At the same time, a golden arrow appeared on the Sacrament of Kings, hovering over the appraisal book and pointing in a particular direction. The arrow shifted slightly from time to time, as if tracking something.
Rowe was momentarily stunned but quickly realized what was happening—some of the gold coins in the pile were stolen.
The Holy Light had the power to perceive and punish sin, making it natural that it could reveal the origins of these ill-gotten gains.
"A random Level 1 to 3 reward," Rowe murmured, glancing at the text on the Sacrament of Kings. That wasn't bad at all—after all, even the Fist of Verrigan was only Level 4.
There was also a penalty for ignoring the mission—minus ten points of piety. That was equivalent to ten large gold coins, a loss of several hundred thousand Midgardian yuan.
It seemed he had no choice.
For the sake of justice…
Rowe hesitated for a moment before using the Sacrament of Kings to inspect the gold coins, identifying one that was stolen.
He placed the stolen coin onto the book's surface. The golden arrow sharpened in clarity, its direction growing more precise—it was pointing toward the thief's location.
Finding the culprit didn't seem difficult. The real question was: what to do after catching them?
Hand them over to the sheriff? That might make it difficult to obtain a Book of Apology directly from the thief.
Beat them until they apologized on the spot?
Rowe glanced down at his own body.
…Not ideal.
His expression flickered with indecision before he finally made up his mind—he would try to resolve things peacefully. If that failed, he'd resort to the sheriff and convince the victim to write him a Letter of Thanks.
Just in case, he grabbed a wooden staff before heading out.
This wasn't just any wooden stick—it was crafted from a rare hardwood from Vanaheim, denser and tougher than most metals found on Earth. In Asgard, it was commonly used for everyday combat, sturdy enough to double as a weapon.
Holding the Sacrament of Kings in one hand and the Vanaheim staff in the other, Rowe strode forward with determination, looking somewhat like a true Paladin.
"Rowe, where are you going?"
His aunt had just returned from the herbal garden and frowned slightly at the sight of him. Her voice carried a hint of concern, as if questioning his mental state.
"…Nothing."
Embarrassed, Rowe quickly shut the Sacrament of Kings and slipped out the door.
---
After a short walk, he reached a quiet street corner. The golden arrow on the appraisal book pulsed more intensely, confirming that the thief was close.
The area wasn't crowded, making it easier to track his target.
Rowe spotted the suspect—a young-looking man dressed in an outfit identical to the ones sold at Taylor's Tailor. His exact age was uncertain, as Asgardians aged differently—it could be anywhere between thirty and three thousand years.
The man had short blond hair, a lean frame, and a cautious demeanor.
Rowe let out a quiet sigh of relief. Judging by his size, the thief wasn't a towering brute like Skorch.
It made sense—a musclebound warrior wasn't likely to resort to petty theft. A thief clad in plate armor would be an absurd sight.
This might be manageable. Rowe had the advantage of strategy and the power of the Holy Light. Since the man had committed a crime, the divine energy should be particularly effective against him.
Just as he was pondering his approach, he suddenly felt a jolt of unease.
Something was wrong.
He had been following the thief for some time now… and without realizing it, he had wandered into a secluded alley.
Before he could react, the thief suddenly spun around and lunged at him!
Rowe barely dodged in time, gripping his wooden staff tightly and swinging it toward the attacker's kidney.
But the thief wasn't a brute like Skorch—he was quick and nimble. He sidestepped the attack with ease.
In a blur, the thief formed his fingers into a knife-like strike and slashed at Rowe's right hand.
Pain flared across the back of his hand, and his grip faltered—the wooden staff tumbled to the ground.
"Hmph." The thief smirked in disdain before throwing a punch straight for Rowe's face.
If that hit landed, Rowe would be out of the fight instantly.
Gritting his teeth, he clenched his fists and summoned the power of the Sacrament of Kings.
Holy Light Strike!
Apologize to me!
A golden glow flared to life around Rowe's fist, radiating like a miniature sun.
The thief's eyes widened in shock.
The next moment, their fists collided—golden energy erupted upon impact.
"AHH!"
The thief screamed in agony as the Holy Light surged through his body, overwhelming him with divine retribution. He fell to his knees, clutching his injured hand in pain.
Rowe didn't waste the opportunity—he swiftly landed a flurry of punches and kicks, incapacitating the man completely. The thief collapsed onto the ground, groaning in defeat.
"Talk," Rowe ordered. "You know why you're in this mess. Tell me—what have you done?"
The thief gasped for breath, his expression shifting between resentment and regret. Finally, he admitted, "I… I stole Gena's money."
As expected.
Rowe nodded. "Hand it over."
Reluctantly, the thief sat up and scowled. "How do you even know it was me? Even Gena wouldn't have figured it out yet."
"Less talking, more cooperating." Rowe pulled out a piece of parchment and a quill. "And you need to write a letter of apology—acknowledge your crime and repent for your sins."
The thief's face paled. "You're turning me in to the sheriff?"
Asgard had a low crime rate due to its strict social order. Getting caught as a thief wasn't just humiliating—it could make life in Asgard nearly impossible. The moment the news spread, his reputation would be permanently destroyed.
Panicked, he stammered, "Please don't report me! I'll return the money—I'll even give back double!"
Rowe hesitated for a brief moment but quickly shook his head. "You should've considered the consequences before stealing."
"Please…" The thief's voice trembled.
After a long pause, Rowe sighed. "Fine. I won't turn you in, and you don't need to return double. But the letter of apology stays—you'll write it for the sheriff."
The thief exhaled sharply, visibly relieved. "Thank you… you're a good person."
He took the parchment and quill and began writing.
The Book of Apology required a formal structure—one had to state their identity, confess their crime, and express genuine repentance before the Holy Light.
As the thief wrote, Rowe noticed his name—Arlin.
Midway through, Arlin hesitated. "What exactly is 'Holy Light'?"
"My belief," Rowe answered simply. "You can think of it as the embodiment of justice, fairness, and kindness."
Arlin was silent for a while before murmuring, "I… once wanted to be someone like you."
His voice carried an unmistakable sadness.
Without saying another word, he handed over the apology letter and the stolen purse before disappearing into the night.
Rowe remained still, staring at the items in his hands.
With a sigh, he placed the Book of Apology onto the Sacrament of Kings. A golden glow enveloped the text, and a message appeared—words only he could see:
[You have fulfilled your duty as a Paladin. The Holy Light is proud of you.]