B6C14 Molten Armour

This wasn't armour, at least not properly. If someone were to take a spear and plunge it into my stomach, the tip would pierce through with ease and kill me. My breastplate was still soft, after all, still in a state somewhere between solid and liquid. More the former than the latter.

More importantly, I was still forging. So long as the heat was high, and I continued to work on the armour with my Engraving Skill, my Passive Skill considered this a work in progress.

[...]

Before they could ask how or why, I turned and stepped into the inferno. I took a breath a second before I did and held it, running a gauntlet down over my faceplate to once more cover my eyes and mouth. The fire from Phoenix could still steal oxygen and dry my eyes to the point they popped, but only if it touched me.

Right now, the fire could not. That was the thing about fire, really. It was the differences in temperature that caused the consequences of injury by fire, and no matter how it was summoned, this was still fire. It was hot, incredibly so, but fire itself did not have the energy to burn at temperatures hot enough to melt steel. That was why coal fires were used, because the coal itself would help the fires burn hotter. This had no such fuel.

When I stepped into the fire, my body – my mass – was hotter than the fire itself. The flames licked at my molten armour, but they were cooler than it. If anything, heat was stolen from me, but I kept that going from the palms of my hand, constantly using Stoke the Forge to maintain my ridiculously high temperature.

A temperature I did not – could not – feel. My skin did not burn, nor did my organs cook. Trapped as I was within the armour, my own molten steel created a buffer against the fire, a shield of hotter fire that kept Phoenix's away.