I Became a Ruined Character in a Dark Fantasy-Chapter 408

Six dwarves bustled around Ian, their movements efficient and deliberate. Ian, standing in the middle of the flurry, clicked his tongue with a somewhat disgruntled expression. The moment he removed his clothes, the dwarves pounced on him, tugging and turning his body as if he were a doll.

Feels like I’ve become some kind of doll.

Yet the dwarves’ expressions and gazes were completely serious. They dressed him in a meticulously crafted leather outfit reinforced with finely woven chains, ensuring the inner lining was soft against his skin. Thin adjustment straps at various points were pulled tight to fit his body perfectly.

“Elbow. Quickly,” one of the dwarves instructed.

Meanwhile, another dwarf efficiently unwrapped the equipment and handed pieces to the others.

Clink.

Over the chain mail, the White Phosphor Armor, newly repaired, was fitted to cover both his front and back. Its once-dulled surface now gleamed white, while dark iron scales covered the gaps, creating a faintly ominous, shadowed aura.

The greaves followed the same pattern, and all the new equipment shared a darkened appearance, as though coated with charcoal.

“The Knight of Death’s legacy must have been quite generous,” Ian murmured under his breath, while being tugged and pulled by the dwarves.

Corvo, who was fitting him with black plate boots, nodded. “The full suit of plate armor was a significant find.”

Click.

Corvo secured the boots snugly against Ian’s heels and stared briefly at the polished surface. “We melted down all the spells inscribed on it, yet the color didn’t change at all.”

Ian, raising his left and right arms as directed, nodded. “The color isn’t from the spells. It’s probably stained with traces of the undead.”

“Regardless, it’s far sturdier than regular Imperial steel. On top of that, we tempered it with the demon’s bone powder, so it’s even stronger than before.”

“Demon’s bone powder? That armored guy’s bones?” Ian asked, his eyes narrowing slightly as more armor pieces—shoulder guards, vambraces, and elbow protectors—fixed into his arms.

“Using it makes the steel harder. Didn’t you know?”

Is there even a scientific basis for that? Ian wondered silently.

Langley, fixing a knee guard to Ian’s leg, added, “It’s no comparison to truesilver, but it’s remarkably tough and lightweight. With almost no impurities, it’s close to being meteoric iron.”

The dwarves continued to work swiftly, outfitting Ian piece by piece. Eventually, they stepped back, brushing off their hands. “Please, stand and see how it feels.”

Ian, his expression showing mild fatigue, stood up without complaint. Even as he did, his gaze scanned through the information windows hovering before him.

To his surprise, all the newly crafted equipment was listed in the system.

Items like the Underground Master’s Plate Pauldrons and Plate Boots were all marked as unique grade, with impressively high defensive stats. Each piece also granted resistance to necromancy and several curses. The high grade, even with simple options, was undoubtedly due to the equipment’s superior fundamental quality.

"Indeed." Ian muttered as he closed the information windows and looked down at himself. "The effort was well worth it."

The weight of the armor felt balanced and comfortable; the equipment fitted perfectly, and the plate armor, instead of feeling cumbersome, gave him a surprisingly agile look. The mixture of white and ash-black in the armor and greaves created an intriguing harmony.

"We're not done yet." Corvo's voice drew Ian's gaze forward. One of the dwarves approached, carefully carrying a neatly folded dark navy fabric in both hands.

"Is that the cloak Carmiel used?" Ian asked.

"We've modified it for easier use."

The dwarves grabbed Ian's arms and gently guided him back into the chair. Resigned, Ian let them handle him as they worked. The cloak was fastened in place as the dwarves swarmed him, adjusting it with practiced efficiency.

Clink, clink.

They secured it meticulously, attaching it to inner clasps on the pauldrons, the backplate of the armor, and other reinforced points. It was designed so that the hood could be pulled down anytime if desired.

[Cloak of the Undying.]

Ian glanced at the information window that appeared. The item granted direct resistance to various spells. Though it lessened the cloak's lifespan, in emergencies, he could shield himself from most magic by simply pulling the hood over his head.

My Resistance just keeps getting higher and higher.

As Ian mused, Corvo placed the Black Crown of the Dark Elder Fairy on his head. A pleasant chill spread across his scalp.

"We couldn't decipher the inscriptions on the crown," Corvo said somewhat sheepishly. "They're ancient spells, beyond our expertise."

Ian chuckled softly. "Sometimes things don't go as planned."

One of the dwarves approached carefully, carrying the Truesilver Steel Sword, which had been leaning against the wall. Holding the scabbard firmly, Ian stood up.

Whoosh.

The cloak lightly fluttered before settling smoothly along his back and sides.

