When the sun broke over the horizon, the sixty-two fighters stood assembled in the central courtyard, fully equipped in matching, dark spirit-iron armor lightened by wind-dispersion runes, wielding weapons embedded with kinetic-impact arrays forged by Master Craftsmen.
For former street thugs who had spent their lives fighting with crude iron pipes and unranked spiritual knives, the feeling of wearing genuine Ranked Artifacts was dizzying.
"Damn, I feel like we're a formal sect now. With uniforms and artifacts like this..." Larry was still filled with a sense of disbelief and wonder from this sudden turn of events.
"We should thank our lucky stars for meeting Sir Dylan." Allen mused.
"I agree! We wouldn't have had this opportunity if we stuck with David!" Larry smiled, sharing the same sentiments.
"This armor..." Nathan muttered, flexing his fist as a faint defensive light rippled across his chestplate. "A single blow from an unranked weapon wouldn't even dent this..."
