689 688. A Lunch With Guardians

"R-rock?" Galagar almost panted, excited and sweating. "T-This is… a fucking mountain!" 

"I don't need any armor. But I want three hundred sets of finest armors made from a part of this. They will be for my most elite troops," Sylvester placed his order. "Of course, payment will be made for your great service." 

"Why don't you want armor, Your Holiness? I will personally make one, and it will be the finest work of my life," asked King Galagar. 

"Skygem isn't the toughest material when it comes to a clash between Supreme Wizards, my friend. What good is the armor if it's going to break from a single punch of mine? But I will need ten finest pieces for the Guardians of Light," Sylvester requested and gently punched a tiny spot on the gem, clawing a handful of it like it was delicate snow. "But… The production must happen jointly with the dwarves of Sol."