Chapter 800: Well, It Fits Perfectly
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 800: Well, It Fits Perfectly
The process began with preservation, using salt and the crushed juice of special blue berries found only in this region. Afterward, the hide was soaked in "black water"—a concoction of various medicinal herbs and poisonous plants. This was the softening stage. Once the leather became supple, it was treated with a special oil unique to the residents of the Demon Realm.
“We mix animal fat and brains, then add fruit peels and torreya seeds to mask the scent,” the villagers explained.
Naturally, the brains and fat of monsters and demonic beasts were the primary ingredients. Among them, the fat of a Giant Boar—a massive, porcine demonic beast—was considered the gold standard. However, such high-quality fat was rare, and it required at least ten years of aging to be refined into a usable state.
Led by Zoraslav, the village chief and lead craftsman, everyone had rolled up their sleeves to contribute. They had exhausted every rare medicine and ingredient the village possessed.
Yet, they hadn't simply thrown the materials together. They handled the leather with extreme delicacy, observing its reaction to every additive. Their craftsmanship, in a way, mirrored the rhythmic precision of Eitri’s hammer strikes. For a full fortnight, they labored over the hide before handing it off to four of the village’s most skilled seamstresses.
They wove, stitched, and shaped.
One of the women, who possessed a particularly sharp eye, visited Encrid frequently. Though generally reserved, she showed no hesitation when measuring Encrid’s physique, her hands moving over him with professional detachment.
Will.
The thought of Eitri kept surfacing in Encrid's mind. He was an artisan dedicated entirely to his craft, and this woman was no different. In truth, while nine out of ten residents of the Demon Realm were reasonably handy, she was exceptionally talented even among her peers. Her blue-stained fingertips verified his measurements with a mix of care and boldness, gauging how his muscles would expand in the heat of battle. Even if one wasn't a knight, a first-rate warrior’s muscles would swell during combat, and she acted as if she knew this instinctively.
“You have excellent skill,” Encrid noted.
“You flatter me,” she replied, though her eyes and hands never faltered.
Her mastery hadn't developed in a vacuum. After observing the villagers for a fortnight, certain truths became clear to Encrid. To survive here, they had to hunt, tan hides, craft leather, and farm.
Among those tasks, the leatherwork must have been the most vital.
More precisely, their tanning and leatherworking were likely their only goods with commercial value. That was why the quality of their own clothing was so high; to barter with visiting merchants, the quality had to be impeccable. Even if such visits were rare, the goods brought by those merchants were lifelines. No matter how self-sufficient they strove to be, they couldn't produce everything.
Thus, even in a society built on survival, some had dedicated themselves entirely to the craft. And among them, a few had become true masters.
Was it because of his recent trials? Or was his accumulated experience simply showing him the path? Whenever a battle ended, there was always a harvest—the reward of experience, engraved onto the body through reflection and training.
Here, Encrid’s perspective broadened. His concepts expanded. Perhaps it was because he had finally broken the habit of thinking he had to fight entirely on his own. In truth, the reason didn't matter. He simply let his thoughts flow.
In a broader sense, ‘combat’ isn't limited to the clashing of steel.
The residents of the Demon Realm fought every day just to exist. They stood against unreasonable violence, the extortion of the Demon Realm, and the constant threat of monsters. In the face of those shadows, they kept their heads low and struggled, doing whatever they could to endure.
What they obtained by risking their lives to survive on this land...
That was their leatherworking skill. That was why a faint trace of Will could be glimpsed even in an artisan. Encrid saw his past self in them. While their paths weren't identical, it reminded him of the days when he, too, had done nothing but struggle.
Because of those days, there was a now. Because of the past, there was a today. And only with today could one move toward tomorrow. It was a simple truth, but one worth reflecting on.
Eventually, the villagers finished tanning and crafting the Balrog hide Encrid had brought, transforming it into thin, form-fitting leather armor. It was pitch-black, but when it caught the light, a sleek, smooth luster revealed the unique nature of the material.
Zoraslav brought the item forward, wrapped tightly in cloth. With a soft rustle, the fabric fell away, revealing the armor.
“It’s ominous,” Sinar remarked, shaking her head slightly the moment she saw it. She was still recovering, barely able to walk.
Beside her, Rem—who had been suffering from nosebleeds every two days—furrowed his brow. “Is that thing even safe?”
