CHAPTER 11 ‒ The Armory

100 heroes were created to save this world from the angels who sought to eradicate humanity. Is this a punishment from heaven? Did mankind deserve it? None of us can say, for our memories are gone.

The 100 heroes turned out to be a group of volunteers on a suicide mission, ready to save the world ‒ for reasons they no longer remember. A band of martyrs who dared to stand against the heavens.

~~~~~✦✦✦✦✦✦✦~~~~~

No sooner had the king's speech ended than he was escorted out of the hall. Kurul accompanied him. Before we could ask a single question, we too were taken away and led into a dark, lower chamber.

The path was lit by torches mounted on the damp stone walls, their flickering light reflecting off the wet surfaces. And once again, my thoughts drifted back to the day of our creation.

It all happened too fast. I still couldn't believe that this was truly what I had wanted. What kind of person had I been, that my own life had meant so little to me, that I had chosen to sacrifice myself? Was I even the same person I once was?

Kyodai stepped beside me as we followed the soldiers. His silence felt almost oppressive, and I wondered what was on his mind.

Then, suddenly, he broke the silence.

"I don’t know what to think… I can’t imagine volunteering for a suicide mission like this." His mouth shifted restlessly between a sad smile and a confused grimace. He was searching for the right words.

"I feel the same way. I don’t know who I used to be, but I don’t feel like someone who would sacrifice themselves for this world." I placed my hand on my chest. Breathing felt heavy. The weight of this newfound knowledge still pressed down on me.

Suddenly, Akai turned to us. "Hey, you two, look over here."

Before she even finished speaking, we reached the end of the corridor. Beyond it lay a basement room with small windows near the ceiling. As we stepped inside, a wave of heat hit us. The rhythmic clanging of metal striking metal echoed through the space. It became immediately clear ‒ we were in an armory.

To our left, anvils were lined up, where muscular men hammered away at the iron in a steady rhythm. Behind them, the fire roared from massive forges, and the heat made the air above the coals shimmer.

On the other side, a vast array of weapons and armor hung on the walls and stood on racks. The sight was overwhelming ‒ an entire scene pulsating with relentless, focused labor. The men moved with astonishing precision, weaving around each other without hesitation, as if following a well-rehearsed dance.

None of them even noticed us.

At the end of the room, a group of women sat sewing leather armor together with calm precision. Their fingers flew over the leather as they moved constantly. One of them looked up when she noticed us and stepped toward one of the soldiers.

"Good day. How may I assist you?"

She tilted her head in an elegant gesture. The woman wore a simple dress made of plain fabric and a hood on her head. She appeared older than the other women in the room and was likely a leading figure here.

"I have the 100 heroes with me. We're here to equip them with armor and weapons."

"What, already?" The woman looked startled, her eyes widening as she glanced around the room.

"I don’t know if we have enough equipment for all 100 heroes. We were promised more time." Her voice wavered slightly, and her hands began to fidget nervously.

"Unfortunately, we have no more time. The heroes must depart first thing tomorrow. But we won’t need that much equipment ‒ it looks like you have enough." The man's gaze swept over the weapons and armor on the right side. "This should suffice."

He led us further into the room, passing the woman, whose nervous expression shifted only slowly as she took in our numbers. Her initial confusion gave way to a faint sense of fear, but she pulled herself together and followed the soldier, who left no room for doubt.

"I understand. Then let us begin equipping these brave heroes at once."With a firm voice, she called over two more women and one of the men at the anvil. "The heroes require the promised equipment. Pay close attention to their preferences."

The moment we realized we were about to be equipped, we let ourselves be led away by the attendants without resistance. The women immediately began taking our measurements, their hands moving almost automatically over our limbs as they swiftly noted down every number. Meanwhile, the man questioned us about our fighting style and preferred weapon ‒ his voice calm, yet firm.

One by one, everyone took their turn.

The women worked swiftly and with such focus that their movements seemed almost synchronized ‒ no sooner had the conversation with the man ended than the next person was already in place.

When Kyodai's turn came, the process took a little longer. Due to his enormous stature, the women had to fetch a wooden stool just to measure his neck.

