The way up was always harder, especially for a swordsman who had lost a leg.
But even with guidance coming from behind, A Fei didn't hesitate. Step by step, he climbed the staircase, nearly half of which was blocked.
Even as the figure reflected on his gleaming blade grew increasingly abstract—
His clothes were still quite formal. He even wore his hat straight, giving him a distinctly intellectual air.
But the tentacles stretching out from his back were impossible to ignore.
Their impact was even greater because of the stark contrast.
At their tips were strange weapons, each more vicious-looking than a Serrated Knife, perfectly embodying the bizarre and the murderous.
Of course, even this part of his anatomy could still be said to have the air of a researcher.
For instance, to keep the weapons from knocking into one another, the tentacles had arranged them cleverly in the available space, crossing them at different angles according to their shapes and sizes.
Yet the short sections extending from his back were all kept at remarkably consistent angles, showing a craftsman's meticulous spirit.
And although the latter was climbing the steps alongside him, the armory's stability as he moved was comparable to that of a stabilized gimbal.
Clearly, through extremely precise control, he was making sure the fighter ahead could see the weapons at all times and swap them out as needed.
In such a bizarre place, this kind of logistical support was undeniably reassuring.
Not to mention the little hand protruding from one of his eye sockets. It swayed along with the tentacles while twirling a gleaming artificial eyeball, as if surveying the surroundings.
Maybe it wasn't exactly keeping watch, but it still made one feel a little safer—no, there were two eyes.
At one point, A Fei paused, seemingly