The secret room was smaller than Emrys had imagined, but his Haki quickly revealed why it had never needed to be any larger.
Entire shelves covered the walls, loaded with pieces of metal of every shade and texture imaginable. Some were so dense that they seemed to absorb every trace of the ambient light, while others were so light that they almost felt unreal to his Haki.
At the center stood an immaculate workbench, as though it had never been used, patiently waiting for its time. Against the back wall, several wooden mannequins of various sizes stood silently on guard, likely remnants of past experiments whose existence Emrys would never have suspected.
"You've been hiding all this for five years," Emrys remarked, unable to suppress a whistle of admiration as he swept his Haki across the room.
"This room isn't for just anyone," Dubs replied without further explanation, as though that alone was enough to end the subject.
"Sit down," he then said, pointing to a stool near the table before leaning over one of the shelves, examining several pieces of metal with a focused expression.
Emrys obeyed, curious despite himself about where this conversation was heading.
"So. What are you planning to forge for me?" he asked.
Dubs didn't answer immediately, continuing to sort through his materials with a meticulousness Emrys had rarely seen from him, usually reserved only for his most prestigious commissions.
"First of all, you should be saying, 'What are WE going to forge for you?' Secondly... I've been watching you train for almost five years, kid," he finally began without turning around. "I'm not a fighter, you know that. I've never claimed to understand half of what you do with your power, your Projections, your Haki, all that mumbo jumbo. But I've got eyes. And even without being a fighter, there's one thing that kept jumping out at me, year after year, without ever really improving."
"Which is?"
"Your defense," Dubs replied, finally turning toward him with a piece of silver-colored metal in each hand. "You're fast. You dodge well, especially with that Blink you've finally mastered. But the moment a hit actually lands, even a small one, even something you could've avoided with a little more attention, it hurts you. Really hurts you. Over time, I realized your body is severely lacking in durability."
Emrys remained silent, involuntarily thinking back to all those scratches, bruises, and occasional fractures he had come to regard as a necessary evil, a normal consequence of fighting rather than an actual problem to solve.
"It's true I never really worked on that," he admitted. "I mostly rely on not getting hit at all."
"Exactly the kind of plan that works perfectly... right up until the day it doesn't," Dubs shot back bluntly. "And the day it fails, kid, I fully intend for you to have something on your body capable of taking the hit instead of relying entirely on your reflexes to never make a mistake."
"Armor," Emrys realized, letting the idea fully settle in. "You really think you can make one that won't slow me down? With everything I do using Blink, even a little extra weight could ruin everything."
"Kid, I'm not offering you some standard knight's armor that weighs as much as a dead ox," Dubs replied, a hint of irritation creeping into his voice, as though the mere suggestion personally insulted him. "I've spent fifty years hammering and shaping metal. Trust me, I know how to make something delicate when the situation calls for it."
He walked over and carefully placed the two silver-colored pieces of metal on the table with almost reverent care before turning back toward Emrys, this time wearing an expression Emrys couldn't immediately interpret.
"Alright. Before we start anything, I need to take your measurements properly."
"Okay, I should be able to Project a measuring tape—"
Without warning, two massive hands closed around Emrys' shoulders, methodically feeling them before moving down his arms, lingering over every joint, every muscle, every tendon with almost clinical precision.
"Uh... Dubs. What's gotten into you?" Emrys exclaimed, instinctively stiffening under the sudden and completely unannounced contact.
"I'm taking your measurements," Dubs answered as though it were the most obvious thing in the world, continuing to examine his torso before moving toward his shoulder blades and then down his spine without the slightest sign of embarrassment. "A measuring tape gives you numbers. Numbers are fine for clothes. But for armor worthy of the name, you've got to feel how your body moves, where your points of tension are, where your muscles tense first when you dodge, where they stay flexible. No tape in the world can tell you that."
"You could've warned me before you started groping me like a piece of meat," Emrys grumbled, still somewhat tense but no longer resisting, understanding the logic behind the method despite his discomfort.
"I told you what I was doing, didn't I? Technically, you were warned," Dubs replied calmly, his hands continuing their methodical inspection, now moving down Emrys' legs, pausing briefly at his knees and ankles. "Breathe normally, kid. Relax your shoulders. I can't properly feel your natural posture if you're as stiff as a board."
Emrys forced himself to relax, not without a touch of amused resignation, allowing Dubs to continue his strange examination without further protest.
"It's crazy that you do this for all your commissions," he commented after a while, trying to fill the silence with something other than the acute awareness of being examined from head to toe.
"I don't do this for all my commissions," Dubs corrected, finally straightening up, apparently satisfied with his inspection. "Most people who come here just want a sturdy sword or a shield that can take a beating. A custom-made suit of armor like this requires a level of precision I reserve for... let's say, special occasions."
"And I'm one of those special occasions."
"You fell out of the sky into my quarry, kid. What were you expecting?" Dubs replied, a barely noticeable but genuine smile crossing his face before he quickly regained his usual seriousness.
He stepped back, crossing his arms and looking Emrys up and down as though still searching for something he might have missed.
"Your rib cage," he suddenly said, approaching again to place a flat hand against Emrys' ribs. "It compresses more on one side than the other when you breathe heavily. Is that recent, or was it already like that before I found you?"
"No idea," Emrys admitted, surprised by the precision of the observation. "And I don't think anyone's ever noticed something like that."
"It doesn't matter either way. What I'm saying is factual," Dubs replied, satisfied with his own deduction. "It's going to affect where I place the joints on the breastplate. Poorly fitted armor when it comes to something like that can interfere with your breathing in the middle of a fight, and believe me, kid, the worst time to discover a flaw like that is never before or after a battle."
