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Book of Experience: Graf Swifttooth

Graf Swifttooth (Rare)

Experience Level: Level 3

A rare and peculiar experience book, quite memorable to Forseti.

If he recalled correctly, Graf Swifttooth was a gnoll in Elwynn Forest, likely related to Hogg, his younger brother.

Thinking of Hogg the Gnoll, a notorious figure among the Warcraft newcomers and a friend of the tribe, Forseti's expression grew complex.

Hogg, once a fearsome rookie killer in Warcraft, was celebrated for his countless kills. Forseti himself had been one of the 250,000 rookies claimed by Hogg.

Dealing with a Level 3 monster like Graf Swifttooth would prove challenging. Still reeling from the recent battle, Forseti lacked the energy and emotional fortitude to tackle it now.

Old doubts resurfaced.

Why did the Light Pointer react so strongly to Lord Skrins but not to other Skrinthians?

Were the other Skrinthians all innocent while their leaders committed atrocities?

Forseti reopened "The Paladin's Self-Cultivation (Volume 1)," seeking answers on punishing sin. Finally, one sentence clarified it.

**"Only intelligent beings possess the attribute of evil."**

Forseti realized.

Most Skrinthians were of low intelligence, akin to beasts, devoid of morality.

Skrins Lords, on the other hand, the intellectual apex of their kind, possessed the capacity for sin.

This revelation disappointed Forseti. He had hoped to rid Warnerheim of evil and profit handsomely. Now, he understood it wouldn't be so simple.

Despite Lord Skrins' vulnerability to Holy Light, his cautious nature and numerous underlings made solo assassination near impossible for Forseti's current abilities.

Still, it was better than Asgard, where capturing a thief took months, assuming any felons existed and Forseti had authority to act.

The Sword of Justice, however, proved remarkably effective—a perfect tool against evil.

Forseti resolved to save enough to learn its techniques after completing ten punitive missions.

...

The next day.

Post-battle cleanup proved most troublesome with the Skrinthian corpses.

Piles of decaying bodies emitted a foul stench, leaving soldiers wrinkling their brows in distaste.

Skrihthian blood seeped into the earth, its noxious odor contaminating the camp.

Though harmless to Protoss, the stench was intolerable.

To mitigate, medics brewed a potion to neutralize the foul smell.

Forseti stirred a cauldron containing the pale yellow liquid, made from common ingredients found in the nearby woods.

Though the process reeked, it beat the Skrinthian stench.

A soldier approached with a large bucket. "Is the potion ready?"

"Forseti nodded. "It's ready."

The soldier filled his bucket and sprinkled the potion across the contaminated grounds, where it hissed upon contact with Skrinthian blood, restoring normalcy.

By day's end, most of the camp returned to order, the stench dissipated.

Forseti sought out Sigurd after finishing his task. "How is Ander?"

"He's fine. Just left," Sigurd replied.

Injuries among Protoss soldiers, mainly ordinary trauma, healed swiftly given their robust constitution.

Excitedly, Sigurd continued, "You were amazing yesterday. Ander told me how you not only saved him but fought alongside, even killing a Skrins Lord!"

"The camp collectively dispatched three Skrins Lords, alongside Lord Heimdall and Captain Gus. You were exceptional."

Forseti smiled modestly. "It was fortunate. Skrins Lords aren't much tougher than regular Skrinthians."

"And your hammer—Villigan's Fist—what a sight when it glowed and burst into flames! Are you truly a healer?" Sigurd marveled aloud, miming a sledgehammer swing.

Forseti chuckled uneasily.

Ander entered, holding his helmet. "Forseti, thank you for saving me yesterday."

"You're welcome."

Ander gestured. "The commander requests your presence. Follow me."

Forseti hesitated, then nodded, following Ander to the camp's central conference hall, where Commander Heimdall and Medical Officer Scala awaited.

"Commander," Ander greeted.

Heimdall nodded, then addressed Forseti with a smile. "Forseti, in this recent skirmish, the camp managed to eliminate three Skrins Lords—an uncommon feat. You've earned recognition."

"It was luck," Forseti demurred.

Abruptly, a gravelly voice cut in. "Indeed, luck."

Forseti frowned, eyeing the heavily armored figure—a dwarf not much taller than a human, clad head to toe in armor that obscured much of his face.

Beside him lay a massive, round hammer, dwarfing Forseti's Villigan's Fist.

"Gus," Heimdall interjected tersely.

Gus said nothing.

Heimdall resumed, smile returning. "Forseti, Asgard rewards meritorious deeds. Killing a Skrins Lord entitles you to 100 runes or advancement in military rank."

"You're not enlisted, but should you decline the runes, I'm open to other requests. I'll do my utmost to accommodate you."

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