The word “slum” didn’t simply refer to a poor residential district. It ant an area where those cast out or isolated from society had gathered, a place beyond the control of the state. Of those, only the most lawless and vile areas were called true “slums.” In that sense, the slums of Blaine were a far cry from the usual definition.
“This place is way more lively than I expected...” Leon muttered, looking around in awe.
El-Cid scoffed in agreent, —No kidding. This feels more like a red-light district than a slum. Guess business is good.
Even before sunset, red lanterns were already hung, and young children road the streets trying to lure custors into the establishnts they were bound to. Won in provocative outfits leaned over terraces, beckoning passersby, and the sweet, alcoholic air left a sticky sensation.
Leon didn’t have any desire to condemn nightlife on principle, but this wasn’t exactly a pleasant sight either.
El-Cid, Leon muttered inward as a strange feeling crept up his spine.
—Hm?
Since entering this street, I’ve been feeling... uncomfortable. Are we being followed?
—No. If soone were tailing us, I’d have told you already. Though... there is one thing that might explain it.
What is it?
El-Cid answered with a tone as if it were no big deal.
—It’s your Aura Sense. The nature of the Sun attribute makes it extrely sensitive to outside malice. You’re young and look like an easy target. A lot of people have been sizing you up. Their malice is what’s triggering your Aura.
I guess that makes sense.
Leon accepted the explanation. Logically speaking, soone who had only recently awakened their Aura, not even a week ago, shouldn’t have been able to sense and distinguish others’ intentions. Even skilled aura users with fully developed forms would struggle with such sensitivity.
However, it was a whole different story for the sun-type Aura. The fact that it was the top-tier attribute was the sole reason.
Now that I know why, I feel even more disgusted. So all this prickling feeling is from people who want to hurt .
El-Cid warned him, reading his reaction. —I get it, buddy. But keep your guard up. Just because you’ve learned to use Aura doesn’t an you’re safe. Most of the malice around here is from small fry, but a few of them are dangerous.
Got it.
—Doesn’t matter if it’s a slum or a red-light district—outsiders are always treated with suspicion. For now, just focus on that quest and keep showing your face around.
Leon turned back from the edge of the slums. He hadn’t expected to accomplish his goal on his first visit anyway.
As El-Cid had said, there was no point in stirring up unnecessary hostility. It was smarter to take his ti and find an indirect approach. His next destination wasn’t far, anyway.
The abandoned mansion ntioned in the quest sheet soon appeared before him.
While Leon stood montarily speechless, El-Cid chid in, —Sheesh. Looks like a ghost could pop out any minute.
“I bet it will.”
It was a ruin in the literal sense. The yellowed grass had rotted into a dark brown ss, and the weeds tangled together in grotesque shapes. What was once a pond had turned into a swamp, its surface a sickly, mossy green.
The weather-worn walls looked ready to collapse, iron gates were rusted through, and the shattered windows were choked with cobwebs.
“I don’t think the Living Armor was the reason why this place wasn’t selling.”
Leon clicked his tongue and pushed on the iron gate. The rusted lock had long since crumbled away. The gate creaked open with a grating screech, wobbling so badly it looked like it would shatter if he kicked it.
—All right, my turn.
As they reached the door, the Holy Sword erged.
According to the quest sheet, the mansion interior was pitch black. With no one to live in or manage the property, it had been left abandoned for years.
Previous adventurers had used torches, but—
“Having you around really makes things easier.”
—Still, bring a few torches next ti. You can’t do this when other people are watching.
“I will, next ti.”
Leon opened the door, scattering the light from El-Cid’s blade.
Without El-Cid’s light, it would be pitch darkness. And this was with the sun still setting—once night fell, it would be complete blackness.
The mansion interior was silent. There wasn’t a hint of human presence. Not even the sound of wind, only a bone-chilling stillness haunting the ruins. No one lived nearby either. Even if soone scread at the top of their lungs, no one would hear it.
There it is.
It was hard to gauge distance in the darkness, so he wasn’t exactly sure how many steps he had taken. Regardless, at the edge of his vision, Leon spotted a bulky figure—a helt adorned with ornants, pauldrons shaped in an inefficient design, and only the halberd clutched in its hand looked suitable for actual combat.
