With that mouthful of liquor down his throat, Brando felt as if his entire body had caught fire. When he stomped one foot onto the plaza with a boom, he looked like Hercules, the half-man, half-god hero of ancient Greece, and with a crack, he shattered half the plaza beneath him. Riding that force, he shot upward like a cannonball. Beneath his feet, the plaza rumbled and caved in five or six meters.
The Third Elder had been holding his jade sword and preparing to give chase, but when he saw the stone slabs blasted into the air by the collapsing plaza beneath Brando, his face turned pale with shock:
"What the hell is this?!"
Usually a rather refined man, he could not help blurting out a vicious curse. He then swung his sword around, clanging and banging as he knocked all the stone slabs away. After one round of swordplay, he found that even his hands were trembling slightly.
Looking over at the Seventh Elder, he saw that the man had already been buried beneath the rubble.
"Ah, damn it! Can someone tell me where the hell this bastard came from?!"
Brando was completely unaware of the Third Elder left behind him. He seriously explained that his mind had become a complete muddle. The golden liquor's aftereffects were terrifying, leaving him no time to react. What made him even more exasperated was that the Tirmosians seemed to take this sort of thing for granted and had not warned him beforehand.
Indeed, the golden liquid collected by the Valkyrie from wind and dew was fine liquor brewed for the heroic spirits of the brave. Since it was alcohol, how could it possibly have no side effects? Its side effect was obvious: drunkenness.
And this was the liquor of the gods.