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*****
With the reinforcement of the Golden Golem, even Feny's instant-cast Explosion magic possessed formidable power.
Thus, that faceless, nameless alien soldier of unknown origin—who had managed to fire only a single arrow—quietly concluded his life of villainy.
Having dealt with the threat, Feny began scanning the area for other enemies while keeping an eye on Thor's progress.
The battle had fully resumed. Although their arrival only added six people to the field, the tide shifted instantly, erasing the disadvantage the Vanir had been suffering under.
Thor swung his hammer with reckless abandon; almost no enemy could withstand a single strike from Mjolnir. Sif and the Warriors Three moved in concert around him, forming a tight unit that prevented the Prince from being swamped while intercepting any sneak attacks directed at his back.
Feny had to admit that in a chaotic battlefield like this, he lacked the seasoned experience of Thor and Sif—unless, of course, he was the only one on the field and everyone else was a target, as had been the case with the Chitauri.
Currently, however, the area was crowded with wounded Vanir civilians. He didn't dare use large-scale Explosion magic for fear of collateral damage. He was forced to hunt for individual targets and unleash point-blank blasts.
But as the skirmish continued, Feny noticed something peculiar: the enemies were starting to avoid him.
Some, upon catching his gaze, would immediately turn and bolt in the opposite direction. It was a bizarre sight that left him momentarily baffled.
What Feny didn't realize was that among these rebels, besides the native Vanir insurgents, there were many interstellar Marauders hired for the cause. These mercenaries were experts at pillaging, but they were also professionally dedicated to staying alive. They observed the battlefield with keen, cynical eyes.
They noticed that if you took a hit from Thor's hammer or Sif's sword, you might end up severely injured, but there was a decent chance you'd survive. However, if Feny locked onto you, not a single soul had lived to tell the tale.
Worse yet, Feny was meticulous. Even those attempting to play dead to escape notice found themselves on the receiving end of a "finishing move" when he circled back. To make matters even more terrifying for the mercenaries, Feny seemed entirely indifferent to attempts at surrender.
Marauders might be arrogant, but they were bullies at heart. Facing a ruthless character like Feny, their courage evaporated, and they chose flight over a certain, fiery death.
Feny didn't understand the psychology behind it, but he wasn't about to let his "experience babies" run away.
Thus, a strange scene unfolded: wherever Feny went, the enemy retreated in a frantic scramble, as if he were a walking plague.
"Don't run!"
Feny was fuming. He had been the first one attacked when he landed, yet now that he was ready for a proper fight, the opposition was being completely uncooperative. If this kept up, he was guaranteed to lose his bet with Thor.
Just then, the Bifrost beam roared to life again. Squads of gleaming, golden-armored soldiers stepped out of the light—Asgard's main army had arrived.
Feny grew anxious. His experience points were already running away, and now he had a literal army of "kill-stealers" to compete with.
The rebels, seeing the arrival of the Asgardian legions, realized the war was effectively over. A few who were currently being pursued by Feny saw the Asgardian soldiers as a lifeline rather than a threat. They threw down their weapons and sprinted toward the golden ranks, screaming at the top of their lungs:
"I surrender! I surrender! Take me prisoner!"
The newly arrived Asgardian soldiers, prepared for a bloody clash, stood frozen in confusion. They blinked at the sight of enemies desperately trying to get into their custody.
"Don't let them escape!"
Feny heard the shouts. While he felt nothing but contempt for their lack of spine, he deliberately shouted to the Asgardian troops: "Watch out! They're charging!"
The soldiers, already wary of the bizarre situation, leveled their spears at the approaching rebels.
"I'm surrendering! I really want to—"
The rebels didn't get to finish. Feny caught up to them in a flash. Crimson magic circles flared, and under the "purification" of his flames, the group concluded their sinful lives.
"Ah, it's Mr. Halsey!"
"Why is he here?"
"It really is him!"
Feny's signature Incursio armor and brilliant Explosion magic made him instantly recognizable to several of the soldiers, who looked on in surprise.
"Go help the survivors!" Feny commanded, ignoring their stares as he surveyed the village.
In any realm, strength commands respect. Even though Feny wasn't their superior, the soldiers obeyed instinctively, moving to provide aid to the wounded Vanir civilians.
Feny had managed to intercept the last few "surrenders," but he couldn't stop the inevitable. Within minutes, the remaining rebels across the village had laid down their arms, standing in a posture of complete non-resistance that made it impossible for Feny to continue attacking.
Watching the prisoners being shackled and led away to temporary holding cells, Feny could only stare wistfully. He secretly hoped one of them would try to make a break for it, giving him a valid reason to strike.
Unfortunately, whenever his crimson gaze fell upon the prisoners, they became as well-behaved as infants, showing zero intent to resist.
Just as Feny was wallowing in his disappointment, Thor found him.
"Heimdall says there are several other nearby settlements currently under attack," Thor said. "Sif, Fandral, and I are taking a detachment to provide support. Hogun and Volstagg will stay here to secure the area. What about you?"
"I'm coming too!" Feny replied without a second thought.
He had barely gained any experience in this last skirmish. The enemies were too weak, and half his time had been spent chasing people who refused to fight him.
Thor nodded, though his expression was slightly hesitant as he added, "Your chicken rolls have healing properties, right? Would you mind summoning some to help the wounded here?"
"No problem!"
Feny had expected a much more difficult request. It was just a few Violet Fry-Chicken Rolls. "Have your men find some containers. I'll start now."
"Good!"
Thor ordered his men to find several large, clean crates from the village. Then, under the astonished gazes of the soldiers and villagers, Feny began his performance.
It began to rain Violet Fry-Chicken Rolls from the sky.
In that moment, the skill evolved yet again. Crucially, this wasn't an evolution of the food's attributes, but a fundamental increase in the quantity produced—a doubling of the previous rate.
He had reached the terrifying output of six rolls per second.
To put that into perspective: that's 360 rolls a minute, 21,600 an hour, and in a full day...
518,400 rolls.
Feny, mid-summon, was startled by the sheer math of it. He realized that from this day forward, any fried chicken shop in any realm he visited could effectively declare bankruptcy.
(End of Chapter)