Chapter 72: Smile
The days after the tournament slipped by all too quickly, backing me up against the wall of departure. Small butterflies fluttered around my stomach whenever I thought of the approaching date, filling me with uneasy anticipation. With so little time left, I dove into training with renewed vigor. Since I had finally crossed the threshold of fifth-circle magic, my mana underwent a transformative expansion. The difference between circles was small at lower levels, so I hadn’t noticed the difference before, but my body now overflowed with power. Each time a mage transcended tiers, their mana reciprocated and became much easier to increase for a small period of time. By the end of the second day after the tournament, I was capable of casting three fifth-circle spells back to back, provided I was okay with collapsing to the ground afterward. Selena certainly wasn’t happy about that...
Leaving the Divine Throne itself placed no weight on my mind. If anything, I longed for the freedom of the road. The constant threat that anyone could command me through the slave crest still terrified me, and I diligently stuck to crowded places where nothing could get out of hand. Just having that gone would be a burden off my shoulders.
When the morning of the fateful day arrived, I was roused by a sharp knock at the door. Yawning and bleary-eyed, I rolled out of bed and stumbled to the door. As my hand reached for the doorknob, a spike of alarm drove through the murky drowsiness that held my mind. Because of my Demonkin senses, I had scarcely noticed the crystal had yet to brighten, meaning it was still night. I rapidly cast several protective spells before easing the door open, cracking it just far enough to peer out.
"Oh, quit that and open up if you want your new stuff. Adventuring’s a dangerous business, and I’d hate to see you off with only a dress."
The tension flowed from my muscles as Revera’s surly voice slipped through the crack. Leaning back, I allowed her to push through the door, watching curiously as she dragged a few bags after her.
She grunted, hefting them onto the bed then crisply turned and beckoned me forward. "I haven’t all morning, you know. I’ve received word to allow you four sets of clothing, so choose quickly."
Without bothering to wait for a response, she began pulling outfits out and spreading them around the room. She worked quickly, giving me nearly twenty options to choose from of varying cuts and designs. While some of the garments were stiff leather, looking more like armor than clothes, others brought a blush to my cheeks. Who could possibly wear something so scanty on the road? Even the whores in the streets covered themselves with more than a few of the outfits provided. I shook my head in disbelief. This truly was a fantasy world, after all.
"Revera," I said hesitantly, "who chose these clothes?"
"Hmmm? Oh, they’re just the things I could find in your size. There should be something you like, so hurry up and choose."
I nodded and began walking among them, steering clear of the rather distasteful garments. After a few minutes of deliberation, I selected four fairly conservative getups. As a mage, mobility wasn’t a high priority, so I settled on clothes similar to what I was used to. The dresses were short, barely touching my knees, and the bodices snug, but they looked practical and comfortable. The colors were fairly somber, mostly blacks and reds, but Revera claimed they complimented my features beautifully. For footwear, I took a pair of knee-high travel boots, which fit my slender legs and feet perfectly. The soft leather was already broken in yet remained sturdy. The priestess promised they’d last for a long while, but I wasn’t too concerned about that. One of the spells I’d learned was Mend, which returned mundane gear to perfect condition.
She left me with a leather purse-like satchel, which contained a space enchantment and could store an entire wagon’s worth of supplies. They were uncommon around the Divine Throne, but it seems adventurers use them often. Curtseying gratefully, I let her out the door and set about preparing myself for the day. Dressing in one of the new outfits, I twirled in front of the mirror, scrutinizing myself from every angle. It was no formal gown, but much better than the slave’s garb I traditionally wore. Like most women’s clothes in this world, it emphasized feminine traits, hugging my waist and revealing much of my chest, but I doubted most people cared. Their eyes would be stuck to the slave crest, not my modest cleavage.