The Vault of the Morning was buried deep beneath the temple. It was filled with enough gold to buy a small country and enough magical artifacts to destroy a large one.
Princess Isolde stood by the heavy iron door, looking anxious.
"We shouldn't be here," she whispered, clutching her staff. "Taking the Heart of Aether was necessary for the war. This... this is just burglary."
Inside the vault, Cain was tossing priceless artifacts over his shoulder like they were rotten fruit.
"Trash," Cain muttered, throwing a diamond-encrusted wand against the wall. It shattered.
"Garbage," he said, inspecting a shield blessed by the Sun god. He tapped it, realized it required Mana to activate, and tossed it into a pile of gold coins. "Useless paperweight."
"That was the Shield of Saint Jerome!" Isolde shrieked.
"It requires 500 mana units to block a hit," Cain yawned, rummaging through a chest. "I have zero. To me, it's just a heavy metal plate. I'd rather use a garbage can lid. It's lighter."
He stood up, looking disappointed. He was shirtless again, his tactical shirt having been ruined by the Lux-Eidolon's attack earlier. The dim light of the vault glinted off the sweat on his defined abs and the sharp, V-taper of his back muscles.
"This place is a disappointment," Cain sighed. "Just holy junk for wizards who are afraid to get hit. Isn't there anything evil in here? The church usually confiscates the cool stuff."
He walked to the back of the vault. There, sealed behind a cage of silver bars engraved with warning runes, stood a mannequin.
It wore a long, high-collared coat made of a material that seemed to drink the light around it. It wasn't leather, and it wasn't silk. It looked like woven midnight.
Cain's eyes lit up. "Hello, gorgeous."
"Cain, don't!" Isolde warned. "That is the Raiment of the First Heretic. It's a cursed object sealed for three hundred years! It devours the life force of anyone who wears it!"
Cain gripped the silver bars.
"Life force?" He smirked. "Good thing I have plenty to spare."
He ripped the bars out of the stone floor with a screech of tearing metal.
He approached the coat. As he touched it, black sparks flew. The coat seemed to hiss, trying to reject him.
Cain didn't flinch. He flared his Killing Intent, his aura drowning out the curse of the garment. The coat stopped hissing and went limp, submitting to the apex predator.
Cain slid his arms into the sleeves.
The fit was perfect. It was tight around the shoulders and chest, showcasing his physique, but flared out at the waist into a tattered, regal cloak that reached his ankles. The collar stood high, framing his jawline.
[Item Acquired: The Warlord's Pelt]
[Grade: Special Grade Cursed Tool]
[Effect 1: Auto-Repair. The coat regenerates using the blood of enemies.]
[Effect 2: Thermal Regulation. Immune to extreme cold or heat.]
[Effect 3: Presence Concealment. Harder to track by magical means.]
Cain buttoned the front, turning to look at Isolde. He ran a hand through his dark hair, the crimson in his eyes matching the subtle red lining of the black coat.
"Well?" he asked, spreading his arms. "Do I look like a savior?"
Isolde blushed. She couldn't help it. He looked like the Prince of Darkness on a runway.
"You look..." she stammered. "Like trouble."
"Perfect," Cain grinned.
He grabbed a pair of black combat trousers from a nearby chest—likely confiscated from a rogue assassin—and a pair of boots that silenced footsteps.
Fully distinct now, he looked less like a wild brawler and more like a tactical aristocrat. A King of the Night ready for war.
"One last thing," Cain said.
He walked over to a pedestal holding a simple, unadorned ring made of black iron. It wasn't flashy. It didn't glow.
"The Ring of Burden," Isolde recognized it. "It's a training tool for monks. It multiplies the wearer's weight by ten to build strength."
Cain slipped it onto his finger. The floor beneath him cracked instantly under the sudden increase in density.
"Why would you wear that?" Isolde asked, baffled. "It will slow you down!"
Cain jumped. He soared into the air, doing a backflip and landing silently, despite weighing as much as a boulder.
"Because," Cain said, clenching his fist, the ring cold against his skin. "If I'm this fast while weighing a ton... imagine how fast I'll be when I take it off."
He walked past her, his new coat billowing behind him like wings of shadow.
"Let's go, Princess. The Capital is waiting. And I want to see the look on the Sun God's face when a ghost walks through his front door."