The morning air was crisp atop the high ground, carrying the faint scent of dust and stone from the workshops below. Luciel stood at the edge of the terrace, the city sprawling beneath him like a living creature — stone walls glimmering in the light, distant hammers ringing, voices rising in rhythm with the day's work.

Beside him stood Mino, her soft blue eyes alert and curious, and Alina, the newest recruit to his growing forces — a pink-haired girl whose natural grace seemed at odds with the warlike title she now bore.

Luciel exhaled and summoned with a low command, "Come forth — Red Ghost Spider."

A faint rustle stirred the air, followed by the unmistakable click-click of chitinous legs. From the shadows of the slope below, the Red Ghost Spider emerged — a massive, four-meter creature of crimson sheen and terrifying elegance. Its carapace gleamed like polished rubies in the morning light, and every movement was a whisper of restrained power.

"Squeeeak!" it chirped — the sound oddly cheerful for something so monstrous.

Luciel smiled faintly and stepped forward, resting a hand against one of its front legs. "I'll be troubling you again today, old friend."

The spider tilted its massive head, mandibles clicking in what could almost be mistaken for excitement.

Mino's expression softened. "Poor thing," she murmured, her gaze filled with sympathy. "It's so happy now… but the last creature you said that to ended up losing scales by the handful."

Luciel only chuckled, patting the spider's leg once more. "Let's hope this one fares better."

Alina, standing a few paces behind, watched the exchange with a mixture of curiosity and wariness. She'd seen this beast before — on that chaotic night when she'd first arrived in Black Tortoise City — but only in the dark. Now, in daylight, the creature's raw vitality was undeniable. There was beauty in its menace, a primal grace that made her shiver.

Luciel gestured toward the studio built into the stone terrace. "Come," he said to the spider. "I'll show you what I need."

The Red Ghost Spider gave another delighted squeak and followed obediently, its huge body moving with surprising delicacy across the ground.

Mino, however, lingered. "I'll head to training," she said. "I still need to stabilize my sword technique — that last potion's effects haven't settled yet."

Luciel nodded approvingly. "Good. Don't rush. Control comes before speed."

With a nod, the rabbit-eared girl turned and jogged away, her long ears bouncing lightly in rhythm.

Alina hesitated, glancing after her, then back at Luciel. Curiosity won out. She followed him into the studio.

Inside, the air smelled faintly of ink, metal, and oil. Tables were crowded with sketches and materials: half-finished armor plates, strands of fur, rolled hides, and fragments of carapace from previous hunts.

Luciel gestured to the spider. "What I need is silk — woven into cloth."

He tugged lightly on his own sleeve to illustrate. "A fabric strong enough for uniforms. Light, flexible, but able to resist blades."

The spider tilted its head, legs twitching in confusion. "Squeeeak?"

Luciel chuckled. "You'll see. Come closer."

He led the creature to a large wooden frame, the kind used for weaving, and extended a hand. With a thought, he conjured a fine line of magic between his fingers — imitating the delicate threads of silk. "Like this," he said, showing the spider how to lay the strands. "Not too thick. The lines should be staggered, not pressed together. It's for clothing, not traps."

The Red Ghost Spider watched intently, its large black eyes gleaming with understanding. Then, with a surprisingly delicate motion, it began to spin.

"Squeak—squeak."

Threads of silk flowed from its spinnerets, gleaming white in the lamplight, falling perfectly in line with Luciel's demonstration.

Alina leaned against the doorframe, awed. "It's… beautiful," she whispered.

Luciel smiled faintly. "She's quick to learn. Smarter than most people I've met."

The spider paused mid-spin, chittered once — perhaps pleased — and continued at twice the speed.

Alina laughed softly. "And proud, too."

Luciel guided it further, correcting tiny errors with a craftsman's patience. "Yes, that's it. Keep the tension even. Not too sticky. This isn't for catching prey — it's for protecting lives."

The spider let out a satisfied squeal and redoubled its efforts.

Soon, a length of white silk cloth, thick and seamless, stretched across the frame — strong as armor, smooth as glass.

Luciel studied it, his dark eyes narrowing thoughtfully. "Remarkable. With this density, even standard weapons won't pierce it. Unless the attacker's unusually strong, this will hold."

