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“Are you really going to use this, Sir?” the young knight with unruly brown hair—Seligman—asked Wyatt. His movement caused the light coating of dust on everything in the room, an inner chamber of the armory, to whirl into the air. “It’s too dangerous.”
Seligman’s attention was on a suit of red infantry armor being displayed on a stand. At a glance, it looked like an old-fashioned set of full body armor, but upon closer inspection it offered little protection to all but the most vital areas in order to lessen its weight as much as possible. It made sense that many who didn’t know its intended purpose and function would assume it was a decorative suit, only fit for ceremonial use.
Battlefield tactics had long been dominated by the use of sorcerers and the arrow-deflecting methods they employed. In order to make their deployment practical, armor had developed into two divergent styles: one providing thick protection for magically supported soldiers, and one light enough to ensure mobility. With that in mind, the red armor appeared to fall into the latter category. Touching it was enough to make it obvious that aside from the torso section it barely qualified as armor at all. It should have been more realistic, then, to just wear the breastplate by itself, but there was a reason in this case for the red metal to cover the entire body.
“In the event that we are defeated in this battle, we will not get another chance. So I will bring everything I have to bear, and use everything I must.”
Wyatt’s fingers traced a black pattern that had been engraved in the red coating on the armor. It was a magic crest, a curse mark that had been modified for practical magical use. The magic staves that had come into popular use in recent years were made of a mithril alloy and employed a magic crest that worked to refine the magical elements inside of a caster. Using such a staff would allow someone with no magical abilities to fire offensive magic, though only of one type. In other words, anyone could instantly be counted as magical firepower with one of these staves. The utility of that was instantly recognizable to anyone involved with the military, which was why as soon as this realization hit, every major power began gathering up magic staves and the mithril needed to produce them. Some even melted down magic swords in their possession to extract the mithril from them.
This suit of armor was almost like a magic staff that could be worn over the entire body. It was imbued not with attack magic, however, but with a strengthening spell. The thin layer of armor over the wearer’s body was not meant for defense, but to enhance the wearer’s power and agility. It was offensive armor.
While he had been in the capital for his training, Wyatt had used his connections to obtain this failed prototype the Igris royal engineers had been developing. It had been used once in a trial, then put into storage.
“But you suffered injuries the last time you wore it. Burns, broken bones, dislocated joints.”
There was a reason it had been deemed a failure. Mithril was required to activate the magical seal, but there was no reason to use so much mithril, enough to make multiple staves, just to strengthen one foot soldier. The armor’s performance simply did not justify its price. Worst of all, this attack armor forced all the burden of its effects onto its wearer’s body. The strain of movement, of its weight, even the heat the crest let off when it activated. This was a problem that could have been solved by increasing the purity of the mithril alloy, but that solution was untenable.
“That only happened because I had it activated for too long. But now I know how to use it and what its limits are. My body and this Scarlet Plate will both perform better next time.”
“But there’s no reason that you should have to use it yourself, Sir.”
“Are you volunteering then, Seligman?”
“You jest.” The young knight gulped and shook his head. In actuality, it had become rather difficult lately to discern when his superior was joking due to the ghastly expression always on his face.
“Anyway, how are our preparations coming along?”
“We should have all our food, water, medicine, shields, and the carts and people to carry them ready by our departure tomorrow.”
“I’m impressed. You had barely any time to put all of it together.”
It had been about four weeks since their defeat, and Wyatt and his men had been preparing for their next assault ever since, enduring a burning impatience all the while.
“Thank you.” Seligman had a surname, but was a commoner-turned-knight. He had caught Wyatt’s eye in part because of his origins and in part because he was a promising, ambitious young man. “We were able to recruit a considerable number of adventurers right up until the last minute. We’re covering the expenses and offering a reward, after all. They’re all eager to make names for themselves along with some money.”
“I see. I suppose we can’t expect any solidarity between these adventurers when it’s still every man for himself.”
“Well, for them, everyone outside of their immediate party is another business rival. Even so, I was able to gather two hundred ninety-eight people outside of those who can’t totally be depended upon. Counting temporary hires pulled in from elsewhere, we have three hundred twenty-five total fighters.”
“So three hundred thirty-one counting you, me, Dawson, Heatley, Ashcroft, and Humphreys.”
As part of their cover-up for Lady Keighley of House Zigan, they’d imposed a tight gag order on the participants in their previous mission regarding Gaius Beldarus’s presence among the kobolds. They’d used both money and threats to accomplish this. If they hadn’t, there likely would have been a lot fewer recruits for this mission, scared off by the very name “the Black Rose of Igris.” There were many, in fact, who had refused to come along a second time even under the threat of punishment. However, Wyatt didn’t have the time or patience to convince them.
Of course, no matter how much money was thrown around, people would talk, especially when “people” meant dozens of mercenary thugs. The more time went by, the fewer other adventurers were likely to join the mission, and the danger of the Black Rose of Igris informing the other lords of Keighley’s plotting increased. If the lords grew suspicious of the Adventurers’ Guild’s actions and Gaius Beldarus’s presence and looked into things, that would be it for them. Wyatt needed to put an end to things himself before that could happen, no matter what it took to do it. He had taken the absolute most time he could spend on his preparations. This was it.
He would reduce that village to ashes. Exterminate the kobolds. Dispose of Gaius and everyone else involved.
As long as we can cover this all up, the situation can be salvaged. Wyatt told himself, tracing the pattern on the armor once more.
“If I don’t get rid of him, it’s over for us and for Lady Keighley. I’ll kill him... I will kill him.”
...No, that’s not right. That wasn’t it at all. Of course, avoiding his downfall was part of it, but the burning emotion fueling him originated from elsewhere. That man had mocked him, had rejected him. A hero he had respected. And he, Wyatt, was going to take him down with his own hands. No, with every resource he’d amassed.
He’d used and abused all the authority he had to put as many pieces in place as he could. He’d even spent all his personal funds. He didn’t care. How could he?
How much is any of it worth, really? If I don’t defeat you, I mean nothing. If I don’t destroy you, I can’t acknowledge myself.
Gaius Beldarus. I set out now with the sole goal of killing you.