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*****
Thor's spirits rallied almost instantly. Before the fires of war were fully extinguished, he had no intention of giving up; even if he couldn't win their bet, he didn't want the defeat to be a total humiliation.
Feny, meanwhile, was secretly basking in the praise being heaped upon him. However, realizing it wouldn't be proper to show his delight too overtly, he simply maintained a modest, serene smile.
"Mr. Halsey, why are you here?"
Around the campfire, in addition to Thor and the Warriors Three, were several squad leaders of the Asgardian army. They were genuinely surprised by Feny's presence, and one of the bolder ones couldn't resist asking the question directly.
At the question, a flicker of worry crossed Thor's face. So much time had passed that his father had undoubtedly discovered he had whisked Feny away; he still hadn't figured out how he was going to explain that one when they returned.
"We all belong to the Nine Realms. Is it not only right that we help one another?"
Feny offered a high-minded excuse without a second thought. Looking at the grateful expressions of the nearby Vanir, he marveled at how much better he was getting at playing the part of a saint.
The soldiers were moved by his words. Seeing how approachable Feny was, they began to pepper him with more questions. Feny answered them candidly—provided the answers didn't touch on personal secrets or classified information—and quickly won the favor of the Asgardian ranks.
As the night deepened, the group prepared for rest. Having chosen not to use "Bullet Four," Feny hadn't fully recovered from his weakened state and felt a heavy wave of fatigue.
In a tent the Vanir had meticulously prepared for him, Feny lay on his bed reflecting on the day's events.
While the experience points per enemy were lower than expected, the total gain for the day was still significant—it had filled a full fifth of his experience bar. At this rate, even if the system penalized mass-farming, he only needed four more battles of this scale to earn his ninth skill draw.
However, he knew that an opportunity like today's was rare. After this battle, intel on his capabilities would likely spread. It would be difficult to find an enemy army so conveniently clustered together to absorb the full impact of an Explosion spell again.
Feny let out a sigh, hoping the news would travel slowly. He still wanted a chance to test whether the system's logic truly restricted mass-kills or if there were other rules at play.
Over the following days, Feny and Thor traveled to various locations under Heimdall's guidance. However, none of the skirmishes matched the scale of the battle at Tamir.
The enemy seemed to have caught wind of their arrival; whenever the duo appeared, the rebels would immediately scatter and retreat, denying Feny any chance to test the system's limits.
Most frustrating of all, a title for him had begun to spread, but it wasn't the "Archmage" or "Explosion Master" he had hoped for.
Instead...
"Run! The White Butcher is here!"
"It's him! Fall back, fall back!"
"The White Butcher! Retreat!"
Hearing the screams of "White Butcher" echoing across the fields made Feny's teeth itch with irritation. Why was it so difficult to get a cool-sounding nickname? No wonder Tony Stark felt the need to announce his own!
Feny sighed deeply, the crimson eyes of his visor locking onto the rebels who were shouting the name the loudest. He lunged toward them in a silver blur.
With the arrival of the two powerhouses, the enemy's morale shattered instantly. The skirmish was over in minutes, but Feny lingered to "educate" a few aliens who had used the wrong title.
"The white what?"
Feny asked, delivering a stern lesson to a horned, minotaur-like alien. The more he thought about the ugly nickname, the angrier he got—he had specifically announced his profession during his incantations!
"The White Butcher! The White Butcher!"
Unaware of the offense, the alien screamed in pain, answering the question as fast as his lungs would allow.
Seeing that the creature was being intentionally thick-headed, Feny grew even more annoyed and snapped off the alien's left horn. Amidst the resulting howl of agony, he asked again: "What kind of butcher?"
"The White Butcher! AHH! AHHH!"
And so, the right horn went too.
The minotaur's wails caused the other nearby captives to tremble uncontrollably.
"The white... what?!"
Feny continued his interrogation, but the minotaur had passed out from the pain and could no longer answer—nor did he have a third horn to lose.
Feny turned his gaze toward the others, who looked ready to burst into tears. Fortunately for them, Thor arrived at that moment.
Looking at the two horns in Feny's hand, Thor blinked in surprise. "Are you planning to take those back as trophies? They're a bit small, aren't they?"
"No. I just didn't like the look of them."
Feny tossed the horns aside and looked at Thor. "Where to next?"
"The Royal Palace of Vanaheim!"
Seeing Feny's surprised expression, Thor grinned. "The rebellion has been largely contained. King Njord wishes to express his gratitude and has invited us to the palace as guests!"
"Oh!"
Feny couldn't hide his curiosity.
After handing the prisoners over to the soldiers, Feny performed a quick cleanup and joined Thor to head toward the capital.
The party consisted only of a few Asgardian soldiers and Hogun. Hogun was included because he was a native of Vanaheim; otherwise, as Thor's subordinate, he—like Sif and the others—wouldn't typically have the standing to meet the King directly.
As for Feny, he was a distinguished guest of Asgard who had been personally received by Odin. Unless Njord wished to offend the All-Father, he was obligated to treat Feny with the same level of prestige.
The horses of Vanaheim were swift and possessed far more endurance than those of Earth. Within a single day, the group reached the palace.
The Royal Palace of Vanaheim was built atop a vast lake, surrounded by dense jungles and swirling mists. From the outside, it exuded an aura of natural mystery. Compared to the gilded splendor of Asgard's Golden City, Vanaheim's palace was markedly more rustic, composed largely of stone and ancient timber.
The structures were covered in intricate scripts and patterns. Feny could sense energy humming within the carvings, indicating they were functional arrays rather than mere decorations.
Feny took in the sights with interest. He wanted to pull out his phone for a photo but worried it might be seen as disrespectful, so he decided to wait and gauge the atmosphere first.
Thor seemed perfectly at ease, as this was likely far from his first visit. Given the long-standing ties between Vanaheim and Asgard, it made sense.
Perhaps due to their immense lifespans, Vanaheim, like Asgard, operated under an absolute monarchy. Njord was the King of the Vanir, known as the God of Summer and the Sea, and he was said to possess formidable power.
(End of Chapter)