Patrick Laplante
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PU Book 2 - Chapter 41: Catharsis
🕑 Added 2024-03-27 16:45:47 +0000 UTCThe leatherworker returned half an hour later smelling of dust and mildew, carrying a cloth-covered bundle that he treated with utmost reverence. At his waist, he also carried a high-grade bag of holding; he swiftly dumped the contents onto a side table before turning his attention back to the bundle.
Crystals, pieces of scrap leather with powerful auras, demon cores, and blood—all manner of crafting materials imaginable lay ignored to the side, including a pair of ruby fangs that immediately began draining away Sorin's vitality. They caused a hunger to well up within Sorin, and yet, that hunger was manageable compared to the sudden reaction he felt from the Ten Thousand Poison Canon as Mr. Sanderson took out the item inside the cloth bundle.
The item turned out to be a suit of leather armor. It was a curious suit in that it simultaneously reeked of poison and life mana. It couldn't be clearer to Sorin that its materials were infused with both the Ten Thousand Poison Canon and the Divine Medical Art.
"Ten Thousand Living Poison Armor, custom made," said Mr. Sanderson. "It's a set of S-Tier two-star leather armor. It's a priceless item that money alone can't buy and that few except its original owner would be qualified to wear.
"The base leather is that of a Spell-Rot Hydra. Its main function is mana amplification, aligned both with life and with poison mana. It also provides excellent all-round protection against magical, elemental, and physical damage and grants the wearer's spells and attacks life-siphoning abilities."
Sorin frowned. "This armor belongs to the Kepler Clan. Why is it in your possession?"
"Wrong," said Mr. Sanderson. "It belongs to me, as per my agreement with Lorent Abberjay Kepler, as well as anyone else I ever craft armor for. Once it outlives its usefulness, the armor must be traded back to me at half its original price. Doing otherwise will result in being blacklisted from just about every premium leatherworker on Pandora. And in case I didn't make things clear, this isn't just any other armor, Sorin. It was your father's armor."
"My father's armor?" Sorin said softly.
"The very set of armor he wore while he was still in the Bone-Forging Realm," Mr. Sanderson confirmed. "He'd hoped to form a blood bond with the armor over time, but unfortunately, things didn't pan out; he was forced to retire it for another set that my grandfather grudgingly agreed to make."
"It's a beautiful set," said Sorin. "One that I'd be proud to wear. Unfortunately, it's not quite compatible with my current cultivation."
"That was my gut feeling as well," said Mr. Sanderson. "Even so, as his son and as an adventurer walking down a similar path, it's only right for you to see it at least once. Notice the grain's texture and how it meshes with the runes. Its only weakness is fire, but that's only relative to its other very impressive defensive stats."
Sorin's funds were limited, and he was in dire need of armor, but he didn't hesitate. "I'd like to buy this armor. For personal reasons. I'll offer you whatever gold you want and all the silver light in my hero medallion."
Mr. Sanderson shook his head. "I don't sell custom-made armor I've bought back, and neither will anyone else bearing the name Sanderson, for that matter. The armor I make is destined to be worn only by a single person. So, I apologize for not being able to sell this suit of armor—not even to you."
Sorin's expression soured. All the motivation he'd originally had for crafting a new set of armor evaporated. "I believe my business here is done. I'll find someone else to craft my armor. My apologies for wasting your time."
"Now, calm down just one bit," said Mr. Sanderson, stopping him just as he was about to leave. "Your current armor is substandard, Sorin. And as a hero who sees the front lines, you need the best. I'm the only one in the city that can give you that.
"I know you're upset about the armor, but there is a catch. I won't sell you the armor as is because, as I said, the armor I craft can only be worn by a single person. That being said, this isn't just any armor—it's your father's armor. I have no idea how harsh your father was with you, but no matter what, he cared for you. He shares a bond with you that runs far deeper than blood.
"My suggestion, therefore, is this: feed your existing set of blood-bound armor, grow it, and give it whatever it wants, including everything on the table. If the costs exceed what you can afford, you can buy the armor on credit. As long as you evolve your armor all the way to S-Tier, everything else is negotiable.
"As for your father's armor? That'll be the crown jewel. I'll sell you the armor, Sorin, not to keep it as is but to make it your own. Normally, such a thing wouldn't be possible, as it's contaminated with his aura, but considering a father's instinct to protect his child…"
By now, Sorin could no longer hold himself back for the first time since his parents passing. He wept. All the emotions he'd bottled up, all the anger he'd suppressed—it was now impossible to contain.
Poison seeped out of his body and ate away at his wooden chair, the walls, and the floor. The workshop's premium wood started to crumble, and it was only thanks to Mr. Sanderson's Flesh-Sanctification cultivation that the entire place didn't collapse and take the entire block out with it.
Only one object wasn't protected: his father's armor. Unsurprisingly, it was completely immune to Sorin's poison and even glowed with a soft, encouraging light.
Sorin thought as he wept. It wanted to reassure him, to let him know that everything was okay. He instinctively picked up the armor and held it close. It smelled like his father, he realized, and it contained all the warmth that the hard man had refused to give him.
When he finally calmed down, Sorin saw Mr. Sanderson fiddling with a leather strap at the back of the workshop. He'd separated the pile of ingredients into three smaller piles. The armor in Sorin's hands had formed a connection with Sorin and his current set of armor. He did not doubt that if he said the word, this armor would fuse with his own.
