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.2

Feels like I’ve become some kind of doll.0

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.0

“Elbow. Quickly,” one of the dwarves instructed.0

Meanwhile, another dwarf efficiently unwrapped the equipment and handed pieces to the others.0

Clink.0

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.0

The greaves followed the same pattern, and all the new equipment shared a darkened appearance, as though coated with charcoal.0

“The Knight of Death’s legacy must have been quite generous,” Ian murmured under his breath, while being tugged and pulled by the dwarves.0

Corvo, who was fitting him with black plate boots, nodded. “The full suit of plate armor was a significant find.”0

Click.0

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...0