Chapter 38: Formal dress.

After refusing the White Lily Knights’ invitation, Hill felt life become noticeably more comfortable.

No need to adapt to unfamiliar surroundings.

No need to deal with haughty noble knights.

Every morning she woke to Phyllis’s smiling face and perfectly tempered red tea.

This was, in her opinion, the ideal adventurer’s life.

However, that calm was soon shattered by an invitation bearing the city lord’s crest.

“A victory banquet?”

Hill frowned at the stiff card on the table, which carried the scent of expensive perfume.

“To commend the Iron Sword party for retrieving the ruin documents… and the city lord specifically requests to meet me?”

“No way around it, Hill.”

Phyllis was changing the water in the vase of white roses.

She snipped a thorny stem, her tone gentle.

“In this kingdom, the Adventurers’ Guild may be independent, but nominally it falls under the city lord’s jurisdiction. If we want to keep operating in Ordis, we have to give this face.”

“I know.”

Hill scratched her head irritably and flopped face-down on the table without any grace.

“But I hate banquets. That means wearing one of those suffocating dresses and making small talk with a bunch of powdered nobles. I’d rather wrestle an ogre.”

For Hill—who had been a rough man in her previous life—social dances were more terrifying than the abyss itself.

And most importantly…

“I don’t even have a formal dress. Do I have to go buy one now? The ones on the market are either plunging necklines or backless. Wearing something like that—I might as well not… ah, no, I’d rather wear armor.”

Phyllis set down the scissors.

She turned, gazing tenderly at Hill sprawled across the table in complaint; a gleam of long-anticipated light passed through her blue eyes.

“No need to buy one.”

Phyllis walked to Hill’s side, leaned down, and gently twirled a strand of Hill’s silver hair around her fingertip.

“Outside tailors are too crude. Their fabrics are coarse—they’d chafe Hill’s skin. And besides…”

Her voice lowered, carrying a subtle chill.

“I absolutely refuse to let strange men or women run measuring tapes all over Hill’s body.”

Hill’s body.

Every curve, every line of muscle—only she was allowed to know and control them.

“Then what do we do?”

Hill looked up in confusion.

“Leave it to me.”

Phyllis smiled—confident and doting.

“Back in the convent, I was also in charge of sewing priestly robes. I may not match the masters in the capital, but making one perfectly fitted gown is no problem.”

“You can make clothes?”

Hill exclaimed.

“Phyllis, is there anything you can’t do?”

“As long as it’s for Hill, I can learn anything.”

Phyllis produced a yellow measuring tape from her sleeve like a magic trick.

“Now then—let’s start taking measurements. Hill, stand up and raise your arms straight out.”

…

Afternoon sunlight was a little harsh; half the curtains had been drawn.

The room was quiet, broken only by the soft rustle of measuring tape sliding over fabric.

Hill stood in the center like a mannequin with arms outstretched, feeling distinctly awkward.

Though Phyllis had touched her plenty of times before, being measured so meticulously while fully conscious still carried an indescribable sense of embarrassment.

“Hill, straighten your back.”

Phyllis knelt on the floor, measuring the length of Hill’s legs.

Her fingers—separated by the fabric of Hill’s trousers—slowly traced upward along the curve of Hill’s calf, past the knee, all the way to the upper thigh.

“Um… do you really need to be this precise?”

Hill felt a tickle on her thigh and instinctively wanted to pull away.

“No. Even one millimeter of error in the hem length will affect Hill’s walking posture.”

Phyllis looked up, expression serious.

“Hill wouldn’t want to trip over the skirt hem at the banquet, right?”

“…Fine.”

After finishing the leg measurement, Phyllis stood and moved behind Hill.

She spread her arms, looping the tape around Hill’s waist.

To get an accurate reading, she practically hugged Hill from behind.

Her front pressed against Hill’s back; her chin nearly rested on Hill’s shoulder.

“Inhale.”

Phyllis instructed.

Hill inhaled.

The tape tightened abruptly.

“Hm… waist is one size smaller than last month.”

Phyllis frowned slightly at the markings, seeming a touch dissatisfied.

