The Divine Armor of the Old Century（Book 1）

Chapter 84（End of Volume 1）

Winter was approaching. The yellowing autumn leaves fell weakly, and the dry branches twisted and stretched out, forming a thicket of thorns. The warm sunlight scattered down, sliced into fragments by the sharp branches, falling onto the pristine white blanket.

Borrel lay in bed, staring blankly at the ceiling. The ornate paintings filled his entire field of vision, and looking at them for too long made his eyes tired.

"Ah... such a rare rest," a familiar voice sighed from the adjacent bed. Borrel tilted his head slightly and saw Red Kestrel turning over, finding a comfortable position to continue resting. He murmured casually, as if talking in his sleep.

The rustling of a blanket caught Borrel's attention, and he turned his head again. Robin was quietly reading a theological book, his chest wrapped in bandages. Judging by his relaxed expression, he seemed to be recovering well.

"Yeah, it's really rare," Borrel said, looking back up at the ceiling, sighing once more.

He could barely remember how he had returned from that damned place. The colossal body of the demon, engulfed in white flames, had fallen, crashing into the lighthouse. It didn't break the structure, but it did knock Red Kestrel off, who had clung to a protrusion on the wall during his fall, avoiding death but breaking several ribs.

As for Borrel, he had passed out from the corrosion of the old century's god armor. When he first woke up, he found himself in the laboratory of the perpetual pump. The degree of neural corrosion was still optimistic enough that Nikolai hadn't thrown him into the furnace. The next time he woke up, he was here, sharing the room with two familiar faces.

"How is Blue Kingfisher?" Borrel asked after a moment. Robin answered him from the other side.

"She's okay, just some burns. She's resting quietly," Robin said, closing his book. Being the one who had been in the infirmary the longest, he had recovered the best and was allowed by the doctors to get up and walk around. Blue Kingfisher's room was at the other end of the corridor, but Borrel's corrosion hadn't stabilized enough for him to be unchained from his bed.

"Phew... that's good."

"What's this? Interested in Blue Kingfisher?" Red Kestrel, who had been pretending to sleep, turned over with a mischievous grin. He was the least injured of the group but had shamelessly stayed for the sake of a peaceful vacation.

"No, I owe her my life. Without her, I'd be dead," Borrel said. Since coming back, he often dreamed of the battlefield, where countless demons swarmed him, tearing at his armor. No matter how strong he was, he couldn't break free until heavenly fire descended, and a pale hand pulled him out of the darkness.

"Sounds nice," Red Kestrel nodded as if he understood something. Robin also laughed but quickly started coughing painfully. Galahad's uncontrolled strike had pierced his chest, leaving many aftereffects.

"Seeing you all lively makes me happy," a voice interrupted. The door to the infirmary opened, and two people walked in, a perfect contrast to each other—one with a bright smile, the other cold as ice.

Night Owl carried a fruit basket, while Cockatiel, under the trio's gaze, pulled a large bottle of liquor from his coat, winking and gesturing for silence.

...

"Anonymous again this time?" the nun asked the man sitting on the bench in the quiet church. The deerstalker hat shaded his face, showing only his pale lips and their cold texture.

"Yes, just like always," the man replied, signaling the nun to leave. He looked at the statue at the front, sunlight filtering through stained glass, casting a holy glow over the blurred face.