Halochassis

“Prince Alaric Eisenhower.”

Adzeel muttered the name of the blonde, handsome man standing before him. Even after spending two days chained inside the dungeon, Adzeel still recognized the first prince of the Eisenhower Dynasty. Alaric gave him a calm smile, almost as if they were old acquaintances meeting under ordinary circumstances, while his fingers continued working through the heavy iron locks around Adzeel’s wrists and ankles.

One by one, the locks clicked open.

The chains dropped against the stone floor with a loud metallic clatter that echoed through the dungeon. The sudden absence of their weight felt strange. Adzeel slowly rubbed his wrists, wincing as he felt the swollen skin beneath the dried blood and red marks left by the restraints. His ankles ached as well, stiff from remaining in the same position for far too long.

“I never knew that the first prince would visit me,” Adzeel said, flexing his fingers. His voice remained rough from exhaustion, but there was still a trace of his usual amusement in it. “You know that I am an Iron Bandit, right? A Halochassis wielder, at that.”

“I am well aware. That is why I am freeing you,” the prince replied.

Adzeel narrowed his eyes.

There was something deeply suspicious about the casual way Alaric spoke. Most people would have treated an Iron Bandit like a monster, especially a Halochassis wielder. Yet the prince was standing there with an expression of complete composure, as though releasing a dangerous criminal from prison was nothing more than an errand.

“Come,” Alaric said. “I’ll invite you to my rest house.”

Before Adzeel could question him, the prince raised one hand and swiped his fingers through the thin air.

A faint shimmer spread through the space in front of them. Then the air itself distorted.

A circular portal suddenly manifested, its surface rippling like water disturbed by a stone. Strange light glimmered around its edges, illuminating the dark dungeon walls for a brief moment. A soft magical hum filled the room, completely different from the cold silence that had surrounded Adzeel for the past two days.

Without hesitation, Alaric stepped through.

Adzeel remained where he was for several seconds, staring at the portal.

Every instinct he had told him that following the prince could be a terrible idea. He had no weapon, no Halochassis, and no idea where the portal would take him. But remaining inside the dungeon was not exactly appealing either. After a moment, Adzeel sighed and followed.

The instant he stepped through, the cold dungeon vanished. Warmth greeted him.

Adzeel blinked several times as his eyes adjusted to the sudden change. He was now standing inside a luxurious mansion that looked completely different from the grim prison he had just left behind. A royal red carpet stretched across the polished floor, its golden embroidery shining beneath the light of enormous chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. Their countless crystal pieces glimmered whenever they swayed slightly in the air, scattering tiny reflections across the walls.

Elegant furniture filled the lounge. Royal chairs with curved wooden frames were arranged around polished tables, while expensive decorations stood in carefully arranged displays. The faint scent of flowers lingered in the air, mixing with the sweet smell of freshly baked desserts.

And there were maids everywhere.

Some walked quietly across the room carrying trays. Others dusted furniture or adjusted decorations, while a few stood discreetly near the walls with their hands folded in front of them. Their uniforms were spotless, and not a single one appeared surprised by the sudden arrival of a battered prisoner.

Adzeel stared around the mansion.

He had been expecting another dungeon, perhaps a private interrogation chamber or some hidden torture room. Instead, he had been brought into what looked more like a wealthy noble’s vacation home.

“Sit,” Alaric said, gesturing toward one of the sofas. “You must be tired from standing for two days straight.”

Adzeel did not move.

His muscles were indeed exhausted, and every part of his body complained whenever he shifted his weight. His shoulders felt heavy, his throat was dry, and his stomach had been empty for long enough to make the smell of food almost painful.

But exhaustion did not make him stupid.

He remained standing several steps away from the prince, watching Alaric carefully.

“Why are you doing this?” Adzeel asked. His eyes narrowed as he crossed his arms. “Is this some way of interrogating me? Get me comfortable, gain my trust, then convince me to sell out my comrades?”

His voice became harsher.

“You won’t buy me with kindness.”

Alaric simply smiled.

Instead of answering immediately, the prince reached toward a nearby table and picked up a plate containing a thick slice of chocolate cake. The cake was rich and dark, layered with glossy chocolate frosting that looked almost absurdly indulgent for someone standing in front of a wanted criminal.

Alaric casually took a forkful and put it into his mouth.

He chewed slowly while looking directly at Adzeel.

“Uh, you were right about the last part,” the prince said, still chewing. “I am going to buy you with my kindness.”

Adzeel’s eyebrow twitched.

Alaric swallowed and continued.

“But I am not really that interested in your comrades. Well, just a bit, but not what you think.”

Adzeel stared at him.

The prince’s relaxed expression made the statement even more suspicious. There was no visible anger, no interrogation, and no threat. He simply sat there eating cake as if the two of them were discussing business over afternoon tea.

