armour set of the War god

Night draped the Ausha Region in a thick veil of darkness, the stars barely visible through the heavy clouds. A cold breeze swept through the outskirts of a small town, where a group of priests had set up camp after a long day of healing the sick.

Inside one of the tents, a young, thin man in a flowing white robe, embroidered with gold, approached an elderly priest. The older man sat with a solemn air, his long white beard resting against his blue-and-silver robe, his piercing eyes reflecting the weight of experience.

"Father, we have finished our healing for today!" the young man, Peter, announced, though his voice carried exhaustion.

The elder priest lifted his gaze, his voice steady. "How many did you heal today, Peter?"

Peter straightened his posture. "Three, Father."

A sigh escaped the old priest's lips as he slowly shook his head, a shadow of disappointment flickering in his aged eyes.

"That's fine, Peter. We know how difficult it is to heal Homa," he reassured, though the heaviness in his tone was unmistakable.

Just then—

A scream. A bloodcurdling wail pierced the night.

Both men tensed, their hearts pounding.

"What's happening?!" the old priest demanded, already rising to his feet.

"Father, stay here! I'll go check!" Peter said, stepping forward.

"No! We go together," the elder priest insisted, gripping his staff. His expression darkened. "Remember, we are outside the town. Beasts may be lurking, waiting for a moment like this."

Steeling themselves, the two priests stepped out into the open.

Their breath hitched.

In the dim moonlight, a lone figure stood amidst the chaos. His hands dripped with blood, fresh and glistening. Around him, water swirled unnaturally, spiraling like a living entity. His eyes—deep, glowing blue—radiated an eerie, unnatural light.

Then, he grinned. A slow, creeping smile stretched across his face, sharp and unsettling.

"Oh, what do we have here?" the stranger cooed, his voice dripping with amusement. He tilted his head, eyes locking onto the two priests.

"Two more."

A twisted chuckle escaped his lips.

"This night just keeps getting better."

Without warning, the stranger flung a torrent of water toward the priests. Instinct took over as both men raised their hands, conjuring a barrier just in time. The water slammed against it, dispersing in a violent splash.

The stranger clicked his tongue, a smirk playing on his lips.

"Oh? You managed to block it? Very well," he said, his voice dripping with amusement. "Then allow me to reward you before your deaths." He spread his arms theatrically. "I am Asmodeus Furer, the 8th Demon Lord, chosen to ascend as the next Demon King!"

Peter scoffed, gripping his staff tightly. "We don't give a damn, even if you were a demon's dog!"

With a battle cry, Peter lunged forward, staff raised.

"You dare mock me?!" Asmodeus hissed.

In an instant, he vanished. A gust of wind followed his movement, and before Peter could react, Asmodeus reappeared right before him. A clawed hand shot forward, seizing Peter's throat.

Peter gasped, his feet leaving the ground as Asmodeus lifted him effortlessly.

"Peter!" the old priest shouted. Without hesitation, he swung his staff, channeling holy energy into the strike.

It did nothing.

Asmodeus didn't even flinch. His glowing blue eyes flicked toward the old priest with disdain.

"Pathetic," he muttered.

The elder turned to flee, but he barely took two steps before—

Asmodeus was in front of him.

A powerful kick slammed into the priest's stomach, launching him backward. His body crashed through the camp, flattening tents and splintering wooden crates. Dust and debris filled the air.

Peter struggled, his throat bent at an awkward angle. Yet, through sheer will, he forced out a strangled, defiant curse. "D-Damn you… demon…" Peter coughed, blood trickling down his chin.

He forced a weak smile. "May the gods curse your name…"

"Oh? You can still speak?" Asmodeus mused. "I must be getting soft on you."

"Even in death… your kind will never win," Peter rasped, spitting blood onto Asmodeus's face. "Enjoy your victory… while it lasts."

Asmodeus's grip tightened. A sickening crack echoed through the night.

CRACK!

His body went limp, but his words lingered in the cold night air. Peter's lifeless body dropped to the ground, his head twisted unnaturally.