When Carmiel had worn it, the cloak had seemed to radiate a bright blue hue. But, on him, it appeared closer to a deep navy, almost black. It must have looked brighter before due to the teal glow Carmiel had emanated.

Corvo added, "You can adjust the sides of the cloak to cover areas as needed."

"Impressive." Ian nodded, fastening the sword to his belt, then turned to the dwarves. "Thanks to you, I've truly realized that each of you has reached the pinnacle of your respective fields."

The dwarves' eyes widened in unison at his praise.

Twirling his left wrist, Ian continued, "I'll vouch for you. If anyone questions your skill, feel free to use my name."

The dwarves, who had been staring at Ian with fiery admiration, gradually bowed their heads one by one.

"We'll carry this honor for the rest of our lives, Great Warrior."

"My fatigue has vanished. Thank you."

As murmurs of gratitude spread, Ian simply shrugged. "These are far too valuable to accept without offering something in return."

Of course, Ian hadn't left the dwarves empty-handed. He had donated nearly all the spoils of battle to the city, save for a few key items. Among the donations were the shattered longbow once used by the fairy lieutenant and the crimson armor worn by the demon lieutenant. However, compared to the equipment the master dwarves had crafted, such items were trivial in value—those were mere junk to Ian.

"The battle hammer you mentioned is placed beside the door," said Langley with a satisfied grin as one of the dwarves unwrapped the last piece of equipment, "It was too large and heavy to bring inside."

Ian nodded, and just as he did, the door rumbled open again. Lucia appeared, carrying a water pouch and leather pouch slung over her shoulder.

Her mouth fell open at the sight of the dwarves with Ian standing behind them. "Wow."

Though it was just a simple exclamation, it was enough to bring proud smiles back to the dwarves' faces—the highest form of praise was sometimes simply a brief expression of admiration.

As Lucia entered, unable to take her eyes off Ian, one of the dwarves handed him the unwrapped item.

"Hmm." Ian examined it.

The item was a large saddle made of ashen-gray leather reinforced with chains. It was broader and sturdier than a typical saddle, complete with well-fitted stirrups. It was another masterpiece crafted by the same dwarf who had made Ian's scabbard.

"I wanted to mount it myself, but I figured it might cost me my head," the dwarf added.

Ian chuckled as he accepted the saddle. "I'll handle that. Thank you."

Corvo, who had been watching Ian like an artist admiring his own work, gave a nod and stepped back. "In that case, we'll take our leave, Great Warrior. We need to prepare for the farewell."

"Farewell?" Ian asked, pausing mid-motion as he adjusted the saddle.

Lucia, who was organizing supplies in the metal container, answered instead. "The residents are gathering at the lower levels. They seemed to want to say their goodbyes."

"There’s no need for all that." As Ian clicked his tongue, the dwarves exchanged meaningful glances, nodded, and turned to leave.

"Then we'll excuse ourselves for now. We'll see you later, Great Warrior."

"Understood. I'll well use everything you've made."

With one last bow, the dwarves hurried out, their hurried footsteps echoing down the hall.

"Hmm." Ian casually stretched his arms and legs before walking toward Lucia. She was carefully stacking the flasks and pouches inside the storage box, which was already loaded with preserved provisions.

—It looks like a fine set of gear, my friend. Very comfortable,

"You’re awake," Ian muttered as he adjusted the saddle on his shoulder.

—Yeah. Just now. Didn't want to miss another good show, you know.

Lucia closed the storage box, nodded, and stood up. “You look incredible, Sir Ian. Though, I must say, you do give off a bit of a dark knight vibe.”

“Sounds like you are saying my gear matches the mood of this place perfectly.” He looked back at Lucia as he placed the storage box in his pocket dimension. “So, are you ready to leave?”

"Yes. Though I’m absolutely not prepared to fight the archdemons."

Ian chuckled quietly as he turned toward the door. “Neither am I.”

During their rest, Ian and Lucia had occasionally received information about the Black Lands and the archdemons from Diana and Sir Valten. Although Valten was generally reserved, he answered most of their questions, and Diana did the same.

Thanks to them, Ian and Lucia learned bits and pieces about the new demons dominating the Demonic Realm and the archdemons who had survived since the age of war.

Even Ian, who was usually indifferent to other people’s stories, paid close attention to the tales about these beings. Of course, there were also less crucial pieces of information—like how the remnants still referred to themselves as the Imperial Army or how they were called Wolves and Lions.

"Good to know I’m not the only one unprepared," Lucia said with a smile, following Ian as they stepped out.

“Stay back,” Ian added, turning to his right.

Crunch. Crackle.

Beside the estate, the sound of bones snapping accompanied the sight of a massive black warhorse crouched low. It was the mount Valten had handed over to him.

