With the last of the courtyard cleansed, Lucian took the opportunity to gather everything of value he could find. A Steel-Wire Torch, a Stonesword Key, the Twinblade Talisman, and a supple Whip — that was the full haul.
They were items he would not be using immediately, so he stored them away at the Site of Grace near the prison.
Lucian and Julius returned to the courtyard, double-checking along the way to ensure no enemies had slipped past their notice. By now, Edgar had already set to work, helping the soldiers remove the corpses that littered the ground. Irina, supported by a castle maid, was making her way toward a chamber deeper within Castle Morne.
When Edgar spotted the two men returning, he stopped what he was doing and strode toward them.
"Julius… why haven't you fetched a new set of armor for Sir Lucian?"
The sight of the Claymore in Lucian's hands told Edgar they had been to the armory. Yet Lucian was still clad in his tattered armor, leading Edgar to assume Julius had simply neglected to bring him new gear.
Lucian stepped forward to explain.
"It's not his fault. I… had my eye on a set of armor belonging to a Banished Knight. But I feared it might have been the possession of one of your companions, or perhaps a relic of your forebears. I didn't want to take it without asking. If you have no objection, I would be glad to wear it."
"I see," Edgar nodded, recalling the armor in question.
"That set once belonged to a companion of my grandfather. When my grandfather was appointed Lord of Castle Morne, his comrade was sent here alongside him. He left no heirs, and so the armor was never passed down. I believe… he would be glad to see it worn again."
Lucian's face brightened, relieved of any unease.
"Then I'll accept it, gladly."
He turned to head back toward the armory, but Edgar raised a hand.
"Wait a moment. Julius can bring the chest here. Please, come with me instead."
Lucian saw no reason to refuse; the armor would be his soon enough.
Edgar led him through a hallway to a door.
"This will be your room. Once a guest chamber of Castle Morne. Please, rest here."
When the door swung open, Lucian was greeted by the sight of a spacious room and a large, soft bed. There was little in the way of furniture, but to Lucian — who had never seen such accommodations since arriving in the Lands Between — it was a palace.
Edgar's voice carried a hint of apology.
"Much was destroyed in the misbegotten uprising. Many furnishings were damaged, so I had them removed. What remains has been cleaned."
"Clean clothes await you on the bed. I do not know your exact measurements, but they should be close enough."
"For Castle Morne as it stands now… this is the best we can offer. Forgive us."
Lucian paced through the open space, finding he preferred the lack of clutter. In his past life, he had lived in a cramped apartment crammed full of useless things. The airiness here was refreshing.
His eyes fell upon a standing mirror in the corner, its frame chipped but the glass still serviceable. It struck him then — since crossing into this world, he had never seen his own reflection.
He stepped before it.
The man staring back was largely the same as in his past life — only sharper, more striking. The face was handsomely chiseled, the sort of hard-edged beauty no one would doubt belonged to a warrior. If in his old life he'd been a bit handsome, now he was simply handsome, full stop. The only incongruity was the bloodstained, shredded armor clinging to his frame.
The resemblance to his former self puzzled him. He had assumed this was a soul transmigration — so why did the body look nearly identical? It couldn't have been physical travel; the fighting instincts were not those of his old, sedentary self. But the matter was too strange to dwell on. Crossing into another world was already absurd enough — a familiar face was hardly the strangest part of it.
In an adjoining space, a large wooden tub sat brimming with water, a towel draped over the rim. Cold water, but Lucian had no complaints. In Castle Morne's current state, asking for it to be heated would have been unreasonable.
He stripped off the ruined armor and examined his body. His muscles were well-defined, not monstrous, but strong enough that in his former world, he would have been considered formidable.
He ladled water over himself, the cold sluicing away the blood and grime, the runoff disappearing into a sloped channel that emptied into a covered pit. A crude toilet sat nearby — surprisingly, the castle had a form of sewage system. Lucian was taken aback, but then remembered the Lands Between's grand elevators and massive keeps. Craftsmanship here was far beyond medieval Earth's.
When his skin was scrubbed clean — the first true bath since his arrival — Lucian felt new again.
On the bed lay two sets of clothing: A quilted gambeson meant to be worn under armor, and a long, embroidered robe of pale green — noble attire for the offspring of the upper class.
He ignored the robe and pulled on the gambeson.
By now, Julius had brought the Banished Knight's armor to the door. Lucian carried the chest inside and donned each piece. The fit was near perfect.
This was not merely about dressing the part — Lucian needed to test the weight. If it proved too heavy, he would allocate some of his Rune gains to endurance when he next met Melina.
He was rich in Runes — sixty-seven thousand in all, nearly equal to the yield of farming the great Albinaurics without the Gold-Pickled Fowl Foot. Fortune had been with him when Singh fell; the 5× Rune buff was still active. The hundred-odd misbegotten had given him forty-eight thousand, and Singh nineteen thousand more.
Enough to raise his strength significantly — enough to make facing Grafted Scions and Leonine Misbegotten far less daunting.
A short jog in the armor proved no hindrance, though long combat might prove tiring. Plans for stat allocation took shape in his mind.
The soft bed behind him was tempting, but daylight still remained. Better to meet with Melina, spend his Runes, and then pay a visit to the Roundtable Hold.
In the game, the Roundtable Hold had only a handful of denizens. But here… if agents like the one he'd met bore Fia's blessing, then perhaps there were far more Tarnished gathered there than he'd expected.