After sending the emotional delegate inside, Sylas turned his attention to the magical armor. He'd seen it once before when escorting Eldira, but this was his first ti inspecting it closely. Running his hands over the smooth surface, he couldn't help but marvel.
"Incredible. How is this even possible?"
The armor was stronger than steel yet flexible at the joints, allowing for full mobility. Even the usual weak points of full-body armor, such as the gaps at the joints, were almost imperceptible. A blade couldn't even wedge into them.
The visor, typically an open slit for visibility, was instead covered with a transparent material.
"What is this? It doesn't look like glass," Sylas asked.
"It's a crystal, refined through years of magical processing. It enhances transparency and durability," an elf explained.
"Won't it shatter? If it breaks, shards could fly into the wearer's eyes," Sylas remarked.
"The rest of the armor would break long before that crystal would," the elf replied confidently.
Sylas blinked, impressed by the assurance.
"That's remarkable. Are there any weaknesses?"
"Virtually none. To be precise, no weapon in this era can pierce this armor."
Not even legendary weapons like magical swords or divine blades could penetrate the armor. The art of crafting such weapons had been lost to ti, leaving only modern steel, which stood no chance.
"If there's a flaw, it would be the limitations in dispersing internal shock. A direct hit from a ballista or catapult might kill the wearer, even if the armor remains intact."
A weakness so obvious it hardly mattered. The armor was, for all intents and purposes, perfect.
"Elf craftsmanship is truly extraordinary. And to make 500 of these?"
"We once produced them in large quantities, but now we can only craft one every few years due to material scarcity," the elf explained.
"Even so, your Grand Duke gave this many. He's truly…"
"Well, we still have about 3,000 more stored away from centuries ago," the elf added nonchalantly.
"…What?"
It was strange. Despite knowing how rare and valuable the gift was, Sylas suddenly felt his gratitude diminish slightly.
"Ahem. Please convey my deepest thanks to the Grand Duke," he said, hiding his feelings with a cough.
The elf bowed respectfully. Regardless of the context, the magical armor was an extraordinary boon. One knight clad in it could easily hold off ten foes. No, given its defensive capabilities, twenty seed more accurate.
And what if a knight of ancient lineage, with superhuman strength, wore such armor?
'Without an artifact-grade weapon, they'd be unstoppable,' Sylas thought.
Even surrounded, as long as a ballista didn't strike them dead-on, they wouldn't fall.
With support exceeding his expectations, Sylas's gaze sharpened.
'Three months. I'll end this in three months.'
As he touched the armor, his eyes burned with determination.
In the lord's manor of Gotland, Franz scanned through the letter he had just received from Jero. The hastily scrawled handwriting exuded urgency.
Three of my castles have fallen. I urgently request reinforcents. Though we have been enemies for many years, if I fall, you will be next. Do not forget that our fates are intertwined...
"Tsk, he sure knows how to beg," Franz muttered, crumpling the letter and tossing it aside. Letting out a deep sigh, he spoke to himself again.
"So, he's finally made his move."
A week earlier, not long after receiving reinforcents from the West, the Dragonslayer had begun his assault. His first target was Jero's territory to the east. Franz had assud Jero would hold out for a while; after all, everyone knew the Dragonslayer would attack eventually, and precautions had been taken.
But expectations had been far from reality.
"Three castles in a single week? That's insane."
With the arrival of magical armor, the Dragonslayer had launched an unstoppable blitzkrieg through Jero's lands. Whether it was the superior performance of the armor or the sheer power of a full-force assault, Jero's defenses had crumbled pathetically. At this rate, it wouldn't be long before the main castle fell as well.
"What a ss. Even if I wanted to help, there's no way to assist soone collapsing this quickly," Franz muttered, tapping the armrest of his chair as he pondered. Jero was right: if he fell, Franz's central position would undoubtedly be the next target.
But sending reinforcents now would only be too late. Worse, there was a high chance that the supporting troops would be wiped out, leaving Franz's forces weakened for the inevitable confrontation.
"There's no choice. Jero is lost."
Franz made his decision. With the Dragonslayer's rapid advance, Jero was beyond saving. Instead, the best course of action was to strike at the enemy's weak points and force them to retreat.
"The best defense is a good offense," Franz murmured, rising from his chair and addressing his retainers.
"Prepare for a full-scale assault! Deploy all troops, leaving only the bare minimum for defense. We'll target Glixborg's rear!"
No matter how powerful their advance, if their rear was reduced to rubble, they'd have no choice but to turn back. Franz intended to play a ga of cat and mouse, buying ti for himself.
Unbeknownst to him, Sylas had already anticipated such a move.
Just as Franz had feared, Sylas reached Jero's main castle with startling speed. It didn't take long for that castle to fall as well.
"Please, spare , my lord! I swear, I—"
"Your tongue wags too much," Sylas interrupted.
With a swift swing of his sword, Jero's pleas were cut short—along with his head. As the severed head hit the ground, Sylas flicked the blood off his blade and murmured.
"Fifteen days to take him down. Not bad."
If the emperor had heard such a statent, he might have fainted on the spot. Conquering a viscount's fortress, which would typically take years of siege, in just two weeks, and calling it "not bad"?
But Sylas felt no particular triumph. Raising his voice, he commanded.
"Carry his head and spread the word! The battle is over. Order them all to surrender!"
"Yes, my lord!"
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