"Is that really what you want?" Sorin asked the armor, knowing it couldn't reply. "If that's the case, then do what you want. I won't stop you. But just you know, I'll take you out of this place regardless, no matter what threats I need to make or what damage I need to cause."
It lay there for a few seconds as though undecided, but in the end, the silver glow on the armor intensified and even began to leak over to his armor. The two armor sets were made of vastly different materials and bore very different enchantments, but they ultimately shared the same source.
"It looks like the matter's settled, then," said Mr. Sanderson, walking over to the entrance. He flipped the sign from Open to Closed, then waved Sorin over to the workbench where the materials had been placed. "Just remember something, Sorin—the reason we don't let two people wear the same set of armor is because the longer high-quality armor is worn by a cultivator, a deep bond is formed. The armor develops a sort of personality and can, in a sense, be considered a living entity.
"In most cases, this will affect a cultivator's path. In some rare cases, it could even result in the cultivator's death. This is one of the few cases where I'd recommend the current course of action. Just know that no matter what underhanded means I use, that armor won't fuse with yours unless it's something it really wants."
Mr. Sanderson reached out to the pair of ruby fangs on the floor and pressed them against Sorin's armor. The two fangs were unable to resist the Flesh-Sanctification cultivator and shattered; their essence merged with the leather armor, breathing life into the death-touched minotaur's hide and its barely functioning runes.
Next, the leatherworker fed the armor various alchemical ingredients and demon cores. The process was very similar to the art of plant catalysis in alchemy. It was clear that he wasn't just enhancing or tempering the leather but growing it as though it were still a living entity.
The armor, having been infused with a massive dose of high-quality energy, began to change. Its aura rapidly broke through the ranks from E-Tier to D-Tier, then from C-Tier to B-Tier. Then, a half hour and several more expensive ingredients later, it broke through B-Tier to A-Tier before stalling and refusing to grow anymore.
Mr. Sanderson wasn't satisfied with the mediocre results. He immediately exerted even stronger pressure, and the leather armor, now sufficiently powerful, fought back. But this, too, was a form of strengthening; the exchange caused the armor's aura to inch higher, eventually reaching the peak of what seemed possible at the two-star level.
"The last ingredient is an open secret," said Mr. Sanderson with a wink. "There's a reason we require silver light for purchases." He took Sorin's Hero Medal and extracted a flowing silver substance from it, which he then poured into the armor. Something inside the armor shattered and caused it to glow with a silver light.
As his armor broke through to S-Tier, the resonance between his armor and his father's armor intensified. The former began to grow stronger, and the latter grew ethereal and transparent. The refurbished minotaur leather grew a scaled pattern as it transformed into an entirely new material.
The spell runes on Sorin's armor increased in density until finally, it seemed it couldn't support any more runes. This all changed when the runes collapsed to form familiar serpentine runes, creating space for the diagram to further expand and increase in strength.
The result was a set of sleek black armor covered in tiny green runes. The runes belonged to both the poison and life mana schools, interlocked in a fashion that defied common sense. From a distance, the armor looked dark green.
There was something else in these runes as well: a tarnished golden energy that resonated with his blood. This armor wasn't just armor fit for a hero—it was armor fit for a fledgling god.
"This is possibly the finest leather armor I've ever seen," said Mr. Sanderson, stroking its dark green surface. "There's something about it that transcends mortality. It's the kind of aura you only ever see on…" His eyes suddenly widened. "Forget I said anything."
"What does it do?" asked Sorin.
"Everything," Mr. Sanderson responded bluntly. "Everything you need it to. It's bound to your blood, Sorin, and your essence and will. It will continue to grow as you feed it the materials it needs, and it will always conform to your path. There will be no need to turn this armor into me, as its potential is intrinsically tied to yours."
"I mean, specifically," said Sorin.
"Right," said Mr. Sanderson. "Aside from giving you a large boost to all defenses—fire being the weakest, and the poison being the strongest—it has strong mana amplification and life-siphoning properties. This applies to any melee attacks made, skills applied, and spells cast. In terms of the strength of this respective enchantment, I'm afraid you'll find no other two-star armor that can match it. It's twice as potent as your father's armor originally was, something that's only amplified by your perfect compatibility.
"It's also retained a few of its original properties. For example, its berserker properties. You'll find that you heal a lot faster as well, including but not limited to natural regeneration and healing effects from life mana spells, life force, natural regeneration, and, of course, potions. It also repairs itself by drinking your blood and is obviously immune to it. By the way, you just did ten thousand gold worth of damage to my shop. You can expect a bill in the mail."
"What about these materials? And my father's armor," asked Sorin.
"A hundred and forty-thousand gold," said Mr. Sanderson. "Much higher than I expected. It ate up everything I intended for it and more. Also, it drank up all your silver light. You'll need more accomplishments to commission further S-Tier gear."
"What… how?" Sorin grimaced. "I can't afford that, Mr. Sanderson."
"Like I said, you can buy it on credit," Mr. Sanderson assured him. "Just pay me back within three months, and we're square; no interest required. Besides, you should be able to make a killing in the Shrine Descent, right? And if you die… well, you're not that fond of your clan, are you? I'll send them the bill."
Author's note: I seldom cry writing and editing chapters, but this was one of those times. And I sure hope I made you cry, too.