Satisfied, Asmodeus turned to leave" it was satisfying, it is nice and feels good after killing" he muttered.

Then—

From the wreckage of the destroyed camp, movement.

A figure emerged.

"Oh? You actually saved me the trouble of dealing with the other priests," a deep voice chuckled.

Asmodeus narrowed his eyes.

The newcomer stepped into the moonlight, clad in black armor etched with glowing, ancient runes. But he was no stranger—it was the same old man he had kicked.

"You're still alive, old man?" Asmodeus sneered. "You damn manipulator! You tricked your own people into believing you were just a weak old man."

The man let out a low, mocking laugh. "Oh, come now. Unlike you, a psychopath who kills people just for fun, I don't waste my strength so carelessly. And you really thought a weak kick like that would kill me?" His grin widened. "Tonight, I'll make sure you never forget my name."

He slammed his gauntlet against his chest, triggering a surge of energy.

"I am Hazara, Head Archbishop of the War God's Order!"

Before Asmodeus could react, Hazara's armor flared to life. The glowing runes pulsed, radiating immense energy.

"Behold—the power of the War God's Armor!"

A sphere of pure destruction formed in Hazara's palm, its energy crackling dangerously, ready to be unleashed.

Asmodeus Furer sneered. "War God's Armor? How ridiculous!"

So what if he's wearing a god's armor? That doesn't mean he's powerful, right? Asmodeus thought to himself.

Without hesitation, he raised his hand, conjuring a swirling mass of blue energy. With a flick of his wrist, a concentrated energy beam shot toward Hazara, crackling through the air like lightning.

The attack struck Hazara's armor dead-on—

And did nothing.

Hazara didn't flinch. He didn't even take a step back. The impact simply dispersed, as if the attack had been nothing more than a gentle breeze.

It is my turn! Ya !!!

Hazara hurled the ball of divine energy straight at Asmodeus.

But before it could reach him, Asmodeus's body dissolved into water, the attack phasing through him harmlessly.

A split second later, he reformed behind Hazara, his hand glowing with immense power. He struck with a devastating blow—

Nothing.

The armor absorbed it without a scratch.

Asmodeus's eyes widened.

"Damn it! This wasn't supposed to happen!" Asmodeus's mind raced. He had mocked these priests, toyed with them like insects—yet now, he was the one retreating. The shame burned hotter than Hazara's divine armor. But pride wouldn't keep him alive. He needed to escape.

Realizing he couldn't win this fight, he didn't waste another second. His entire form melted into liquid, flowing swiftly across the ground before vanishing into the darkness.

Hazara stood still, watching the demon flee. A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips as he muttered under his breath,

"Smart choice. But in the end, just another weakling. little demon, Hazara muttered, cracking his knuckles. "Tell your so-called Demon King that the War God's Order is waiting."

Meanwhile, Deep within the dense forests of the Rance Republic, Athan trudged forward, the golden afternoon sun barely piercing through the thick canopy above. His boots crunched against the dry leaves, his cloak swaying with each weary step. He had been traveling for days, moving from one obscure village to another, navigating through unfamiliar terrain.

Then, a sudden pulse ran through his mind—a telepathic message, unmistakable in its authority.

"Enter the school disguised as a student."

Athan stopped in his tracks, blinking in disbelief.

Athan sighed. "Again with these absurd orders…" he muttered, running a hand through his disheveled hair. "What school? Where? And how the hell am I supposed to disguise myself? I don't even have a transformation ability! this is going to be more annoying than a battlefield."

Frustration weighed heavy on him, but he pushed forward, forcing himself to move. His sharp eyes scanned the horizon, spotting small huts and scattered houses in the distance.

At least civilization was near.

"Ahh… this is such a pain!" he groaned, rolling his shoulders. "How many days have I been walking? Sleeping in random villages? Damn it, why is this so-called 'neutral zone' so far away?!"

Muttering curses under his breath, he quickened his pace toward the village, unaware that his journey was about to take an even stranger turn.