At the sa ti, the Living Armor reacted. Sohow, its hollow helt turned precisely toward Leon’s position as if it ant to lock eyes with him.
Red light flared with clear hostility in its eye sockets. Having identified an intruder, the Living Armor took a step forward, sending broken tile fragnts scattering in every direction.
By rough estimation, the distance between them was about twelve ters. Leon didn’t charge. Instead, he stepped back with his right foot and waited for the enemy’s opening move.
This is my first ti going up against a halberd...
A halberd—an axe-headed polearm—was among the most formidable weapons of its kind. It could slash, pierce, or smash, and a master could employ dozens of techniques with it.
Most importantly, the one that the Living Armor was holding was over two ters long. A distance Leon would have to close in two or three steps could be covered by his opponent with just a single swing.
As expected, the Living Armor charged. It crossed several ters in an instant, raising its halberd overhead and lunging forward. It was a truly nightmarish sight.
Their weapons clashed, and a deafening boom echoed through the mansion. The once-silent air quivered, and dust stirred from the floor, whirling up into the air.
A sword and a halberd were, on paper, a terrible matchup. The halberd was more than twice as heavy, and its centrifugal force multiplied its power fourfold compared to a sword.
However, Leon held his ground, not budging an inch. The imbalance wasn’t always a given. In this case, the Living Armor was light in mass. Being nothing more than an empty suit, its weight barely reached twenty or thirty kilograms.
No matter how strong the halberd was, a wielder that light wasn’t going to generate enough power to overwhelm Leon. What’s more, at the mont of impact, Leon twisted his blade—redirecting more than eighty percent of the force away.
The difference in strength and technique was too vast. The halberd’s edge, having collided with the Holy Sword, shattered. And the price of stepping into Leon’s range was catastrophic.
As Leon engaged in a slice to the wrist, the short, precise cut shattered the Living Armor’s gauntlet, severing the wrist joint. Though the enemy didn’t drop the halberd, its response was delayed.
Leon’s movents exploded with speed. With seven slashes in an instant, the Living Armor disintegrated like torn paper. Its fragnts clattered to the floor, and the now-bodyless helt rolled away with a hollow clank.
It was a flawless execution of “Accel,” first used against Elmont back at the academy.
Leon took a mont to catch his breath and disengaged Accel. Unlike last ti, he was completely fine. Now that he was an Aura user, he could use it without overexerting himself. While he couldn’t maintain it for minutes yet, a few seconds were well within his control.
Just by awakening Aura, his combat power had multiplied from what it was just a week ago. However, El-Cid’s sharp critique struck him in the ear.
—Not bad. Aside from how your blade work fell apart under acceleration.
“Ugh.”
—Strikes that are only fast end up being shallow. If that Living Armor had been made of real steel, your wrist would’ve snapped. If you can’t handle the speed, it’s better not to use Accel at all.
“You an the fourth strike, right?”
—And the sixth. The diagonal slash, in particular—it’s powerful, but if you can’t control it, your sword wavers and the whole attack becos useless.
It was a strict and precise feedback. His form had indeed wobbled under the inertia of sudden acceleration. Even that montary slip hadn’t escaped El-Cid’s notice, and truthfully, Leon hadn’t missed it either.
He repeated the flawed motion a few tis, engraving the correction into his body to avoid making the sa mistake again. Even though he had destroyed the enemy completely, he pushed himself further, polishing away the flaws in his victory.
“But...” Leon muttered as he looked around, puzzled.
The fragnts of the Living Armor he had smashed showed no sign of regenerating. Despite cutting it down seven tis, the actual damage to the armor wasn’t anything too severe.
According to the report, even smashing them to dust with a battle hamr didn’t stop them—but now, there was no sign of regeneration at all.
“This ‘regeneration’ they ntioned... it’s not happening at all,” Leon muttered.
El-Cid said, —They could’ve filed a false report.
“It's possible, but unlikely. False reporting is a second-degree cri for the Guild. If soone ends up dead because of it, a bounty could be issued across the entire continent.”
