Status
2859
Status
2769
2-5
45
Resistances
[x1.2]
Normal
[x1]
Normal
[x1]
Weak
[x1.5]
[x1.3]
Normal
[x1]
Normal
[x1]
[x0.7]
[x0.7]
[x0.7]
Stagger Threshold
0% (0)
When the Body Part is destroyed, apply bandageoftheboundking on all enemies.
PASSIVE
level: 45
3
+4
SKILL 1
5
+5
SKILL 4
8
+10
SKILL 5
35
-15
SKILL 6
[Unclashable]
[Combat Start] Gain 5
Bind, 1 
Moment of Audience, and 2 
Attack Power Up next turn.
[On Use] Apply 300 Shield to targets with
Bandages of the King in Binds
[Combat Start] Gain 5
[On Use] Apply 300 Shield to targets with
[On Hit] Trigger vibrationexplosion
At 10+ Clashes against the same enemy, randomly gain or lose Clash Power by (Clash Count / 10) in a Clash. (rounded down)
PASSIVE
When all retainers are defeated, the King joins the fight.
PASSIVE
Story
We emerged into a great hall of crimson ornamentations. Its appearance summons to mind the shape of a banquet hall. A man wreathed in red fabric rested atop the throne of the crimson hall. He raised his hands in an endeavor of effort and gingerly gestured toward a gathering of masks manifestly made for a masquerade. A spectrum of emotions were carved unto a spectrum of masks laid about. There was a mask of sorrow, a mask of wrath, yet I found myself most partial to the mask of joy. I know not the reason for which this mask embodies such expression of euphoria; yet, shan’t it be enough that it shall share the selfsame joy with others? Two birds with one stone; solace shared, sorrow shrouded, the twain under a blanket of elation. I wear the mask and feel my thoughts grow clear as an autumn sky. Upon my approach, the king tensed his shoulders for a moment so brief that it was nigh unnoticed. Perhaps it was a gesture borne not out of thought but of instinct, shaped by the cloth-suppressed will to express. We had but a moment to regard it before those akin in appearance to us appeared. Though their forms were opaque and their shapes half-shrouded in shadow, they held certain similitudes to our own forms. The monarch, with certain torpidity, tipped his head to the side in a show of intent to behold our battle. The long years spent in binds have filled the void left behind by your long-gone interests with tedium, have they not? A terribly tragic tale. Yet we battle in hopes that our clashes may bring this king in binds the smallest revelry. Such is all I have to say.
These umbral reflections of us bring to mind the ‘Identity Cards’ Dante holds. An egoless incarnation of ‘Identities’ manifested may hold a certain resemblance to the way they appear before us. Defeating one of them merely makes a vacancy for another to fill, for they number the same as we do. Now that I have spent some time in observation of their operations, I have noticed a conspicuously considerable collection of similitudes between us. I can presume that their number is most likely equivalent to our own; their techniques in parallel to ours. Yet what those Peccatula lack is the will to make decisions of their own. Like cards to be played with and discarded at the king’s whim. Kings, both of eld and new it seems, enjoy plays of puppets, a musical of manikins. Wielding men as cold tools, brandishing and flourishing them with abandon, breaking them. And upon their inevitable shattering, the king shall fill their spot with another puppet, its absence unnoticed. Yet, this king may be quite fond of his own. To shower his retinue with ceaseless blessings while leaving naught for the rest of us. Mm… such is all I have to say. → H-how many of them are there? → If the king seeks to watch an evenly matched battle, then it can be assumed that the entities have the same number of allies in their ranks as we do. If such is not the case, however, any further speculation may be a meaningless effort.
Thus the battle came to an end with our victory. Thus concluded it seemed the banquet, yet the King's tedium was yet to be sated; the bound monarch rose from his throne, tearing free his corpus from the bandage-chains. The long time spent in confinement has rusted his joints, yet his imposing presence and grace have only grown to touch the formidable grandeur of his sublimity. His resolute resolve roused awe in the hearts of those who beheld his emergence. Yet awe was not the only sense it roused; a question arose as well. For what did the king remain tethered to his throne, when he had the might to rise on his own? I… know not why the king remained in sedentary silence, bound not by the threads but by his own will. I write a few words here still, for I cannot very well put to sleep the simmering ruminations… It appears that the king has aught to convey. A monarch fettered to this spot, ere the hail of those who may discern his fathoms. A wraithlike state the sovereign has taken. This somber musing heaps and heaps with every blade-clash unto a mound of sorrow as sympathy falls sunken. Whyever does he hold one such banquet, his corpus bound to the throne, only to revel in such bizarre festivity? It is but a pitiful tragedy, for this abyss is deep and wreathed in inexplicability. Such is all I have to say. → A tragedy? Bullshit. → To be in command of others, to reign over another, is a declaration that one shall endure the responsibilities and the suffering that come with power. I would like to take this opportunity to extend my deepest gratitude to our Executive Manager, who leads us with a firm but fair, excellent hand.
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