This Church Needs a Champion (4)
The mirror reflected a pristine image, unmarred by any distortion. A knight stood there, clad in luxurious black plate armor accented with intricate gold filigree. Luxurious, yes—but not the ornate kind meant for show. The twisted horns curving from its surface and the spikes protruding from the gauntlets spoke of armor forged for battle. This black plate embodied refinement as a weapon, an imposing presence that instilled fear, and unyielding protection.
Imagining weapons atop that figure only amplified the effect. A charred greatsword on his back. Or the sinister horn dagger, crafted from the Bicorn's own horn, exuding an eerie aura. Or perhaps the ash-gray blade of Tuon, veiled in a blue sheen. No matter the armament, it screamed anything but "justice's ally."
He'd probably make a better first impression wandering in civilian clothes, armor discarded entirely.
Master. Sharp outfit.
Yeah. Total disaster. Anyone could see it: Dark Knight.
"Uh, Kriel?"
Morgina approached, uncharacteristically hesitant, clutching what looked like a black cloth.
"Um... this is the cloak we give our order's holy knights?"
Half-resigned already, he accepted it without protest.
Ah, the crow goddess, so her cloaks are black too!
The cloak's hem ended not in a neat line but in jagged, feather-like edges, wild and primal. Black armor, black cloak. Now every step would ripple with dramatic shadows.
Monsters passing by would bow in submission; city gates would see guards brace for a desperate last stand. He could pass for a mid-boss from the Abyss faction in Tirnanog RPG. The textbook image of a Dark Knight demonkin.
"...Can I return it?"
"Hold on. I didn't expect it to turn out this finished."
Morgina sounded flustered too. Hadn't she made it herself?
"Damn. Half-zoned out while crafting, and the design..."
He decided to ditch the armor for now. Perfectly balanced weight distribution made it feel light; the fit was impeccable. But...
Wise call, friend! Parading around the cathedral in that? Bad idea.
As Orishin said, getting spotted by some innocent worker in the Abyss-extermination business while suited up would spell doom.
Even Morgina couldn't muster anger at Orishin's snark this time. She just pinched her brow, head bowed.
As he unclasped the clanking plates, she began gathering the helmet and gauntlets.
"Hey. Try it on again."
"Was there a misalignment in the plate joints?"
"Nah. Just put it back on."
He complied. Morgina sighed, tapping each section lightly with her hands. A laying on of hands—not the priestly prayer over a devotee's head, but a blessing infused into the full armor set.
First, the helmet. She planted her feet wide, arm raised high, palm pressing the crown. Divine power surged, bringing a strange pressure.
Shoulders next. Oddly, the warmth of her hand seeped through the plate, lingering like afterglow even after she pulled away.
She continued: arms, chest, waist, thighs, down to the toes. Every inch of the black armor bore her touch.
"...Can't make anything better than this anyway. Eve Kaha, let's proceed!"
"Proceed with what?"
Morgina closed her eyes, clasping her hands prayer-style at her chest—thumbs crossed, backs forward, other fingers extended like wings.
In that instant, red light bloomed from the armor and cloak. When it faded, his body felt lighter. His vision sharpened too; the helmet's restricted field of view now spanned wide open.
The armor had vanished.
...No way. She prays like that and the goddess listens? What the hell?
Orishin's mutter went ignored as Morgina breezed past with a puzzled tilt of her head, circling behind him.
"Sit. Too tall; hard to fix the cloak."
He dragged over a nearby chair. Kneeling, she methodically straightened the hem, her fingertips brushing his back beneath the cloak. Not rough sweeps, but a refined grace—like the holy sign of the Eve Kaha order.
Standing, she adjusted the collar over his shoulders, all playfulness stripped away. This felt less like tidying and more like ritual.
"There, done!"
"What about the armor?"
"Stored in the cloak. Summon it when needed."
She explained it as a feature exclusive to champion armor: the Black Wing cloak, shaped like the crow goddess's wings, borrowed her shadow to house the plate.
"Just so you know, only order gear works. No universal storage. That's all it holds."
"Impressive. It actually works like that?"
"A champion's privilege, I guess. Wanna join up officially?"
He chuckled, shaking his head—then recalled the vanished armor's look.
"...But can't we tweak the design?"
Morgina averted her eyes.
"Morgina."
"Holy relic creation reflects the maker's image. I pictured what suited you best. Remake it a dozen times; it'll come out the same."
"Fair enough."
He accepted it quick. A priceless masterwork armor, free of charge—dwarf artisans charged fortunes for this quality. No tossing it over aesthetics.
"Thanks. I'll put it to good use."
"Huh? Oh, sure. No biggie. Saintesses outfit their appointed champions as procedure. Armor done; weapons next—but you've got that floating head."
Ooh, can I hop into that cloak's mystery subspace too?
"No. You're Abyss-tainted. Don't sully the goddess's wings."
Harsh!
As Morgina bantered lightly with Orishin, she tsked softly, remembering something.
"Gotta teach you the recall. Wearing the champion necklace, right?"
He lifted the crow pendant.
She smiled, pleased. Since she'd fastened the cloak, the necklace hummed with amplified divine power. No—not the necklace's; something more.
"Spot on. Access the subspace via the pendant. Focus on the item, channel fighting spirit—it'll emerge."
Testing, he targeted the right gauntlet, infusing fighting spirit. A red flash, and the obsidian gauntlet encased his hand.
"Cool as hell!"
Impossible not to gush. Looked just like transforming—straight out of Earth's TV hero shows.
Practicing partial summons, he finally called the full suit. Red light swirled through the room. Wrapped in the armor's reassuring weight, he spun once.
That's when the mirror's reflection met his eyes.
"......"
Kriel. Can I say one thing?
"No."
Honestly, didn't that look like an Abyss demon dropping its disguise?
He fell silent.
It's fine, Master. I think it's dashing.
Tuon's voice sealed the deal.
Morgina finally saw Kriel off. She'd love to join his quest to the Empire for Orishin's cure, but duty at the head temple bound her.
"So, Grandmother. Why'd you summon me?"
The High Priestess closed her eyes before Morgina.
Where to begin?
"Our order senses the Abyss's stirrings first. Where they emerge, war follows—and war brings death."
"Shit, serious talk for real."
"Ties into the mission you took for the Priest-King."
She read the heavens. The Abyss constellations stirred. Behind the resurfacing Seven Great Demonic Weapons lurked the six great demons, no doubt.
"I planned to appoint a champion ASAP once things escalated."
Morgina shot a pouty glance. The High Priestess brushed it off with a smile.
"That's sorted. Now for the next matter."
Her gaze turned east—not out the window, but farther, toward the Empire.