Cravat told them to stand back for a moment, then placed his hand on the Living Armor and released his mana.
Dark energy welled up around him, seeping into Verom’s armor as intricate magic circles spread across its surface.
Several minutes passed.
The trembling armor suddenly froze—then fell away in pieces with a heavy clatter.
Verom stared blankly at the scattered fragments on the ground.
“It... really worked?”
His trembling voice betrayed the depth of his shock.
He looked down at his own hands—scarred, calloused, and covered in faint marks.
They were his hands, his real hands.
For over ten years, all he’d seen was the black shell of that armor. It had been so long that he could barely remember the color of his own skin or the texture of his flesh.
Maybe that was why—
Even as he looked at his palms now, it hardly felt real.
He opened and closed his fists slowly.
Even that simple motion felt too vivid, too alive—like a dream he might wake from at any second, only to find himself imprisoned once again within that pitch-black shell.
“Damn it... I’m disgustingly happy.”
Tears streamed down his cheeks.
Even the sensation of crying felt strange after so long.
The Living Armor devoured every impurity the host’s body produced.
Even if he had ever tried to weep in sorrow, no tear would have fallen—because the armor had consumed them all.
To live without the ability to express the most basic human emotions... could that even be called living?
But now Verom felt alive.
He was human again.
No longer a puppet manipulated by a cursed shell.
He wiped the tears from his face.
For a man who had known only the pain of blows striking armor, the wet warmth of tears against skin was alien beyond words.
But his joy did not last long.
Ludger stood before him, radiating a cold blue aura.
“John Doe... no, you’re not John Doe. Who are you?”
“That’s not what matters right now.”
Ludger tilted Verom’s chin upward with the edge of his swordstick.
A little more pressure, and that sharp edge could slit his throat.
Verom swallowed hard.
“Talk.”
Ludger, his shadow form dispelled, stared down at him.
“What... do you want to know?”
“Nicolai’s plans. What he’s doing here, what means he’s using. Tell me everything you know—down to the smallest detail. And don’t even think about lying.”
Verom lowered his eyes and gulped again.
He didn’t have a choice.
* * *
Verom spoke in full detail about everything he knew—
Why he was on this island, and what he had agreed to do alongside Nicolai.
“So, not much information, then.”
“...I was only an enforcer, after all.”
What Verom had wanted was freedom from the Living Armor.
He accepted Nicolai’s deal for that reason—and in Nicolai’s name, fought the black mages who lurked in the underworld of Isla Machina.
He hadn’t asked many questions about the larger scheme, and so he knew little of it.
“Even if I had,” Verom muttered, “that sly bastard would never have told me his real intentions anyway.”
It wasn’t an excuse.
Even without knowing Nicolai personally, Ludger could easily believe it—he could imagine the man’s calculating nature.
“I see.”
At Ludger’s cold, indifferent tone, Verom squeezed his eyes shut.
But no pain came.
Puzzled, he cautiously opened them again—
And saw Ludger walking away, swordstick lowered.
“You’re... not going to kill me?”
“There’s no need.”
“I tried to kill you. You could torture me and no one would blame you—and yet you’ll let me live?”
“Tell me, then—without your armor, without power—what kind of threat could you possibly pose to me? Why should I bother dirtying my hands?”
“That’s...”
It was absurd logic, but with Ludger holding the power of life and death, Verom had no grounds to argue.
When he fell silent, Ludger gave a faint, dismissive snort.
Verom watched his back retreating into the darkness and whispered, voice shaking,
“Thank you.”
Tears still reddened his eyes as he turned toward Cravat and bowed deeply.
“Thank you... truly.”
Ludger left without a word, and Verom lowered his head again before Cravat.
“I owe you my life.”
“Well, I just did what I could.”
“Whatever the reason, it doesn’t change the fact that you freed me.”
It was true—Ludger had spared his life, but Cravat had freed him from the curse.
A debt so great he could never repay it in one lifetime.
“Well,” Cravat said, scratching his chin, “I only did it because I was curious. I’d only ever read about Living Armor in ancient grimoires. So... what now?”
