Chapter 61: The Life of a Salted Fish Wizard in Asgard (4)
Everyone engaged in a heated discussion about how to get Thor, who was in their hands, to the infirmary. Finally, a drunkard who liked to drink beer like water during training stepped forward.
After two full barrels of beer were poured over him, Thor, who had been knocked out by his own hammer, finally regained consciousness. If Thor hadn't woken up, someone would have gone to find Odin, as only Thor and Odin could lift the Meow-Meow Hammer.
Seeing Thor regain consciousness, everyone began to help him "pull" the hammer from his face. There were those who lifted his wrist, those who lifted his arm, and even those who helped Thor grip the hammer tightly.
In short, with everyone's chaotic efforts, the Meow-Meow Hammer finally left its Master's face, and everyone saw Thor's mangled face beneath the Meow-Meow Hammer.
They casually tossed the Meow-Meow Hammer into Sherlock's, not worrying about it being lost since no one else could pick it up anyway.
They found two long spears and armor to make a makeshift stretcher, threw the already mangled Thor onto it, and then everyone frantically ran towards the infirmary.
The entire Sherlock's went from bustling with noise to completely empty in less than half an hour. The empty Sherlock's was left with only the Meow-Meow Hammer, abandoned there alone.
One could say it was a truly miserable hammer.
While Thor was being rushed to the hospital, Sherlock on the other side wasn't feeling much better. He forced himself back to his room, and the moment the guest room door closed,
Sherlock's triumphant smile instantly vanished without a trace, as if he had changed his face. He turned deathly pale in an instant, even his forehead was covered in sweat, and his whole body felt like noodles.
For a moment, Sherlock felt his knees go weak, and he dropped to his knees with a thud. Then he felt as if all his strength had been suddenly drained from him, and his upper body collapsed to the ground as if it had no bones.
The final result was Sherlock lying on the ground in his room in an extremely bizarre, butt-up posture.
Honestly, if Sherlock's face wasn't deathly pale, and his back wasn't drenched in sweat, people might actually think Sherlock had some inexplicable hobbies.
As for why Sherlock was like this, the reason was simple: he had overdone his show-off, his mana bar was empty. It was purely comical for a fun-loving person to try and imitate a Dragon-Blooded Heavenly Being.
When Sherlock arrived in Asgard and saw Thor, he knew one thing: this guy would definitely want to spar with him after finding out about his mage identity.
Therefore, when Sherlock saw the Sequence Magic in the library, besides secretly thinking of Odin as a being full of mischievous humor, he felt more of a pleasant surprise.
Upon seeing this magic, a complete tactical system based on his firearms formed in Sherlock's mind, as strictly speaking, he wasn't truly a Kamar-Taj person.
After deciding to give Thor and the Asgardian a bit of "shock from Earth's muggle," Sherlock began to relentlessly squeeze his rest time with magic potions, memorizing both sets of magic.
But during those three days of experimentation, Sherlock understood what it meant for ideals to be full, but reality to be lean.
The magic consumption of this Sequence Magic was directly proportional to its power. Not only that, but it was also directly proportional to the mass of the projectile.
In other words, for a single shot, the greater the power, the more magic consumed; the more projectiles fired, the more magic consumed; the heavier the projectile, the more magic consumed.
As long as there was sufficient magic, there was no problem in turning a 7.62mm bullet fired from an AK47 into an armor-piercing or high-explosive round fired from a tank.
It was even possible for bullets to become nuclear bombs, provided the magic sequence was optimized.
After discovering this characteristic, Sherlock's mind began to plan tactics against Thor. Sherlock even gave it a nice name: Saturated Firepower Tactic.
And during those three days, he trained during the day and hid in the guest room at night to modify the Gatling gun he had chosen. After all, Sherlock couldn't sustain the original caliber of the Gatling for too long, and Sherlock didn't want Thor to actually be crippled by his Great Mercy Gatling.
This is how that .22 caliber bird-shooting Gatling came into being.
During the battle, the reason Sherlock conjured so many "Shadow clones" was not only to confuse Thor and prevent him from finding his true body, but also to enhance the visual effect, so that the other warriors wouldn't come looking for trouble after this battle.
Everything went according to Sherlock's plan, except for one thing Sherlock hadn't anticipated: the final acceleration of Thor's Meow-Meow Hammer.
For that, Sherlock used a penetration spell. To give an imperfect example, it's like making a 7.62mm bullet from an AK47, with the enhancement of magic, achieve the power of a 12.7mm anti-material sniper rifle. This was Sherlock's current limit.
But clearly, Sherlock overlooked one thing: the unique characteristic of the Meow-Meow Hammer. One must know that in theory, that thing is the core of a Planet, so its weight is evident.
Therefore, Sherlock's mana bar had already been depleted by more than half due to the Gatling's suppressive fire. When accelerating the Meow-Meow Hammer, Sherlock directly demonstrated a 'mana bar vanishing act'.
Sherlock couldn't even maintain the spell, and the magical knight covering the Meow-Meow Hammer was only halfway complete.
Fortunately, even that half-finished magic was enough to make Thor miscalculate the Meow-Meow Hammer's landing point, resulting in the battle ending with the Meow-Meow Hammer hitting his face after leaving his hand.
Seeing Thor fall, Sherlock almost forced himself to complete his final act of showing off, behaving like a normal person all the way until he returned to his room, where he finally collapsed to the ground.
After lying on the ground for a while, Sherlock slowly felt some strength returning, like a boneless maggot slowly wriggling on the ground.
With great difficulty, he corrected that extremely embarrassing posture to a flat-lying position on the ground. Fortunately, the guest room floor was covered in soft carpets, so Sherlock didn't feel cold or anything.
"I'm never showing off again."
After a simple sigh, Sherlock fell into a dazed sleep.