His once-pristine Champion's Set was scratched and torn in several places, the leather seams frayed, the iron plates bent awkwardly at the edges.
There was even a deep tear along his right side, where the shadow clone's daggers had stabbed through.
He reached down and traced a finger along the rip, frowning slightly.
That strike… had gone through like paper.
The clone's blades had ignored the armor's defenses completely, shredding the rare-ranked material as if it were no more than cloth.
'I'll need to get a new armor… one far stronger than this,' he thought, his brows furrowing.
To be fair, the Champion's Set had done well for a time. A Rare-ranked armor set was nothing to scoff at in the early stages of [Apocalypse]. Most players would've killed to get their hands on even a single piece of it.
But the only reason his had worn down so quickly was because of the ridiculous nightmare that had been his profession trial.