“Then why did you free me?” Adzeel asked.

Alaric only smiled again.

“Why won’t you relax a bit?”

Silence settled over the room.

The only sounds were the quiet footsteps of the maids, the faint clinking of porcelain, and the soft crackle of something burning inside a nearby fireplace. Adzeel and Alaric simply stared at one another for several long seconds.

It was an uncomfortable kind of silence. Adzeel hated it.

Eventually, with a quiet grunt, he decided that standing was becoming more painful than sitting. He lowered himself onto the sofa, feeling the soft cushions sink beneath his weight. After spending two days against cold stone and rigid chains, the warmth and softness of the furniture felt almost unnaturally comfortable.

A maid approached him with a small porcelain cup sitting on a saucer.

“Tea, sir?” she asked politely.

Adzeel glanced at the steaming drink.

He could smell the herbal aroma immediately.

“I don’t drink tea,” he said. “Teas are for pussies.”

The maid froze for a moment.

Alaric chuckled.

“Delilah, go get him a mug of beer, please.”

The maid immediately bowed.

“Yes, Your Highness.”

She disappeared into another room and returned a short while later carrying a large mug filled with golden beer. Bubbles gathered near the surface, and a thick layer of white foam clung to the top. The faint smell of hops reached Adzeel even before the mug was placed in front of him.

“Here you are, sir.”

Adzeel took the mug.

Another maid soon placed a plate of the same chocolate cake on the table beside him. The dessert looked almost ridiculously luxurious compared to the dungeon food he had been accustomed to. The dark chocolate frosting glistened under the chandelier lights, and the sweet scent immediately made his empty stomach growl.

For a moment, Adzeel stared at the beer. Then he looked at the cake. Then back at the prince. He slowly raised an eyebrow.

Are there truth serums in this beer and cake?

“Don’t worry.” The prince spoke as if he had somehow read Adzeel’s mind. Without any hesitation, he picked up his fork and casually sliced off another piece of Adzeel’s chocolate cake. The soft cake gave way beneath the silver fork, exposing the moist layers underneath. He lifted the piece toward his mouth and ate it in one bite, chewing slowly before swallowing. “It’s not poisoned. See?”

Adzeel scoffed and narrowed his eyes at the prince. The smell of rich chocolate and melted sugar still lingered around the table, mixed with the bitter scent of freshly poured beer. Well, it’s not exactly what I thought, but good enough, he thought. His suspicion did not disappear, but the prince’s willingness to eat the same food at least proved that he was not trying to kill him through some cheap trick. Adzeel finally reached for the wooden mug beside his plate and took a long drink. The cool beer washed down his dry throat, and the bitterness left a faint warmth across his tongue. He followed it with another bite of chocolate cake, though his appetite was still weak after spending two days without a proper meal.

As Adzeel began to relax and lower his guard, if only slightly, the prince leaned back in his chair and started to speak. His voice remained calm and almost conversational, which somehow made Adzeel even more cautious. There was something unsettling about how comfortably the prince carried himself in the middle of such a dangerous conversation.

“Sir Adzeel Schwarzer, right?” the prince asked. He twirled his fork lazily between his fingers, spinning it through the air as though he were casting some ridiculous little spell. “You know, have you ever asked yourself how or why the information about the Halochassis was leaked the first time? I’m not talking about Alexander’s revelation after the scandal in the Northern Fortress. I’m talking about the very first time you got your hands on the Azazel Halochassis.”

The fork stopped in the prince’s hand.

Adzeel’s eyes widened.

For a moment, the noise of the room seemed to disappear. The scrape of silver against porcelain, the faint crackle of candle flames, and even the distant sounds of footsteps outside the room faded into the background. His fingers tightened around his mug as a cold sensation crawled down his spine.

It can’t be!

“You motherfucker.” Adzeel smirked.

The prince gave him an amused smile, as though he had been waiting for those exact words.

“Yes. I am that motherfucker who leaked that information about the Halochassis.” The prince calmly placed his fork back onto the plate. “I am the architect who ultimately planned for your uprising.”

Adzeel stared at him for several seconds. His mind raced through every possibility. It sounded insane, yet there was something about the prince’s confidence that made the claim difficult to dismiss.

“How can you prove that it was really you, and not just some impostor?” Adzeel asked.

Rather than answering immediately, the prince reached for something beside his chair. It was a package carefully wrapped in royal red cloth. The fabric was thick and expensive, decorated with subtle golden embroidery that shimmered under the warm candlelight. He placed it on the table and slowly unfolded the cloth, deliberately revealing whatever was hidden beneath it.

Adzeel leaned forward.

Inside was a pure silver gauntlet.

His expression changed instantly.

It was unmistakable.

A Halochassis glove.