“Huh? What do you mean, what now?”
“I mean, without that armor, you’re basically powerless, aren’t you?”
“...”
He was right.
Verom’s rank as a First Order had come entirely from the cursed relic’s power.
Without it, he was nothing more than a middle-aged man—a treasure hunter by trade.
A treasure hunter.
Yes... that was what he’d been before becoming a First Order. Before being consumed by the Living Armor.
He had once roamed the world, seeking artifacts worth fortunes.
Even in an age of advanced magic and science, the continent was still riddled with mystery—
Ancient ruins of unknown origin, forests twisted into otherworldly realms, unexplored lands untouched by humankind.
Treasure hunters sought those places—saw what others never saw, found what others could not.
Verom had been one of them.
A competent, if not exceptional, explorer.
Then came the opportunity.
An ancient ruin was discovered—and his team was the first to find it.
Inside lay an artifact.
Most relics decayed into dust over time, but this one... this one had endured.
They had been lucky—blessed, even.
“We did it! We’re rich!”
“Our lives are made! We actually did it!”
“Everyone, you’ve worked hard! Go home to your families—celebrate!”
His teammates, like brothers, had embraced one another in joy.
The relic—a coffin-like container holding the Living Armor—was ominous, but selling it would have brought them a fortune.
Then disaster struck.
The moment they tried to move it, the ruin’s internal mechanisms activated.
They had assumed the traps were long broken—careless, blinded by greed.
“D-Damn it all!”
“Run! Get out of here!”
The ruin trembled. Dust rained from above. The ceiling collapsed. One by one, his comrades were crushed beneath the debris.
The laughter and chatter of friends turned to screams, then silence.
As Verom watched their blood stain the stone floor, a numb emptiness filled him.
He thought that was the end—until he saw it.
The Living Armor, glimmering faintly in the darkness.
[Come. Quickly.]
He wasn’t sure if he’d actually heard the voice—but in that daze, he obeyed.
Mustering his last strength, he ran toward the relic instead of the exit.
The Living Armor opened wide as if waiting for him, swallowed him whole, and fused with his body.
Moments later, the ruins collapsed completely.
When the dust and smoke cleared, a pillar of red light erupted from the rubble.
From within it, a single black knight clawed his way out, gazing up at a star-filled night sky.
Everything else was gone.
The ruins, the supplies, his comrades—
All that remained was the cursed relic now fused to him.
“From that day on... I’ve been like this ever since.”
The path before Verom, who had claimed the relic, was far from smooth.
He tried to report the situation to the Treasure Hunter Guild, but instead, they branded him as the culprit and expelled him from their ranks.
That wasn’t enough for them—they even put a bounty on his head.
The reason was simple.
They coveted the Living Armor Verom had taken.
Verom had forgotten something important.
Though they called themselves a guild, the Treasure Hunters were, in truth, nothing more than bandits who fought to seize unclaimed treasures.
Expelled from the guild, declared a wanted man, and burdened with every imaginable sin and accusation—Verom had no choice but to run if he wanted to live.
It wasn’t difficult.
He had an ancient relic—the Living Armor.
The Living Armor had taught Verom, who until then had never fought beyond a drunken brawl in a tavern, the ways of footwork, swordsmanship, and life-or-death combat.
It gave him immense power to support that knowledge.
At first, he had tried not to kill. But as his body and mind grew weary, that faint resolve flickered out like a dying candle.
Whenever pursuers came, he fought. And fought again.
How much blood had he spilled?
The Living Armor grew stronger with every life it took, feeding on blood, its power swelling.
Eventually, there were no more pursuers.
The Treasure Hunter Guild that had set the bounty collapsed, and Verom vanished, his survival uncertain.
He hid his identity and continued to move, bound within the armor he could not remove.
Why was he doing all this?
Was there any reason to go on living, even if it meant killing others?
Yes.
There was.
He had only one goal left.
Verom's steps carried him toward the families of his dead comrades.
It was also his hometown.
The place where he’d run around as a snot-nosed boy, holding a wooden stick.
Where he and his childhood friends dreamed of becoming Treasure Hunters.