The creature was tethered beside the building with a rope made of twisted metal wire. The position was only possible because Ian’s estate was located at the farthest edge of the uppermost level.

Ever since its arrival, no residents had dared approach the area.

“Looks like Diana fed it,” Ian observed, watching the horse chew on bone fragments.

Lucia spoke up from behind him. "That’s something I brought over myself."

"You?" Ian turned to look at her. "I told you not to get too close."

"It looked hungry. It’s got a long journey ahead, so it needs to eat well. Besides, I don’t find it particularly scary."

—Of course not. I’m here for you, after all. And that creature isn’t as bad-tempered as it looks.

Says the one who hasn’t even managed to devour the Swamp’s Resentment yet, Ian thought with a smirk, then looked back at the horse.

The black horse had lifted its head and was now staring at him. It was massive, far larger than even the most robust Northern-bred warhorses. Its muscular frame pulsed with visible veins, and its ominous red eyes burned with a dangerous glow as it focused on Ian.

Ian met its gaze without flinching, then lazily gestured with his chin. “Stay seated. Eyes down.”

As if it understood his words, the horse obediently lowered its head. Despite Valten’s concerns, Ian did not need to go through any process to tame the beast. Valten had been astounded, claiming he had seen nothing like it. But to Ian, this was nothing unusual. After all, he now carried chaos within him that rivaled even the demons.

As Ian approached the horse, he glanced toward the outer wall of the estate. “Yeah, it's definitely big,” said Ian.

In truth, what had really caught his eye the moment he stepped outside wasn’t the horse—it was the massive war hammer leaning against the wall. It was the weapon used by the demon lieutenant of the Wanderers. The reddish hammer, bloodstained, clearly served one purpose: smashing.

Both its front and back were flat, emphasizing its destructive intent. The long, black handle still bore the claw marks of its previous demonic owner, and the counterweight at the base resembled a small mace.

“Hold on a second,” Ian said as he placed the saddle onto the black horse’s back and untied the braided wire securing its reins. The horse snorted in response, almost as if answering him.

Ian turned toward the wall and picked up the war hammer. Its weight pulled at his arms, forcing him to exert more strength. Still, it was smaller than the Legion Commander's Battle Hammer and slightly shorter than the Legion Commander's Greatsword. It was lighter as well.

[Shagnut’s Battle Hammer]

A faint smile played on Ian’s lips as he checked the information window. The hammer's stats were as destructive as its appearance. It boasted abilities like ignoring physical defenses to a certain degree, a chance to destroy armor upon impact, and a probability of inflicting status effects like immobility or disarmament.

"That hammer looks bigger than me." Lucia's voice followed.

“It probably is. Heavier too,” Ian replied, adjusting his grip on the handle. Though imprecise, it was still something he could swing. For a fleeting moment, he missed the Blessing of Struggle. With Karha’s blessing enhancing his strength, this hammer might have been as easy to wield as a baseball bat.

No use complaining. Gotta work with what I’ve got.

Shrugging, Ian shoved the hammer into his pocket dimension. The once-roomy pocket dimension now felt crowded again.

Returning to the horse, Ian tightened the straps securing the saddle to its robust frame. With a firm pat on its muscular neck, he pulled himself up and swung onto the saddle.

"Definitely sturdy."

Compared to Nila, this horse was an entirely different experience. While Nila was firm yet agile, this felt more like sitting on a bison—solid and powerful.

“Can I ride on it too?” Lucia asked.

Ian nodded, and without hesitation, she approached. The black horse paid her no mind, continuing to chew on the bone fragments as though fully aware it wasn’t supposed to harm her—perhaps thanks to Lucia’s earlier attempts to bond by feeding it.

"It’s so spacious. I could just sit with my legs together," Lucia remarked as she climbed onto the saddle behind Ian. She reached around his cloak to grab his side for balance.

Ian placed his feet in the stirrups and gave the reins—crafted from chains rather than leather—a light tug.

“Let’s go,” he commanded.

The black horse rose effortlessly, seemingly unfazed by the combined weight of two fully equipped riders. As their vantage point rose, the sprawling underground city came into full view beneath them.

“Looks like we’re the last ones,” Lucia murmured. Her gaze swept over the gathering townsfolk and the ranks of Blue Wolves already assembled at the lowest level of the city.

But Ian didn’t respond. Instead, he squinted, his gaze fixed on something entirely different from what Lucia was watching.

A group of dwarves were making their way across the lowest level, carrying a long wooden platform high above their heads. Ian focused his attention on the object boldly perched atop the platform.

“Lucy,” Ian muttered, his voice filled with disbelief. "Tell me that doesn’t look like a bust of me."