Fortunately, it wasn't someone attacking him—rather, a fierce battle had broken out nearby.
Seeing that it had nothing to do with him, Rowe was about to slip away cautiously when, to his surprise, he caught a familiar word amid the shouts and clashing weapons—it was Warner, the language of the Vanir Protoss.
Warner was essentially a dialect of Asgardian. The differences between the two were minor, akin to different accents or regional variants of the same tongue.
Are there Vanir here?
Rowe hesitated for a moment before deciding to stealthily investigate the situation.
The battlefield wasn't far. He arrived swiftly and took cover behind a large tree, carefully observing the clash.
On one side stood a young Vanir warrior with long black hair and a thick beard, wielding a chain hammer with graceful ferocity. He fought fiercely, his hammer swinging like a tempest.
However, the Vanir youth was clearly outnumbered and rapidly growing exhausted. His opponents were four stone-skinned warriors—Kronans, formidable beings known for their strength and resilience.
Spotting an opening, the Vanir youth swung his chain hammer with explosive force, aiming directly for a Kronan's head.
The Kronan noticed too late. He dodged just enough to save his life, but the hammer crashed into his shoulder.
Bang—Crash!
The impact shattered the Kronan's entire arm. The stone limb fell to the ground in pieces, and the creature let out a thunderous howl of pain as he staggered back.
Though the Vanir failed to kill him outright, his expression twisted with frustration. His momentary distraction exposed his back, and another Kronan seized the opportunity, smashing him with a massive wooden club. The Vanir stumbled violently, nearly collapsing.
"Die, Vanir scum!" roared the injured Kronan, his voice hoarse with rage. "I'll mount your head on a branch!"
He charged back into the fray with his companions, determined to finish the Vanir.
Now overwhelmed, the young Vanir grew more and more desperate. Blood streaked his arms, his breath came in gasps, and his movements slowed under the relentless assault. Death seemed imminent.
Rowe made a quick decision—he had to intervene.
Judgment!
He raised his staff and released an Arrow of Judgment. The glowing projectile zipped through the trees and struck the back of one Kronan squarely.
Crack!
The magical arrow pierced a vital point. The Kronan's eyes widened in terror before he dropped to his knees. His stony body crumbled into rubble.
The sudden death of their comrade shocked the remaining three Kronans.
"Who dares?!" one shouted in alarm.
Rowe's eyes narrowed. Without speaking, he waved his staff again, this time summoning a rock puppet from a nearby boulder. The animated construct bore a strong resemblance to the Kronans themselves.
As the puppet charged into the clearing, the Kronans blinked in confusion.
"Wait, is that one of ours?" asked a baffled Kronan, staring at the puppet.
The puppet didn't respond. It barreled forward and launched a powerful strike.
"Hey—what are you doing?!" the Kronan exclaimed, too late.
A flying stone from the puppet struck another Kronan, knocking him to the ground.
"We've got a traitor!" shouted one of the surviving Kronans, panic creeping into his voice.
The distraction gave the Vanir youth just enough time. Gritting his teeth, he channeled all his remaining strength and launched a brutal barrage with his chain hammer. The wounded Kronan fell under the assault, crushed into lifeless stone.
Now two Kronans down, the last pair were visibly shaken. Fear overtook their fury, and they turned tail, fleeing into the forest.
Panting, the Vanir warrior collapsed onto the ground, exhausted. He glanced up at the rock puppet with visible confusion.
"This… what is this?" he muttered.
"My puppet," said Rowe, stepping out from behind the tree, staff in hand.
The Vanir warrior blinked in surprise. "You're from Asgard?"
Asgardians and the Vanir shared deep ancestral ties, and it wasn't unusual for one to appear in the realm of the other. The warrior quickly composed himself.
"Thank you for saving me," he said.
He introduced himself: "Maclean, a hunter by trade."
Rowe's eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "Hunting black lion beasts?"
Maclean nodded. "Yes. The Hunting Festival is coming up, but I haven't managed to track one yet."
The Vanir participated in the Hunting Festival as well, but unlike Asgardians who hunted four-horned goats, Vanir needed to capture a fierce native beast called the Black Lion Beast to qualify.
Rowe nodded. "We should leave. More Kronans could be nearby."
"You're right," Maclean agreed. "The Forest of Joy is infested with Kronans. Let's go."
Together, the pair departed, with the rock puppet trotting along behind Rowe.
Maclean glanced at the puppet repeatedly. "It really does look like a Kronan. No wonder that guy mistook it for one of his own."
They walked for several miles, eventually stopping to rest. As they sat, Rowe turned to him.
"Maclean, I've heard of a place called Thunder Valley in Warnerheim. Have you ever been there?"
"Of course," Maclean said with a chuckle. "You'll need a swamp monster to get there. Thunder Valley is only two days away—been there centuries ago. Thinking of visiting it?"
"I am," Rowe replied. "I heard there's a magical plant there—the Thunderbolt Tree."
Maclean grimaced. "Trust me, you won't enjoy dealing with the Thunderbolt Tree. The valley is stunning, yes, but you're better off admiring it from a distance. Don't try picking Thunderbolt Fruits—they'll make you regret it."
Undeterred, Rowe asked, "If I wanted to go, which way would I take?"
Maclean pointed. "You need to go northeast through this forest. You'll come across a warehouse—Garkan Warehouse—they rent and sell swamp monsters there. With one of those, you can ride north straight to Thunder Valley in two days."
"Swamp monsters are necessary?" Rowe asked.
"They're fast, massive, and their presence keeps most beasts at bay," Maclean explained. "They'll make your journey easier and safer."
The next morning, they hunted and roasted a wild boar together. After the meal, they parted ways—Maclean returned to hunt the black lion beast, and Rowe headed northeast through the dense woodland.
After several days of trekking, Rowe finally emerged from the forest and spotted his destination—Garkan Warehouse.
ROAR—ROAR!
The warehouse was hard to miss. Even from afar, the thunderous bellows of swamp monsters echoed across the landscape. As he approached, massive green-skinned creatures came into view.
The swamp behemoths resembled gorillas in build, but were easily the largest terrestrial beasts in Warnerheim. Their size was staggering.
Rowe stared up at them in awe.
They remind me of the Hulk…
JOIN MY PATREON TO READ ADVANCE 45+ CHAPTERS
patreon.com/HACKDWORLD