They had boasted that they would find the greatest treasures in the world and live rich, glorious lives.
Those foolish boys had grown up, married, and learned what responsibility meant.
Even if their dreams and passions had faded, they lived on with the goal of keeping their families happy.
—Fools. Why did you leave me behind and go first?
The voice that leaked from the armor was not his usual tone—it had been warped by the curse.
From the darkness, Verom gazed toward the distant village.
Even though their husbands were dead, the wives and children lived on, working hard to survive.
How long had he watched them through the slits of his armor?
His gaze finally fell on a woman who had stepped outside to hang laundry.
His wife—carrying their baby on her back.
While he had been away, she must have safely given birth.
—You promised you’d come back.
He had promised to sell the relic, earn money, and return before the baby was born.
He had promised to make her happy.
—But I couldn’t do anything.
He couldn’t imagine how much she must have suffered in his absence—how lonely she must have been.
What tormented him more was that he didn’t have the courage to face her.
Verom brushed his helmeted face with his hand.
Clang.
The gauntlet scraped against the helm, metal clashing on metal.
There was no sensation of touch.
No matter how he tried, the Living Armor clung to his body like glue—it wouldn’t come off.
—Why.
He felt as if he couldn’t breathe.
The Living Armor had saved his life, yet Verom could not feel gratitude.
—Why did you choose me?
The moment he wore the armor, he had realized it.
He hadn’t chosen it—the armor had chosen him.
If only it had left him to die there, he wouldn’t have to suffer like this.
—Aaaaargh! Why?!
Verom slammed both hands onto the ground.
Crack.
The earth split like a spiderweb.
He struck with all his strength, but it wasn’t his hands that broke—it was the ground itself.
The armor absorbed the shock, leaving him without even the relief of pain.
—Why! Why!
No matter how much he screamed, it was useless. Even tears wouldn’t come; the Living Armor didn’t allow it.
This was punishment.
He was being punished—
—for abandoning his friends and surviving alone,
for breaking his promise to his wife,
for staining his hands with countless lives.
Despair, anguish, screams.
And after gasping through all of it, Verom made a single vow.
—I will break free from this curse.
So please, wait for me until then.
All he could do was secretly leave letters at his wife’s house, begging her to wait.
After that, Verom became the wandering Black Knight and eventually joined the Black Dawn Order.
That was the path he had walked.
“This is the end of it. I’m going back home. I only did this job to break the curse, and now that it’s over, I have no regrets.”
“Yeah? What about that armor?”
“That thing? I’ve had enough of that damned armor! I’ve been trapped in it for over ten years!”
Still burning with resentment, Verom glared at the Living Armor.
It seemed to desire a new host—the cracks in its joints shimmered, and crimson threads squirmed like heat haze.
Seeing that, Verom felt like he was going to vomit.
“I’ll go home, see my wife and child. Eat good food, drink until I drop.”
“So you’re just leaving it behind? That thing seems to need you.”
“It needs a host, that’s all. It can’t do anything on its own.”
“No. It’s different.”
“What’s different?”
“Normally, Living Armors run on the wearer’s life force. No matter how strong or healthy the person, within a week they dry up like ✧ NоvеIight ✧ (Original source) a mummy and die. But you— you’ve lived with it for more than ten years. Do you know what that means?”
“......Are you saying that thing’s been protecting me?”
Cravat smiled faintly and shrugged.
“From what I see, yes. Even if it’s not a normal Living Armor, I’ve never seen a host survive this long and stay that intact.”
“......Even so, it’s a wretched thing that’s kept me imprisoned. I can’t stand the sight of it.”
“As a curse master, I can tell. That Living Armor doesn’t want to harm you. It’s just—like a baby bird thinking the first person it sees is its mother. It’s childish. It didn’t know better.”
“......”
“You knew that, didn’t you? You just didn’t want to admit it.”
“......”
At Cravat’s words, Verom fell silent.
“The past can’t be changed. What you’ve suffered... I do feel sorry about that. But the important thing—” Cravat smiled quietly. “—is what comes next.”