"A Rider Never Fights Empty-Handed..."
Melinda repeated the name slowly, her voice as cold as ever. Then, to Evenson’s surprise, a fierce smile tugged at the corner of her mouth.
"I like it."
Within S.H.I.E.L.D., the title Iron Rider carried weight.
Even Natasha Romanoff had once admitted there were very few people she wanted to provoke less than Melinda May.
But Melinda herself had never viewed the nickname as an honor.
It was a scar.
A reminder of failure.
The title had been forged from the moment she had been powerless to protect the people who mattered. Every regret she carried traced back to that day, making "Iron Rider" feel less like praise and more like mockery.
Whenever someone used it, her reaction depended on who they were.
Friends earned little more than an icy glare.
Everyone else...
Well, she’d once demonstrated that a phone book and a hammer could be remarkably educational tools.
Yet hearing Evenson attach that name to her new power stirred none of the old bitterness.
Instead...
It felt right.
Iron Rider.
The name that marks my greatest regret...
From now on, it’ll remind me why I refuse to be weak again.
This time, I’ll become worthy of it.
While Melinda silently vowed never to repeat her past mistakes, Claire quietly leaned toward Evenson.
"So..." she whispered, "you’re giving her powers."
"Mhm."
"But you’re not planning to give the knight any equipment?"
Evenson raised an eyebrow.
"What are you getting at?"
I’m still alive, you know.
Don’t treat me like one of those ancient hermits who dies at the bottom of a cliff after leaving behind a martial arts manual and a legendary weapon.
Claire’s eyes sparkled.
"I still have that full suit of dark purple plate armor."
She lowered her voice further.
"It’s technically made for a man..."
She discreetly glanced at Melinda.
"...but honestly, she’d fill it out just fine."
"Shh."
Evenson immediately put a finger to his lips.
"Agents have excellent hearing."
"If she catches even half of this conversation, someone is going to die."
Then his expression changed.
A dangerous smile spread across his face.
"...Does that helmet still have the full faceplate?"
"It does."
Claire nodded proudly.
"I even lined the eye slits with red LED strips."
"And I installed a voice modulator."
She grinned.
"It sounds just like Arthas."
Evenson stroked his chin.
"...That’s excellent."
He thought for another moment.
"Then we’d need to pair it with an absurdly oversized greatsword."
"I usually sell the sword separately."
Claire answered with complete professionalism.
"But if she actually buys the armor..."
"I suppose I could throw the sword in as part of a promotional bundle."
"...What exactly are you two whispering about?"
Melinda had finally finished her internal pep talk.
Now she noticed the pair huddled together, exchanging conspiratorial smiles while stealing suspicious glances in her direction.
Whatever they were discussing...
It definitely involved her.
And judging by those expressions...
It couldn’t possibly be anything good.
Caught off guard, Evenson answered with the first thing that came to mind.
"Chaos Knight."
Melinda tilted her head.
"...What?"
"Your class."
Evenson smoothly slipped into lecture mode.
"In the past, some members of our order weren’t comfortable dealing directly with demons."
"So instead, they formed partnerships with exceptional warriors."
"They strengthened those warriors with magic, allowing them to fight on the front lines while the spellcasters provided support."
He nodded confidently.
"Those magically enhanced warriors were collectively known as Chaos Knights."
"What I gave you contains a few... unique additions."
"But fundamentally, that’s what you are."
Melinda narrowed her eyes.
"So?"
"You don’t spend that long whispering just to decide on a job title."
"True."
Evenson smiled.
"A knight should look like a knight."
"I’m thinking armor."
"And perhaps a proper weapon."
Melinda frowned.
"A weapon is fine."
"I’ve used greatswords and oversized combat blades before."
"But armor?"
She shook her head.
"This isn’t the Middle Ages."
"I’m not fighting arrows and spears."
"I’m fighting bullets."
"A modern ballistic vest seems a lot more practical than several hundred pounds of steel."
"For ordinary armor?"
"Absolutely."
Evenson nodded.
"But who said I’d give you ordinary armor?"
"It would be magically reinforced."
Melinda answered immediately.
"Then enchant a ballistic vest instead."
Evenson blinked.
You’re making this difficult on purpose.
Claire silently gave him an encouraging look.
He took a deep breath.
"Then tell me something."
"When I draw a magic circle..."
"Why don’t I just photocopy one?"
Melinda shrugged honestly.
"No idea."
"I don’t pretend to understand magic."
"...Fair."
That answer almost derailed him.
He recovered with admirable determination.
"Magic has... requirements."
He slowly paced across the room, carefully positioning himself in front of the pressure cooker sitting on the workbench.
"There are specific material compatibilities."
"Certain enchantments only function properly on particular substances."
"So..."
He searched desperately for convincing words.
"...this enchantment only works on armor."
"Not clothing."
"That’s just how the spell works."
He was beginning to hear the weakness of his own explanation.
"As for weapons..."
He hurriedly added,
"At your current level of power, empowering cold steel and armor is vastly more efficient."
Melinda studied him for several seconds.
Something about his explanation felt suspicious.
She just couldn’t identify what.
"...Fine."
"I’ll trust your judgment."
After all, magic was his field.
She turned to leave.
Smack.
The instant her back was turned, Evenson and Claire exchanged a perfectly synchronized high-five.
"...Hold on."
Melinda suddenly spun around again.
The movement startled both of them.
Fortunately, she hadn’t noticed.
Instead, she asked,
"You said... at my current level?"
Evenson quietly exhaled in relief.
"Right."
"Your natural magical aptitude isn’t particularly high."
"It’s slightly above average, but nowhere near enough for me to grant everything at once."
"The power has to be released in stages."
There was a reason Melinda hadn’t transformed into a monstrous fel-mutant like so many corrupted victims.
Part of it was the source of her power.
Unlike those infused with the blood of mighty Pit Lords, the ring Evenson had used contained only a carefully diluted portion of fel energy.
The larger reason was control.
Evenson had intentionally fed the power into her body little by little.
Only by carefully regulating each infusion could he prevent catastrophic mutations while allowing her body to adapt safely.
Melinda’s expression stiffened.
"...How many stages?"
The memory of her agonizing transformation made one corner of her eye twitch.
Evenson folded his arms with theatrical dignity.
"Eighty-one tribulations."
"Forty-nine heavenly trials."
Melinda looked around the basement.
Then she calmly picked up the broken half of the fire axe.
"...Try that answer again."
"And this time..."
She leveled the jagged piece of metal at him.
"...use plain English."
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