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Seated on the bed, Ian tightened the straps of his breastplate. It was a constricting sense of unity he hadn't felt in days. He sighed briefly as he looked over the items spread out in front of him: shoulder guards, greaves, arm guards and gloves, boots, and other pieces of equipment.
Though the servants of the knightly family had stripped them of old dirt and polished them to look like new, strangely, he didn't feel good about it. Suddenly, the morning of the reserve force call-up came to mind—the memory of feeling drained and listless just from wearing a military uniform. It was exactly like that now.
...It's more like re-enlistment than reserve forces. A re-enlistment with no known discharge date. Fuck.
Despite his complicated feelings, his body automatically put on the equipment in the correct places. Without anyone's help, Ian returned to his usual appearance in just a few minutes. Daggers and throwing knives were positioned across a band and around his waist.
These throwing knives were newly acquired from Orendel. Having thrown the dagger a few times, the accuracy was higher than he had expected. His Agility stats might not be high, but his Mental Fortitude and Concentration surely played...
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