Chapter 105: Change
After a long, hot bath, the servants guided me to a luxurious dressing room. A dry, middle-aged woman arrived a few minutes later, introducing herself as a tailor.
"Oh, you poor thing," she fussed, twirling around my slender body and taking measurements. She spent the most time examining my Sunpurged shoulder, taking the surface area of the wound and the distance it extended down my bicep. Hot tingles crept through my body as her fingers traced around the glowing lines, but I held still until she finished. The tailor then asked for my preferences, which I readily supplied, inspired by the off-shoulder dresses I’d worn at the Divine Throne.
The tailor jotted down a few notes and left, promising to return in a few hours before the banquet. Meanwhile, the remaining servants, who were all Beastkin slaves, found a loose, sleeveless dress for me to wear in the meantime, and I was ushered to a guestroom.
Alone, I tried to lie down, but the constant ache of the Sunpurge prevented any real rest. No matter how I turned, the wound seemed to flare up, forcing me to rise with a tired sigh. Given time, I was sure I could get used to the pain, but for now, it was too fresh. At least it wasn’t like the Slave Crest, which was designed to be impossible to ignore.
One thing had been bothering me – my staff. Traditionally, using a magic item required threading mana through a focus, the large crystal atop the staff in this case. But with Soul Casting, that mana never left my soul, making it impossible to use both. Soul Casting was efficient and flexible, but the staff’s mana enhancement and recycling abilities were invaluable. Without those abilities, I would have been unable to cast half as many Fire Shields in the dungeon. If I could somehow combine them, it would create a compound effect that eclipsed either alone.
With nothing else to do, I began crafting and testing theories. When the Tailor returned with my new wardrobe, I was sitting on the bed, exhausted from my efforts.
"Resting’s over!" she exclaimed. "Let’s get you out of those rags and ready for a feast!"
She pulled at my hand, urging me to my feet. I eyed the crimson dress folded over her forearm warily and shied away as the maids reached for my clothes. The sting of the suffering and humiliation from my last banquet still lingered, and I wasn’t eager to repeat them.
The maids were persistent, and I ended up surrendering myself to their attention. But when they held a mirror up, I turned away, murmuring, "It’s fine."