Reinhardt stepped through the door and looked down the corridor. His quarry was standing there, staring at the wall. “” he thought idly. “”

  But he found he did not want that. If he could defeat the guard, he’d likely get a SoulInnates, they would be given all manner of offers. “,” he sighed mentally. “ for items in exchange for raids for Nobleborn.”

  He glared at the

  So, he prepared himself for a minute or two of juking and dodging before an opportunity presented itself. As he brought the Static Charge and routines. Otto had believed that constantly running those exercises would have eventually granted him a number of Intent, he guessed. As much as

  He figured he would start with a charge and see how the

  Reinhardt barely saw the blow coming. He saw, even as he swung his sword, that the riposted in a way he had never seen a hammer used before. Instead of swinging the hammer around or over, it slid one hand down to the head and let go of the handle with its off hand. Then it simply uppercutted Reinhardt like a boxer, an unconventional and fairly weak attack in comparison to a hammer blow, but considering how unprepared and overcommitted Reinhardt was, the hammerhead slammed into the solar plexus with enough force to rattle his armour and stagger him back a step. He released the sword and fell to one knee, barely remembering to throw his right arm out to stop him falling prone. His head was ringing from the blow, and he could feel the “dent” in his breastplate reflected in his . He imagined it would be hard to breathe, if he still needed to. The

  Reinhardt threw his arm up to intercept the falling hammer. This manoeuvre had only limited success - he prevented the warhammer hitting him in the head, but “pain” shot up his arm and a wave of nausea swept over him. He heard the crashing sound of metal against the stone floor, and blearily looked about, looking for the source. A bent and twisted gauntlet lay on the floor in front of him. He felt the , the , that had linked the gauntlet to both the suit and his SoulSpirit was matched by the pain of his SoulEssence. The I don’t think there’ll be any chance of getting out of this one… Just as I was starting to get used to it.”

  This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

  The Essence was drawn into him. He knew, even as it flowed through his - that even this was not enough to expand his SoulEssence to his SoulEssence DID go a long way to easing his throbbing head. The dent in his breastplate popped out and he felt the well of his re-weave the part of his “self” that represented his left arm below the mid-forearm. Or vambrace, as it was now. But whilst he knew his had replaced the that had made up his hand, the gauntlet that had sheathed it previously was busted and broken. Staring at the vambrace of his left arm, Reinhardt had a small epiphany. The DungeonEssence he would not

  There was more to this blade than he thought. It appeared to have continued to damage the his armour. It occurred to Reinhardt that the Grand Hall and its protectors would have been in a style and make that befitted the role of guards. Slightly lighter, the movement a little smoother, the pauldrons not as large. Reinhardt debated the merits of each. This was a Soldier, and it lacked a bit of the grace that the Grand Hall Guard had, but the steel was of a heavier gauge. That had benefits too. He also found a belt with a keyring holding a large, wrought-iron key. That would fit the Armoury door, he guessed. He tried it and it worked. He scooped up the heavier, thicker gauntlets - an awkward movement with only one hand and holding a sword - and pushed the door to the Armoury open. He was sure to close it completely before he moved from it.

  As he stepped inside, he took an involuntary breath. He smelled the sharp tang of oiled metal mingling with the scent of wood and tanned leather. The room was long and dim, lit by narrow arrow-slit windows that let in slender beams of sunlight, each one catching motes of dust that drifted lazily through the still air. He realised that the patrols that had crossed over in front of the Armoury had marked the dawn. Racks of weapons lined the walls, spears stood upright in wooden barrels, their ash shafts polished smooth from oils and years of handling; their iron heads gleamed dully, sharpened to lethal points. Alongside them hung longbows of yew, their curved silhouettes elegant yet ominous, with bundles of goose-feathered arrows stored nearby in wicker baskets. Swords of every make rested in horizontal racks, their blades reflecting faint flashes of light. Most were utilitarian, meant for common soldiers, while others bore etched fuller lines or gilded crossguards meant for knights or soldiers of higher stations.

  On the left side of the room, sturdy wooden tables held armour pieces laid out for inspection or maintenance. Nearby lay padded gambesons, thick with layers of stitched linen, their quilted surfaces stained with sweat and old use. There were maille hauberks draped over trestles like metal cloth, breastplates, pauldrons, greaves, and gauntlets sat in organized rows, each shaped to the contours of a warrior’s body. Some pieces were marred by dents and scratches, evidence of imaginary battles. At the far end stood the armourer’s workbench. It was cluttered, yet meticulously arranged. Hammers of varying sizes hung on pegs above it, along with files, tongs, and leather straps. Bars of raw iron rested near a small forge set into the wall, where a bed of banked coals waited to be stoked. The anvil beside it was worn smooth from countless blows, its surface marked by generations of hands crafting tools of war. A bucket of unidentifiable liquid sat close by for quenching heated metal, its surface reflecting the flicker of the embers. Shields leant in piles along the wall - kite shields with faded heraldry, round shields reinforced with iron bosses, and heavier heater shields with thick steel edging. Their painted surfaces were blemished by scratches and chipped edges, telling stories of skirmishes long past. Helms of various shapes rested atop wooden stands: simple nasal helms for foot soldiers, enclosed great helms with narrow eye slits for tournament or battle, and visored bascinets padded with soft cloth lining.

  Reinhardt frowned. He almost believed this was a real castle, that housed actual soldiers, that had fought in real battles. He could not fault the DungeonAnimated Armour - of course there would be gauntlets in the Armoury. In fact, the pair at the far end wear noticeably higher quality, maybe not in Grade, but definitely in design and make. Gauntlets fit for a King, or a landed noble, at least. He dumped the Spirit to be formed.

  He felt nothing.

  He reached out and tried to bring

  He frowned, staring at the limp fingers of the gauntlet hanging immobile.