Would soone really take that risk just to dodge a punishnt mission? Living Armor might be annoying, but they were still completely manageable by a properly organized party.
Now, even El-Cid sounded uncertain.
—Nothing cos to mind. Maybe it varies by individual?
“That’s possible. I guess we won’t know until we take down a few more.”
With renewed purpose, Leon stepped forward. This was his first battle since awakening his Aura. Even if it was just low-grade iron, the sensation of cleaving through armor was deeply satisfying for a swordsman.
El-Cid, however, stepped on the brakes for him.
—No need. Looks like they’re coming to us.
Sure enough, clanking echoed from the opposite hallway as several Living Armors stepped into view. There were four figures moving in the darkness. Leon squinted at the silhouettes.
“I can’t see them clearly—can you brighten up a bit?”
—Man, I don’t know what I am anymore. Am I a Holy Sword or a glorified torch?
Despite the grumbling, El-Cid glowed brighter. The soft light expanded, pushing away the darkness in a fifteen-ter radius. It was a brilliant radiance yet also gentle, soft enough not to hurt the eyes.
As the light reached the Living Armors, sothing completely out of the norm happened.
“KYAAAAAAH!”
A bone-chilling shriek pierced the silence. It made Leon’s spine shiver and stung his eardrums.
It was unmistakably a scream, and it had co from the Living Armors, things that shouldn’t have emotions or vocal cords. They were, without a doubt, wailing in agony.
Startled, Leon stepped back and raised his sword, muttering, “What the hell?! Why are they screaming?!”
The Living Armors didn’t answer but charged without hesitation. Unlike the one he fought earlier, these radiated palpable killing intent. Their polearms—halberd, bardiche, glaive, and spetum—ca crashing in with grim precision.
Despite not being in formation, their timing was unnervingly perfect.
Danger.
Leon felt the tangible threat and imdiately cooled his head. He purged emotion and switched into combat mode—a mindset forged by El-Cid’s training.
He deflected the halberd sideways into the glaive. Their broad heads made them easy to intercept. He parried the downward swing of the bardiche and diverted it, using the movent to block the incoming thrust from the spetum.
Four polearms tangled together and were neutralized.
Had they been trained soldiers working in unison, it might’ve been different, but with predictable, textbook movents, even a slight disruption unraveled them. Living Armors—being hollow and light—were especially prone to collapsing under instability.
I guess I won’t have a chance to counter, though...
Their movents were like a manual—predictable, but chanically perfect. And with four enemies, all wielding polearms, it was hard to find an opening in their literally perfect maneuvering.
Leon made a split-second decision and leaped backward. At that mont, El-Cid, with his voice uncharacteristically low and quiet, called out to him.
—Leon.
Leon, sensing sothing ominous, didn’t respond—he just listened as El-Cid continued, —These aren’t Living Armors.
“Then what are they?”
—Look closely. Your eyes should be able to see it now.
Leon activated Rodrick’s Vision and swept his gaze over the enemies. He focused his eyes to make them sharp enough to detect even the shifting of shadows. Then he saw it.
“Smoke? Why is there smoke?”
Thick, pitch-black smoke was seeping from the joints in their armor. Darker and more sinister than anything coal produced. Just looking at it gave him a gut feeling—this wasn’t sothing the living should touch.
Reading his reaction, El-Cid confird it.
—Good eye. That black smoke is a type of death energy. It drains the life from any living thing it touches. Your sun-attribute Aura might resist it, but it’s still better not to co in contact.
“So that’s why they reacted to your light?”
—Half right, half wrong. If it were just death energy, they’d be purified—no screams.
Living Armors didn’t have vocal cords, nor did they have self-awareness or emotions. In other words, it was illogical and impossible for them to scream. Even if exposed to holy light, they wouldn’t recoil in pain.
There was only one kind in the world that would react that way to purification: monsters. The goddess’s light—a symbol of truth and order in this world—repelled all otherworldly invaders at their very root.
El-Cid declared their identity, —Phantom Armors. They’re monsters. Spirits that lost their rest, now inhabiting armor. They’ve turned their emptiness into hatred for the living.
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