Steel Armor

"So the monsters charging toward us right now are just a variant wave?"

They said it was on par with the Bone Dragon incident back in El-Ladh. Totally manageable with the right preparations, but easily potent enough to swallow a minor kingdom whole if they were caught flat-footed. After all, wasn't it a relentless barrage of variant waves that drove the old Kelton Kingdom to ruin in the first place?

"Well, whatever. At least we have steel..."

Ever since I invested an abundance of rolled industrial steel plates into Kellierton, the fires in their smithies had not gone out for days. The city, however, lacked the proper molds to shape high-grade weaponry and possessed subpar metallurgy. It was an engineering bottleneck, yet one that found a remarkably simple solution.

The human amateurs had unintentionally scratched the dwarves right on their rawest nerve. To the dwarven blacksmiths, the grotesque abominations flooding the gallery board were nothing short of supreme cultural blasphemy.

Tortured by the relentless sight of mangled industrial steel, the dwarves eventually snapped. In an explosion of sheer professional indignation, they volunteered to smelt and shape the metal for the humans free of charge.

Thanks to their furious intervention, a massive stockpile of flawless arms and armor was forged in a matter of days. By the time the ravenous tide of beasts breached the outer perimeters of Kellierton, the garrison was armed to the teeth.

"Skreeeech!"

Torrential rain poured over the darkening evening as the ghoul wave crashed upon the city.

Rubbery, leathery hides and sheer overwhelming numbers—the ghouls brought all the horrors of an undead swarm, crawling onward even after taking wounds that should have been instantly fatal.

"They're climbing the walls!"

Up the towering ramparts, pale, rotting figures scaled the masonry with sickening agility.

"Kyaaaagh!"

"D-Die, you wretched thing!"

Thwack! Shhk!

Three infantrymen rushed the first ghoul that hauled itself over the parapet, burying spears and short swords deep into its torso. Yet the monster refused to collapse. It thrashed and clawed violently, sapping the soldiers' stamina as they struggled to pin it down. This was the ghoul's most lethal trait: their sickening tenacity.

"Hold your nerve! Stand your ground and drive them down!"

Alfred, veteran knight of the city, bellowed across the ramparts as his great blade cleaved through the tide. Every swing severed at least two beasts cleanly in twain. He fought like a mythical titan, yet against such suffocating numbers, even a warrior of his caliber was bound to expose a flank.

"Sir Alfred, behind you!"

"!"

From the shadows behind him leapt the variant ghoul that commanded the pack. Its razor claws gleamed with a dark, oily sheen, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠sharp enough to slice through an ordinary soldier's padded tunic and flesh like parchment. The venom coursing through those talons was so virulent that even a grazing scratch meant certain agonizing death.

"Damn it...!"

"Keeeeeek!"

By the time Alfred registered the danger, the poisoned talons were already descending upon his helm. Expecting the cold touch of death, the veteran knight shut his eyes tight.

CLANG!

"Kyaaak?!"

"...Hm?"

A crisp, metallic chime rang out through the rain. Instead of slicing through the knight's neck, the variant ghoul's claws snapped backward with a sickening crunch, bent into ruined angles against six millimeters of high-purity industrial rolled steel.

To state the outcome plainly: it was a landslide victory. The ghouls' entire offensive arsenal consisted of sharp fangs and elongated talons, neither of which could scratch six millimeters of high-density industrial steel plate. What was initially expected to be a grueling siege turned upside down the moment the defenders realized they were impervious. Rather than holding the ramparts, the knights flung open the main city gates and charged out, turning the battle into an open-field ghoul harvest.

"They literally couldn't pierce a single plate."

They were walking medieval main battle tanks. Perhaps a hulking brute like a troll might have dented the armor with a bludgeon, but against claws and jagged teeth, the metal was impenetrable. It certainly helped that the knights of this world possessed unnatural, monstrous physical strength.

Historically, typical knightly plate armor hovered around 1.5 millimeters in thickness. But through the unholy union of the Great War and a brutal medieval fantasy setting, only humans built like absolute biological anomalies had survived. 1.5 millimeters? Why bother wearing armor at that point? A true knight rocks at least one whole centimeter, duh.

"Terrifying bastards..."

Moreover, the steel struck a primal chord in the hearts of these warriors. Knights who had wandered half-naked for years due to a catastrophic lack of forging materials found their deepest romantic ideals fulfilled. Ever since the Kellierton wave, the gallery had been swept up in an uncontrollable obsession with heavy steel armor.

The arms race was simple: pack on more steel and encase every square inch of the body. A bizarre cultural consensus was taking root—namely, that a true "knight" was defined as someone capable of walking around clad in solid steel ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠plate. And Kellierton did not miss the opportunity to seize the momentum.

"What on earth is this mess?"

Dumping raw industrial steel on them without much thought had triggered colossal ripples across society. Steel supplies remained finite, and wearing armor of that immense thickness was beyond ordinary soldiers. Distributing it exclusively to knights naturally set off a violent explosion of public interest in the knight examinations.

For a bizarre moment, it felt like I was staring right back at the cram-school craze of Noryangjin from my past life in Korea. Fortunately, having broken the back of the monster wave, Kellierton was finally humming with productive vitality.

Knock, knock, knock.

"Is someone inside?!"

"By Her Majesty the Queen's decree! If anyone is present, step outside and submit to questioning!"

Sharp knocks rattled the heavy iron door of my underground warehouse.