At those words, Sachsen stepped forward. When it came to handling relics or enchanted objects, Sachsen was arguably superior to anyone else present.
“It’s bad,” Sachsen said, pressing his fingertips against the leather. His fingers were still broken, twisted during his desperate evasion of the Balrog’s wings.
“O Lord...” Audin reflexively channeled his Divine Power. A small orb of light swirled around him like a firefly. Since he was still too drained to draw upon his full power, this was the best he could manage. He was already exhausting himself daily performing divine healing on Encrid’s arms and the others.
Ragna merely stared blankly, his gaze asking why he should bother getting involved in something that didn't concern him. Besides, his attention was elsewhere.
The residents of the Demon Realm could only bow their heads in silence. They had watched dozens of their people stay up for a fortnight, pouring their hearts into this creation. Yet, the gift they brought was overflowing with an ominous aura—something even the creators hadn't anticipated.
After Sachsen, Rem placed his hand on the leather. Though his body was a wreck and his senses were dulled, analyzing the object wasn't difficult; it was a simple matter of scanning its energy using sorcery as a base. Even so, blood began to drip from his nose again.
Drip.
Wiping the blood with his sleeve, Rem muttered, “It’s filled with residual thoughts.”
Sachsen examined the armor once more, reaching a conclusion. “The residual thoughts left in the hide of the Balrog—the Demon of Struggle—will cause a psychological shift in whoever wears it. An uncontrollable urge to fight will boil up inside them.”
“We should purify it,” Audin suggested, stepping forward, but Sachsen shook his head.
“The residual thoughts themselves are what make this leather armor special.”
As he spoke, Sachsen drew a dagger and made a swift slash. With a fluid motion so fast the blade was a blur, he left a mark where the edge pressed against the armor. It was hard to believe such a strike came from someone with broken fingers.
“It won't just block ordinary steel; the impact won't even transmit to the wearer.” He demonstrated by placing his left palm inside the armor and running the blade over the exterior. “Again.”
Then, Sachsen infused his Will into the blade. The intangible power manifested over the edge. Whether he had always been capable of this or had reached this level during the recent crisis, he materialized his Will effortlessly. It made sense—if he couldn't do that, he never would have shattered the Balrog’s crystal, which had been protected by layers of iron armor made of Will.
He had likely even achieved Indules. His actions made the process clear.
The leather armor was based on the Balrog’s essence. Calling it sturdy was an understatement; it was incredibly tough, yet not stiff. To the touch, it was soft and elastic.
Though Sachsen felt dizzy from the strain of forcing his Will, he slashed the armor with the empowered blade.
Screeech!
“It cannot be cut by ordinary swordplay,” he said, holding the armor out. Even against a blade of Will, the leather hadn't been sliced open; it only showed a deeper indentation than before. “Hey, directionally challenged. Try cutting it.”
He tossed the armor into the air. Though Ragna wasn't fully recovered, he should have been able to manage a single slash.
Thud.
However, the armor simply fell limply to the ground.
“Are you ordering me around?” Ragna asked nonchalantly. He hadn't even lifted a finger from his seat.
Ah, right. He’s not the type to listen just because someone tells him to.
Sachsen casually picked up the armor, dusted it off, and said, “Even if it gets cut, it will regenerate. That’s typical for relics of this nature.”
Encrid’s gaze shifted to Ragna.
“Fine,” Ragna sighed, standing up.
Sachsen tossed the armor once more, and Sunrise was drawn.
Ting!
The sword born in the east, the blade that ruled half the world and consumed the darkness, flashed out. A streak of blazing heat slashed the armor before the sword returned to its sheath. It was an astonishing display of speed. Even a master knight would have nodded in approval. It felt like a direct response to Sachsen’s earlier display of dagger work.
Not that anyone actually praised him, of course.
“You’re taking this way too seriously, you bastard,” Rem grumbled.
A red line of heat appeared across the middle of the armor. It had indeed been cut. But just as Sachsen predicted, the leather began to squirm and knit back together as if it were alive. The process was clearly visible. Ragna, being no fool, had only sliced the surface.
“If I had gone all out, I would have cut it in half,” Ragna added, responding to Rem.
