Equipment

A shield imbued with the votive prayers of a hundred priests. They asked the divine for a peaceful resolution to avoid the loss of life, and for blinding holy light to repel would-be attackers.

A suit of armor worn by the saint that led a blessed army during the ancient holy wars. Those who don it gain a boost to vitality—the more grievous their wounds, the greater the urge to fight on.

A silver blade said to be quenched in the pure forest springs around the Sacred Tree. Enchanted with an elven frost spell, this sword cleaves so deeply it freezes the flesh as well as the heart.

A silver dagger handed down through myriad generations. Light, yet solid, its material reacts to the magical energy flowing through Aincrad, shining just as brightly now as it did in the overworld.

This enchanted mithril blade, imbued with frost magic, emanates a cold light that radiates eternally. This radiance is a reflection of the icy, frozen gaze of the elf who gave their life to forge it.

A magic silver rod with an odd enchantment that detects enemies and grows lighter with each successive strike. Blink and you might just miss the entire fight.

This sword's true merit emerges once pushed through a target. The blade's smith demonstrated with a smile: "Pierce the enemy and its enchantment activates. Pain for foes, blessings for the wielder."

The heart's blood circulates 'round, as does the fate of all things. This concept of universal connection, dubbed the "Eternal Wheel" by an astrologist, inspired a smith to craft this fate-piercing sword.

A sword that gets sharper with each successive slice? Preposterous! Surely no such blade exists—aside from this one, that is.

A curious sword made from neither wood, stone, nor metal. Supposedly the life force of the forest is housed within, emanating a sylvan warmth that calms the minds of warriors in the throes of battle.

Once worn by a gladiator too destitute to buy protective gear. He vowed never to remove them—a promise he kept as he endured hundreds of battles to become king.

Its claws seek only to destroy, and its fangs bite mercilessly into flesh. Frightened? Worry not—stick this into the enemy, and let your fear wash away like so much blood.

Thin, lightweight half-coat armor woven from the crest feathers of the Sticky Thunderbird—a raptor that glides over mountainous regions. The fabric is as durable as chainmail wrought from steel wire.

A simple knife, notable only for how ordinary it is. Once you get the hang of it, its versatility and ease-of-use make it hard to replace. A masterwork well-loved by many seasoned adventurers.

The crafting recipe for this gear was discovered after an explorer decoded ancient texts found in an old ruin. These were supposedly worn by the "shadow warriors" of the overworld's eastern frontier.

The all-consuming machine of battle churns ever on. No matter how long one endures, there is but one final terminus. "Mortal's Bane"—does this name refer to the fate of the opponent, or the wielder?

This sword was forged within a raging inferno. The dwarven smith who created it proudly declared the blade would incinerate all it sundered—before he, too, was engulfed in the flames.

Armor worn by those destined to become the heroes of Aincrad.

Armor worn by those destined to become the heroes of Aincrad.

"Cornerstone techniques are meant for the profound, yet it is these techniques that will do away with them. My battle garb will lend its power only to those who understand this axiom." - Some leader.

The official attire of a since-disbanded combat brigade who devoted themselves selflessly to protecting Aincrad. These stalwart warriors faced monsters, guardians, and gods alike.

A dagger with a will of its own, afflicted by a curse strong enough to kill a saint. Hold this weapon and seal the fate of two: the wielder, and the one whose blood its blade is destined to spill.

Named for its desire to take the measure of opponents in battle. It requires little imagination to guess what becomes of those it deems unworthy.