Kyodai chose light armor ‒ something resembling a robe rather than traditional plate. It offered him freedom and mobility. When the man heard this, he hesitated for a moment. He had expected Kyodai to opt for heavy plate armor. He asked again to be sure, but Kyodai remained firm in his choice: something light and open.

They had no idea that Kyodai himself was the armor, making his decision all the more understandable.

For his weapon, he selected a partisan glaive ‒ a massive spear with a blade so large it dwarfed everything else in the room. I had seen him fight with similar weapons during training, but this one was even larger, even more imposing.

Since I was standing right behind Kyodai, I was up next.

Unlike him, whose measurements took considerable time, my size posed no particular challenge, and the women completed their work quickly. I wasn’t short by any means, but next to Kyodai, I still felt like a boy.

For my armor, I chose light leather reinforced with protective plates at key areas. As for my weapon, I selected a one-handed sword ‒ a long, thin, and straight blade.

Since I possessed no magical abilities, I had to rely on what I did best: sword fighting. I needed a weapon light enough to keep me moving, yet with enough reach to hold my ground in battle.

After we had made our selection, we were led into the back room to put on our equipment and test our weapons. Kyodai swung his partisan with an ease that I could only watch in awe. It was as if the weapon was a part of him ‒ his movements were fluid and powerful.

I reached for my sword ‒ it was nothing special, but it felt good in my hand. Sharp and well-balanced, it could be wielded with ease. It was not the weapon of a warrior relying on brute force but that of a fighter seeking precision and speed. Alongside powerful strikes, I could also deliver precise thrusts that hit their mark effortlessly.

We were still in the middle of our fitting when suddenly, a piercing scream echoed through the room. Kyodai and I exchanged only a brief glance before we rushed into the main hall.

One of the women lay on the ground, completely distraught, sobbing uncontrollably. Her shoulders trembled as tears streamed endlessly down her face.

The other women stood frozen in place, staring at the floor in silence, as if paralyzed.

Akai stood in front of them, visibly overwhelmed and utterly clueless, struggling to grasp what had just happened.

"Excuse me, are you alright?" Akai took a step toward the crying woman. Her voice was filled with concern but also confusion. She couldn’t comprehend what was happening and glanced between the sobbing woman and the others, who remained eerily still.

It was clear from her face ‒ she had no idea what to do.

But after a moment, the older woman finally moved.

"Everything... everything is fine. It's just the exhaustion. The long hours, the endless days… they take their toll." the woman said, but her words rang hollow, as if she were trying to convince herself.

With a quick, almost jerky motion, she signaled for the crying woman to be taken away. Then, without another word, she abruptly turned back to her work.

"You have many scars, if I may say so." the woman remarked, her gaze filled with both sympathy and a hint of regret.

"Yeah… it's nothing. I don’t even remember most of them." Akai replied, but her smile felt forced.

"I see." The woman's eyes welled with tears before she continued. "Alright, we're finished. Next!"

Akai turned away, confused, and walked on without looking back.

She chose a thin chainmail armor that didn’t restrict her mobility yet still offered protection. The armor was crafted from fine, tightly interwoven rings, lying against her skin like scales and shimmering in the sunlight.

For her wild, fast fighting style, the twin scimitars she selected were a perfect match ‒ the curved blades sliced effortlessly through the air, reflecting the light in shimmering arcs.

While Akai was occupied with her fitting, she failed to notice the older woman’s lingering gaze.

But then, suddenly, her hood slipped, and a single fiery-red strand of hair fell across her face. The vivid color stood out like an unspoken sign in the dimness of the room, as if it wanted to reveal something that could not be said.

With a swift, almost mechanical motion, the woman tucked the strand back under her hood. But for a brief moment, the brilliance of her hair was unmistakable.

Her hands trembled slightly ‒ a faint shimmer of uncertainty ‒ before she returned to her work, as if nothing had happened.

Fully equipped, we were once again led out of the room by the soldiers and brought to a sleeping chamber. The room was simple, almost desolate, but it was the only place where we could gather for the night.

We were allowed to rest ‒ knowing full well that tomorrow would change everything.

At dawn, we would set out.