He paced a few steps, mind already working ahead. Armor over the vital areas… reinforced boots… He could see it all forming in his mind: sleek, half-armored combat uniforms, designed not just for protection, but for agility.

He murmured to himself, "If the cloth can absorb blunt force… then there's no need for plate armor. Not yet."

Alina tilted her head. "You're designing uniforms? For the defense army?"

Luciel nodded absently. "For now. Later, perhaps more. A soldier's strength is wasted if his armor slows him down. I need something balanced — functional, yes, but also…" He paused, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "…impressive."

"Impressive?" she echoed, amused.

"Commanders should look like commanders," he said simply. "Power is easier to believe in when it looks like power."

The spider chittered again, as if agreeing.

Luciel's gaze softened. "That's enough for now. You've done well."

He reached up and brushed his fingers against one of the woven panels. The texture was incredible — silk, but heavy and resilient, with a subtle give beneath pressure. "Perfect," he murmured. "We'll dye it later. Something darker — black, or deep blue. White's too bright. Soldiers shouldn't look like ghosts in the dark."

Still, he hesitated. The silk's natural luster was dazzling, like polished moonlight. It seemed a waste to bury it entirely under dye.

"Maybe," he said aloud, "we'll keep some of the white ones. For special divisions — ceremonial units, perhaps. Or something that needs to stand out."

Alina watched him as he paced — his expression alight, his mind clearly a thousand steps ahead. He's not just a warrior, she thought. He's a builder. A dreamer.

Her eyes strayed to the creature again — the Red Ghost Spider, patiently spinning at Luciel's command. Somehow, the scene didn't seem strange to her anymore. Man and beast, working together in perfect rhythm. It was almost… gentle.

Luciel broke her reverie. "We'll need measurements for everyone," he said, glancing at her. "Go to the city defense barracks. Tell each captain to record the sizes of their soldiers."

Alina blinked, caught off guard. "Now?"

"Now," he said with a grin. "If I don't start the workshop soon, I'll never hear the end of it from Mirean."

She nodded quickly. "Understood."

As she turned to go, Luciel's voice followed her. "And Alina — good work. You've adjusted quickly."

Her steps faltered for half a heartbeat before she smiled back. "You give too much credit, my lord."

"Not enough," he murmured, though she was already halfway down the steps.

Luciel turned his focus back to the materials scattered across his tables — beast hides, fur, the odd gleam of demon insect shell. He sighed. "Not enough to craft full armor sets yet."

The Nine-Demon Insect's carapace, though tough, was scarce — hardly enough for more than two dozen partial suits. "When we have more," he muttered, "I'll design an assembly line for proper spirit-grade armor."

His mind spun with possibilities: a hybrid uniform — silk base, reinforced plates at the vitals, long-barreled boots crafted for both defense and offense. He could already picture it — soldiers moving like shadows, fast and lethal, their kicks shattering bone and armor alike.

He chuckled softly to himself. "Mostly because it looks damn good," he admitted under his breath.

The Red Ghost Spider paused mid-spin, tilting its head as if puzzled.

Luciel smirked. "What? You think I can't appreciate aesthetics?"

The spider trilled a curious sound — half-question, half-complaint.

Luciel laughed quietly. "You're right. Handsome is secondary. But still—" He stepped back, surveying the half-finished weave. "—it doesn't hurt."

The spider resumed its work, humming in its strange insectile rhythm. Within minutes, another bolt of white silk cloth joined the first.

Luciel folded his arms and nodded in satisfaction. "Perfect. Keep producing. We'll start testing dye samples soon. Black first, maybe gray. A touch of crimson for the elite corps."

He paused, considering. "And maybe — just maybe — a pure white uniform for the special divisions. For those who need to be seen."

He imagined the banners fluttering in the wind — dark ranks of soldiers, disciplined and unified, the sigil of the Black Tortoise emblazoned in silver across their backs. For a moment, the image filled him with quiet pride.

This city — his city — was no longer a refuge. It was becoming a symbol.

Hours later, as the sun began to dip behind the hills, Luciel set down his quill. Sketches of uniforms and armor spread across the table before him — elegant lines and practical notes interwoven with a craftsman's precision.

He leaned back, rubbing a bit of ink from his fingertips, and allowed himself a rare smile.

"Not bad," he murmured. "Not bad at all."

Behind him, the Red Ghost Spider chittered softly — as if in agreement.

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