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M: TSIA Chapter 131: Elliot Randolph
🕑 Added 2025-04-01 13:17:43 +0000 UTCHowever, Lance quickly suppresses the urge using Qi. He regulates his breathing, allowing the energy within his body to balance the effects of the staff before his anger completely takes over.
The power of this Berserker Staff does not manipulate the mind directly, but the body. Its effects attack physiologically—heart rate spikes, adrenaline surges, and the genetic limits of the human body are opened, forcing its owner to reach maximum physical potential.
For an ordinary human, this effect could elevate them to the strength level of Captain America—a peak condition for humans on Earth. However, compared to other races in the universe, human physical limitations are very low. They do not possess the endurance of the Asgardians, who are born with strong bodies and rapid regeneration. If an Asgardian wields this staff, their power would increase exponentially.
But this is not an artifact made for humans. The side effects are so great that it not only provides temporary strength but also causes permanent damage to the body and mind of its owner. An Asgardian could withstand it, but an ordinary human? They would be destroyed in no time.
Lance examined the staff carefully. The rune carvings etched into its surface caught his attention. They were not just carvings, but symbols of ancient magic from Asgard.
"Asgard..." Lance murmured softly.
It must be acknowledged that the place was indeed blessed by nature. Not only was it inhabited by an extraordinarily powerful immortal race, but it also had the World Tree—a natural pool of magical energy that connected various dimensions.
With such a resource, the Asgardian wizards could draw energy directly from the World Tree, without having to deal with dimensional demons like the wizards from Kamar-Taj. But unfortunately, most Asgardians did not take advantage of this benefit. They preferred to rely on physical strength, like Thor, who often fought with his hammer rather than using magic.
However, all these advantages came at a price.
Asgard was not an eternal civilization. Their fate was tied to Ragnarok—a cycle of destruction that kept repeating. Every few thousand years, Asgard would be destroyed, only to rise again and repeat its tragic fate.
This was not just an event, but an unavoidable curse.
Even the All-Father Odin himself, no matter how powerful he was, had experienced death countless times. An existence that was continuously renewed, like a character in a game that is endlessly reset after being eliminated by other players.
Thor's birth was actually Odin's attempt to break the cycle of destruction that kept repeating.
Only Thor, the sole heir to the powers of Asgard and the strength of Earth—because Thor's biological mother was Gaea, the Earth Goddess—had a chance to fight against the fate that the World Tree had set for Asgard.
The World Tree, an entity whose existence was comparable to the Earth Goddess, was truly an extraordinary figure. It not only had the ability to regulate the balance of life but also seemed to toy with the Asgardian gods using threads of fate that they could not resist. Whether the World Tree did this intentionally or not remained a difficult mystery to answer.
However, for Lance, that was not particularly important at the moment. Ragnarok would come sooner or later, and when that time arrived, all Lance needed to do was prepare and gather some valuable artifacts.
Back to the present situation.
Lance twirled the half-broken staff in his hand, feeling the flow of Qi in his body rejecting the energy from the staff. That sensation reminded him of something—if the three parts of the staff had the effect of awakening rage, then it was actually unnecessary to gather them in their entirety.
It might be wiser to keep one part as a backup, while the other two could be utilized in other ways. They could be used as materials to refine magical instruments, or perhaps thrown into the Infinite Altar as a trade for something more valuable. That option sounded far more advantageous than simply reassembling the staff.
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In a remote place in Ireland, there is an old monastery built at the end of the Middle Ages. This monastery is located on the banks of the winding River Shannon, surrounded by breathtaking natural scenery. Its lush and peaceful environment perfectly blends with the tranquility enveloping the monastery, making it an ideal place for monks to lead a simple life and practice spirituality. Unlike churches that are generally used for public worship, this monastery serves as a refuge for those who choose to live in solitude, far from the bustle of the outside world.
An old man with disheveled hair and a large shoulder bag crosses a corridor adorned with beautiful Rococo ornaments, avoiding the monks who are busy with their routines.
“Tsk tsk, so much has changed here after all these years…” the man mutters as he walks slowly, his eyes glancing at every corner of the room with nostalgia. The decorations that once seemed foreign now feel familiar, bringing back almost forgotten memories of the past.
As the man dodges a few passing monks, his body moves nimbly through the long hall, finally entering the chapel located at the center of the monastery. The atmosphere inside the chapel is quiet and serene, as it is not a time for worship, and only silence hangs in the air.
The man gazes around with a meaningful look. His eyes stop on a large painting hanging across from the podium. It is a carefully painted depiction of the Holy Spirit, which is none other than an image of himself—the old man now standing there.
Recalling the past, the man lets out a heavy sigh. He, who once left the legion and hid on Earth, made this monastery his first sanctuary. Here, he concealed the first part of the "Berserker Staff," a highly dangerous and powerful staff. The monks in this monastery have diligently kept that secret for generations, and he trusted them deeply, for they are people who live with peace and profound devotion.
Elliot Randolph, the old man, steps toward the creaking wooden stairs and carefully climbs up to the attic. There, in a hidden corner, stands an ordinary-looking wooden cabinet. Without hesitation, Elliot Randolph tears the cabinet door apart, and inside, a silver-white metal rod glimmers faintly in the darkness, radiating an alluring light.
