusive.
Days passed, filled with unsuccessful attempts to find a substitute. He experimented with dozens of herbs, carefully analyzing each one, hoping to find even a viable alternative.
That evening, Rowe held yet another herb, placing it onto the Holy Deed for identification.
[22% substitute for Sun Grass]
Still not good enough.
A 22% substitution rate was barely worth considering. Even if he brewed the potion, the final result would likely be unstable and ineffective.
It was now clear—none of the herbs in Rowe's possession could replace Sun Grass.
He sighed, rubbing his forehead. It would take more time.
---
Years Later
One crisp morning, Rowe stood before a mirror, rubbing a snow-white, viscous fluid between his palms before applying it to his face like a modern cleanser.
It was a multipurpose alchemical potion he'd acquired from Shengqi—ideal for bathing, washing hair, hands, or face. Simple, efficient, and refreshing.
He loved it. Sadly, despite its practicality, it was too expensive. Even in affluent Asgard, it hadn't caught on. The average Asgardian found it costly, and other intelligent species felt the same.
Finishing his wash, Rowe grabbed the Fist of Verrigan, opened the Sanctuary, and stepped into the experience realm—Hogg's battleground.
Over the years, he had long surpassed Hogg in skill. But Hogg remained a challenging opponent. Rowe had intentionally lost for years just to keep training against him and push his limits further.
Now, with the Asgard Hunting Festival about to begin, Rowe felt it was time to put an end to this chapter—to say farewell to Hogg.
The experience realm manifested Elwynn Forest and Hogg's familiar hilltop.
Five gnolls stood in a row. Their eyes snapped to Rowe simultaneously.
To a layman, all five gnolls looked alike. But after so many encounters, Rowe could identify Hogg through subtle cues—posture, breathing, weapon grip.
"Ahhhh… fresh meat!" one gnoll howled and charged.
Just a grunt. Rowe didn't flinch.
He raised the Fist of Verrigan, meeting the attacker mid-strike. One crushing blow ended the gnoll instantly.
Hogg approached in the distance, and Rowe's senses sharpened.
Another gnoll leaped in, swinging a crude hatchet with a wild roar. "Go to hell!"
Rowe sidestepped smoothly, his hammer swinging up to intercept the hatchet.
Clang! The weapon flew from the gnoll's hand.
Rowe followed through with a clean blow, caving in the creature's skull.
Then—Hogg lunged in.
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