Take a deep breath.
As the iron coffin slowly opens, intricate mechanisms begin to break its seals. The freezing cold recedes, warmth creeping back inch by inch—
and so the pitch-black substance sleeping within awakens, stirring, growing restless.
The already narrow chamber is drowned in an aura of ill omen. It is as if the cold object has come alive—or perhaps it was alive all along, merely lulled into slumber by the low temperature.
Now it is hungry.
It yearns for blood and flesh.
A whining murmur rises beside the two of them, like a foreign traveler speaking of ancient tales in an unfamiliar tongue—grotesque and mad, yet strangely coherent.
"Did you know," Barrow says softly, "that this thing is, in essence, a demon as well?"
He stares at the black god-armor, forcing his expression to remain steady.
Blue Jade stands to one side, her face grave, both hands clenched around the Forged Spear. She waits just beyond the doorway—ready to seal it shut at the first sign of error. She doesn't know if she could stop Barrow, but she could at least restrain him.
"This is technology from Jiuxia," Barrow continues. "Their emperor established an institute called the Hidden Learning Temple, devoted entirely to studying demonkind. You can think of it as a research body like the Perpetual Engine Project. They discovered traits shared by all higher demons—the brain and the heart."
As he speaks, Barrow reaches into the darkness.
The moment living flesh draws near, the black substance reacts. It quivers, swaying faintly. Though it is called armor, Barrow can sense something else within it—
something like joy.
"To kill a higher demon, both the heart and the brain must be destroyed. Destroy only one, and the body still retains combat capability. But the scholars dug deeper and found a distinction."
"If the heart alone is destroyed, the body continues to fight under the brain's will. Destroy the brain instead, and the demon's terrifying vitality drives the body forward on pure instinct. Based on this, the Hidden Learning Temple created the Yōfutu—what we now call the Old-Era God Armor."
The armor moves.
It does not feel like metal at all. In truth, it is a mass of formless flesh, writhing and alive. It crawls up Barrow's arm, clinging to his body, and within the blackness a crimson heart pulses faintly, appearing and vanishing like a dying star.
The whispering grows louder, no longer murmurs but roars in his ears.
Barrow groans in pain, low and ragged, as the black substance coils around his arm like a python, climbing higher. It is as though a tide of darkness is swallowing him whole, covering every inch of his body.
"Are you alright, Barrow?" Blue Jade calls out.
She tightens her grip on the spear. The scene before her is profoundly unsettling—the erosion has already begun. Human will, in moments like this, is nothing more than a skiff adrift in a storm.
"If I lose control," Barrow says hoarsely, "then kill me. You put on the armor and continue the mission."
He turns slightly.
The sight is monstrous, suffocating. His familiar face is twisted with feral rage, veins standing out, his eyes bloodshot and blazing crimson.
"This thing is a demon," he says. "It's just one without a brain—only a heart left behind. Those lunatics reshaped it into a controllable body. What commands it… is human will."
And with that, the truth of the Old-Era God Armor is laid bare.
Through complex craftsmanship and forbidden alchemy, the scholars separated the demon's brain from its heart and body. When needed, human will takes the brain's place—and gains the power of a demon in return.
It is like dancing with a dragon: lethal, reckless, insane.
But without it, there is no chance at victory at all.
Beneath the black mass, steel begins to rise.
Internal mechanisms deploy as Barrow merges with the armor. Hardened, metal-like layers spread outward, revealing a solid mechanical framework beneath. A silver-white steel skeleton closes around him, swallowing his body whole, as the black substance flows in to fill every gap.
This is the union of demon and machine.
Fine gears spin at Barrow's joints, and the entire body hums with power—like a colossal clockwork knight wound tight and ready to charge.
"The first generation had terrible controllability," Barrow says. "So the second replaced most of the structure with machinery, reducing the demon's proportion."
Cables lock into place. Brass pipes extend from the armor's surface. Heavy plates slam down, shielding vulnerable points. In moments, the eerie iron coffin becomes an armoring platform—like a blacksmith hammering plate after plate onto a knight's body.
A massive steam engine overlaps with the demon's heart. Black armor entwines with silver framework, and searing steam pours from the seams, filling the space with hypnotic white fog.
This is the perfect fusion of flesh and steel.
The Perpetual Engine takes yet another step toward forbidden knowledge.
Blue Jade can no longer see Barrow through the haze. Then, at last, a steady green light shines within it, and the steel giant strides forward.
"Let's begin the mission."
The familiar voice emerges, mixed with layers of electric distortion. This is a degraded first-generation model—most of the demon replaced with machinery to suppress erosion. For now, Barrow's will still holds.
Blue Jade nods, swallowing the ache in her chest, and steps aside.
Only then does she truly understand Barrow's hatred of Galahad donning the god-armor. To pour human will into a demon's shell—to step from sanctity into annihilation.
It is a cursed path.
And the only one left.
Grief wells up in her, dragging her back to that snow-filled day buried deep in her memory, when she too regretted a choice she could never undo.
Mortals have stolen forbidden power.
The heavy door is forced open effortlessly under Barrow's strength. He lifts a massive blade from the weapons rack—far beyond what human arms could ever wield. Calling it a greatsword feels inadequate, yet in Barrow's hands it fits perfectly, as though it had always been forged for this armor alone.
The blade begins to glow, heating to a burning red.
Another creation of the mad scholars—a byproduct of the thermite rifle project. Cables link the sword to ports in the armor; a compact battery on his back feeds it power. Conductive channels ignite, and the blade burns bright, slicing through all resistance with terrifying ease.
Even hardened demon flesh now looks fragile.
Barrow grips the incandescent blade and steps out of the carriage. The cold air clears his mind, and for a fleeting moment, he feels as though he has returned to the past.
Barrow is from Berhans—the industrial city he once called home. He remembers running across green fields, sweat flying as excitement filled his chest, watching the factories' cruel silhouettes against the dying sun.
It was always a long sunset. Birds wheeled in the sky, clouds drifting apart. As day and night exchanged places, streetlights flickered on one by one beneath the still-pale sky.
He loved that hour.
It felt like time belonged to him alone.
The air carried the scent of grass and scorched ash. So many years have passed—yet for a heartbeat, it feels as though he is there again.
And then—
Endless demons surge toward the Radiance from the edge of sight.
Barrow bites down hard, drawing blood, forcing himself awake.
There is no time for nostalgia.
He raises the burning blade—and strikes.
Gunfire and steel ring out. The accursed knight and the emerald bird stand alone before the tide of demons. It is a war that cannot be won.
But there is no retreat left—
only forward.