The craftsmanship was almost identical to Azazel’s armor, except this one was noticeably larger and more refined. Its silver surface reflected the candlelight like polished steel, while several tiny magical circuits were engraved along the fingers and back of the hand. Even without seeing the entire armor, Adzeel could recognize the technology immediately.

“It’s because I am also the architect of the entire Halochassis Project.”

“I can’t believe it.” Adzeel slowly reached for the gauntlet. The metal felt cold against his palm, almost unnaturally so. He carefully turned it over, examining every component while a dozen questions raced through his head. Part of him wanted to equip it immediately, just to see whether it would respond to him, but he knew that would be reckless. He did not know the activation code of the Halochassis yet, and even if he somehow managed to activate it, attacking a prince in the middle of his own territory would most likely end with Adzeel’s corpse on the floor.

His fingers tightened around the silver glove.

“So it was all in your plans, all along.”

“Precisely.” The prince nodded and folded his hands behind his back. “You see, I needed pawns who could test these power armors without attracting the bad side of the Celestial Wardens. So I leaked the information to the Iron Bandits and allowed you to get your hands on Azazel for a test run.”

Adzeel slowly raised his head.

“When I heard about its performance when it fought the Untouchable Windwalker, I became convinced that the project had succeeded.” The prince’s smile widened slightly. “So I simply served the other three Halochassis on a silver platter and watched you bandits to see how far you would go.”

The casual way he said it made Adzeel’s stomach twist.

The prince picked up his empty teacup and plate and placed them neatly onto the tray held by the nearby maid. The porcelain made a faint clink as it touched the tray. The maid silently collected the dishes, her expression carefully blank, as though she had been trained not to react to anything she heard.

“I never would have thought that the four Halochassis would be enough to kill four of the Celestial Wardens,” the prince continued. “It performed better than expected.”

Adzeel’s grip on the gauntlet tightened.

“So we were just your guinea pigs, huh?” he roared, his voice echoing through the room. “Your little magical science project?”

“At first, yes.” The prince did not flinch.

Adzeel glared at him, anger beginning to burn hotter than the alcohol in his stomach.

“But you,” the prince continued, pointing toward him, “you showed promise. Including the other three Halochassis wielders. That is why I decided to free you.”

The prince then rose from his chair. The wooden legs scraped softly against the floor as he stood, and he adjusted his coat with the same composed elegance he had maintained throughout their entire conversation.

Adzeel eventually stood as well. His body still felt weak, and his stomach was far from satisfied. Even after two days without food, he barely had an appetite, but he had eaten enough to keep himself standing. His muscles still ached from the torture, and every movement reminded him of the bruises and injuries covering his body that was already gone thanks to Alexander’s healing magic.

“Follow me,” the prince said.

Adzeel followed.

The two men walked through the castle corridors, their footsteps echoing against the polished stone floor. The halls were enormous, lined with towering pillars and magical lamps that gave off a soft golden glow. Their footsteps sounded unnaturally loud in the quiet passageway. Adzeel kept his eyes moving, memorizing every turn and every doorway he passed, while the prince continued walking without the slightest concern that his prisoner might suddenly attack him.

Eventually, they reached a massive magical door.

It towered several meters above them and was covered in intricate golden runes. Strange symbols moved slowly across its surface like glowing veins beneath skin. Adzeel felt a faint vibration in the floor as enormous amounts of magical energy pulsed through the structure.

The prince placed his hand against the center of the door.

There was a deep metallic hum.

The runes suddenly illuminated one after another, spreading outward from his palm. A series of clicks and mechanical sounds followed, and the gigantic door slowly separated in the middle. The two halves groaned as they moved apart, revealing a darkness beyond them.

Then the lights came on.

Adzeel stopped walking. His mouth fell open.

“What the hell!?”

What he saw beyond the door was nothing short of mind-blowing.

A colossal warehouse stretched farther than his eyes could follow. The ceiling disappeared into darkness high above, supported by enormous steel beams and glowing magical structures. Rows upon rows of silver power armors filled the massive docking station, standing in perfect formation like an army waiting for orders. Thousands of Halochassis were stored inside, each one hanging from metal frames or positioned inside enormous magical docking chambers.

The cold air carried the smell of metal, oil, and raw mana. Pale blue lights flickered across the warehouse while countless magical cables and glowing conduits connected the armors to the walls. Somewhere deep inside the facility, heavy machinery rumbled continuously, creating a low vibration that Adzeel could feel beneath his boots.

It was an army. Not four Halochassis. Not ten. Not even a hundred.

Thousands.

The prince proudly spread out his arms, his smile growing wider as he watched Adzeel struggle to comprehend what he was seeing.

“As I said, I am the architect of the Halochassis Project.”

He paused dramatically.

“May I introduce to you the mass-produced magical armors.”

The prince looked across the seemingly endless warehouse.

“I call it…” His smile widened. “The Archangels.”