In truth, Ragna had gained a great deal from the battle with the Balrog. He wanted to swing his sword and train this very moment. He was only holding back because overexerting himself now would prolong his recovery. Moreover, even their leader, Encrid, was currently lying low. Watching the training-obsessed lunatic refrain from even his morning warm-ups was an exemplary sight. It was as if Encrid were preaching the importance of rest without saying a word.
Seeing him rest was a hundred times more effective than a lecture.
Of course, Encrid was merely surprised that Ragna had developed a desire to train at all. He wondered if Ragna was mistakenly thinking he had a terminal illness again, but the lazy man’s lover was the best healer in the Border Guard. He wouldn't repeat that mistake.
“The question is, how much will it affect the wearer?” Sinar concluded.
There was no need to further prove it was an incredible item, but it was undoubtedly a cursed object. Calling it demonic armor would not be an exaggeration.
“It seems we did something unnecessary,” Zoraslav said, reading the room. He didn't understand half of their technical talk, but he could see the concern. Though they had poured their skill into it, it had become a piece of demonic equipment—one that would exhaust its master’s mind.
In truth, it wasn't the villagers' fault. They had simply showcased their craftsmanship to the fullest.
“I, for one, am grateful,” Encrid said, and he meant it. Even at a glance, it was no ordinary item. The unique material of the Balrog hide had been infused with the lives of those who survived in the Demon Realm.
“I’ll try it on.”
Roman, looking more determined than ever, stepped forward. Before anyone could stop him—though no one really tried—he picked up the armor and slipped it on. Even if he went mad, they could subdue him.
The armor was elastic and soft, making it easy to wear. Since it was a single piece without fasteners, Roman simply pulled it over his head.
“Hmm. It’s not bad.”
As Roman spoke, his hand naturally drifted to the grip of his greatsword. Despite his calm tone, the veins in his forearms bulged. Just before the sword could be drawn, Encrid raised his foot and pressed the sole of his boot down on the greatsword’s pommel.
“Ugh!”
Roman exerted his strength, but it was futile. He immediately swung his opposite fist, striking Encrid’s calf.
Thwack!
The sound was heavy, but the foot resting on the sword didn't budge. Although Audin and Teresa had been treating Encrid's arms, they weren't healed yet. That was why he used his foot.
Extinguishing the Embers.
He was demonstrating the basics of the technique he had refined while fighting the Balrog. Contrary to Roman’s claim of being fine, Encrid had sensed the shift in his momentum and cut off the attack before it could even begin.
“Oh,” Rem whispered in admiration.
Ragna’s eyes widened slightly. Sachsen twitched his fingers, looking intrigued. “So that’s what it is.”
The one most impressed was Luagarne. Although her limbs were still recovering, she had regained enough strength to walk. She recognized the subtle brilliance of Encrid’s movement. She, too, had gained much from the previous battle, and with Frok’s keen eye, she was able to appreciate the skill on display.
“Raaagh!”
Soon after, Roman began to drool and lash out, but Ropode, Pel, and Teresa quickly subdued him and stripped the armor off.
“Whew, whew... Why did I...?” Roman gasped, coming to his senses.
“Emotional control is key,” Sachsen noted. “Someone at the level of a knight might endure it, but putting it on and taking it off at will would be difficult. The more a person covets, the harder it will be to resist.”
Having witnessed Roman’s frenzy, Zoraslav bowed his head even lower. He hadn't expected this.
Encrid picked up the armor.
“If you can’t control it, take it off immediately,” Sachsen warned.
Encrid slipped into the armor. It slid on smoothly, clinging perfectly to his body. It had been tailored to his physique from the start. While it had looked like Roman was squeezing into a child’s shirt, it fit Encrid like a second skin.
Clinging over his thin undergarments, the armor suited him perfectly. It looked less like gear and more like a battlefield tailcoat. On Encrid, it matched the color and texture of his hair, its subtle velvet-like luster casting aside any sense of ordinariness.
“Hmm.”
Encrid stood there silently. Everyone else had quietly placed their hands on their weapons. If this had been back in their Troublemaker Squad days, someone would have just beaten him back to his senses. But things were different now. Unless they intended to sever a limb, they would all have to gang up on him to subdue him.
While a heavy tension hung in the air, Encrid himself couldn't feel even a trace of the armor’s residual thoughts. Why? No one knew.
“Well, look at that,” Rem said, breaking the silence. “It fits perfectly.”