"Pleasant thought."
"I'm not here to reassure you. I'm here to keep you alive," Dubs shot back, without the slightest trace of humor this time.
He continued his inspection for several more minutes, noting observations aloud that Emrys only half understood, technical blacksmith terms mixed with remarks about the range of his movements, the flexibility of his joints, and the way his weight was distributed differently depending on whether he was standing still or in motion.
"Alright. I've got what I need," he finally announced, standing up completely.
He turned toward the table, beginning to arrange the various pieces of metal in an order Emrys couldn't yet understand, occasionally murmuring measurements or observations to himself, clearly already constructing the complete design of the future armor in his mind.
"Dubs, wait," Emrys suddenly called out, an idea crossing his mind with sudden clarity.
"What?"
"I've had an outfit in mind for a while now. Not armor, just... something I sometimes wear in my borrowed memories. I don't know if it could serve as a starting point for you, but I can show you, if you want."
Emrys closed his eyes, focusing his magical energy and allowing the image to become clear in his mind with a sharpness he had never truly tried to achieve before for this specific purpose.
"Trace On."
A faint light enveloped him for a moment, and when it faded, a completely different figure stood before Dubs.
A sleeveless black top, skin-tight, the fabric hugging every muscle of his torso, outlined by thin silver lines that traced its contours, with a metal plate fixed around the collar. Matching black pants, with two separate straps tightly wrapped around his thighs and two more, separate from each other, around his shins. Black shoes as well, covered with metal plates, appearing to be directly attached to the pants rather than existing as separate pieces.
And then there was the coat. Red, almost scarlet, but far from being a simple cape as Dubs had first imagined: two separate sleeves, connected behind the back by a metal plate, covered Emrys' arms while leaving his upper torso and abdomen exposed. Beneath them hung a kind of open skirt of the same deep red, ending just above his shins, tied around his waist with a complex knot Dubs couldn't immediately identify, all topped by a silver plate concealing the fastening.
"It's... unusual," Emrys commented himself, an awkward smile on his lips as he slowly turned around without much confidence. "Honestly, I don't even know why I'm showing you this. I guess it's mostly out of habit. It's the outfit I wear most often in Emiya's memories, the one that comes to mind the most naturally."
Dubs didn't answer immediately. He remained still and silent, slowly circling Emrys, his expert eyes examining every plate, every strap, every assembly with growing attention.
"Wait," he finally said, stopping directly in front of him. "You told me this wasn't armor."
"It isn't. It's just... clothes. At least, I think so."
"Kid," Dubs replied, disbelief creeping into his voice, "that plate on your collar is reinforced metal. Those straps around your thighs and shins are holding plates that are far too rigid to be mere decorations. And your back, with those two sleeves connected by metal... that's exactly where I would've placed back protection if I'd designed it myself."
"Is this Projection too?" he then asked, his voice carrying a respect Emrys rarely heard from him.
"Yeah. It's actually the first time I've intentionally summoned it. I never really had the chance, or the idea, to use it before today."
"It looks pretty well thought out for something you believed was just clothing," Dubs remarked, reaching out to brush the collar plate with his fingertips, feeling the unusual texture of the material beneath his thick fingers. "Light. Much lighter than its surface suggests. And this whole idea of distributing plates over the points of tension instead of covering the entire surface... that's clever. It'd give you mobility you could never get with conventional armor."
He continued his examination, slowly circling Emrys, occasionally pressing a finger against a joint, testing the resistance of a plate, murmuring technical observations that seemed more intended for himself than for his companion. He even crouched for a moment in front of the greaves, tapping the dull metal covering Emrys' shins with a fingertip as though trying to estimate its thickness from the sound alone.
"Strong, but not thick," he muttered, more to himself than to Emrys. "Interesting. Not the best armor in the world, but interesting. You told me your Projection is basically copying things, right? I really wonder how whoever forged this armor managed to achieve this kind of durability without making the structure heavier."
"This coat, though," he continued after a moment, gently tugging on the scarlet fabric flowing around Emrys' legs, "is it purely aesthetic, or does it actually serve a purpose?"
"It does serve a purpose, but only in very specific situations," Emrys replied with an amused smile. "It's a little difficult to explain, but it'd be kind of like a goddess had infused the fabric with her magical power. I can't heal myself with it, but it offers a bit of resistance against curses and demon miasma."
"A holy coat, huh?"
"Actually, it's more like the Holy Shroud," Emrys rectifies.
"It's the same thing. I wonder how he managed to get his hands on something like that," Dubs admitted, genuine interest evident in his voice. "Unfortunately, I don't happen to have any goddesses lying around, so I don't know if I'll be able to reproduce those effects."
He stepped back, crossed his arms, and began thinking of a solution. After a few seconds of thought, he simply shrugged.
"Meh. We'll figure something out."
He gave the projected figure one last thorough look, the beginnings of a plan clearly taking shape behind his focused gaze.
"The shoulder guards, on the other hand, I like less," he added, pointing toward the thin protections running along Emrys' arms. "Too discreet. If I'm going to reinforce you somewhere without sacrificing your mobility, I might as well strengthen those areas a bit more. You raise your arms a lot to block or to summon a weapon. That's an area that's going to take more hits than the rest."
"You're already redesigning it before you've even started," Emrys remarked, amused.
"A good blacksmith always improves what he's shown. That's why people pay us," Dubs replied, without the slightest trace of false modesty. "So? Let's get to work?"