“Looks like we need to increase your meals again. Even though I’ve been feeding you so much every day…”

She muttered softly beside Hill’s ear, warm breath brushing against sensitive skin.

The taut pressure of the tape around her waist, combined with the reassuring yet slightly suffocating warmth from behind, made Hill’s heartbeat speed up involuntarily.

“Done yet?”

Hill squirmed uncomfortably.

“Hold still—bust measurement next.”

The tape moved upward.

Phyllis’s arms passed directly under Hill’s armpits.

Even through clothing, Hill could feel Phyllis’s fingers brushing—seemingly unintentionally—against certain embarrassing places.

Hill’s face flushed crimson instantly.

“Hey! I can measure this part myself!”

“No.”

Phyllis refused flatly, tightening the tape just enough to draw a short gasp from Hill.

“This is for the inner lining of the bodice. If the size is wrong, it’ll constrict Hill’s breathing. You wouldn’t want to faint at the banquet, would you?”

The reasoning was always so impeccable.

So impeccable that Hill felt…

if she harbored any improper thoughts, it would be a desecration of Phyllis’s pure intentions.

What a wicked, sinful notion.

“…Then hurry up.”

Hill closed her eyes, banishing stray thoughts.

Phyllis stared at Hill—obedient, blushing adorably—and the darkness in her gaze deepened.

She didn’t rush to read the measurement.

She savored the sensation of encircling Hill with the tape.

So slender.

So soft.

Such a perfect body—if dressed in backless or low-cut gowns, exposed to the eyes of banquet guests…

Just imagining that scene made her want to gouge out every last eyeball.

So… she had to wrap Hill up.

Completely. Not a single inch of skin exposed.

Only she could look.

Only she could touch.

“Done.”

Phyllis finally released the tape and jotted down a string of numbers only she could decipher in her notebook.

“I’ve memorized all the measurements. For the next three days, Hill is not allowed to sneak snacks—otherwise the dress won’t fit.”

“Got it…”

Hill collapsed into a chair with visible relief.

“This is more exhausting than fighting monsters.”

…

Over the following three days, Phyllis entered seclusion mode.

She shut herself in her room, emerging only for meals.

From inside came the occasional snip of scissors cutting fabric, the faint whisper of thread passing through cloth.

Hill worried several times and tried to offer help, only to be turned away each time with “the surprise can’t be seen early.”

Finally, on the afternoon of the banquet.

Phyllis pushed open the door.

Faint dark circles shadowed her eyes—clear evidence of sleepless nights.

Yet her spirit was strangely exhilarated; her eyes shone with startling brightness.

“Hill, come try it on.”

She held in both hands the gown she had poured her heart and countless sleepless hours into.

It was a midnight-blue long dress—deep as the night sky.

No lace, no frivolous ornamentation.

The tailoring was sharp and almost militaristic in its crispness.

The collar was a high stand-up design, buttoned all the way to just below the throat—perfectly concealing Hill’s neck.

Long sleeves, fitted cuffs that accentuated slender wrists.

Though the skirt was floor-length, it featured clever slits—allowing free movement while hinting at a subtle martial grace with every step.

“This…”

Hill stared at the dress, stunned.

She had expected something frilly and princess-like; she never imagined Phyllis would create something… so perfectly aligned with her own sense of style!

“This is how I see Hill.”

Phyllis stepped close, helping Hill out of her everyday clothes and into the gown.

Silk-like fabric glided over skin, cool and smooth.

When the final button was fastened—

Hill stared in amazement.

The dress fit unbelievably well.

Every joint moved without restriction—like a second skin.

“It’s both gown and armor.”

Phyllis stood behind Hill, gazing at their reflection in the mirror.

She reached up, gathering Hill’s silver hair into an elegant updo that revealed the refined yet strikingly handsome features of her face.

“I didn’t want Hill to dress up like a delicate flower just to please those nobles.”

Phyllis’s voice was low and tender.

“Hill is a sword. Even at a banquet, you should be the sharpest, most dazzling blade in the room.”

Hill looked at herself in the mirror.

The dress concealed every feminine feature, while maximizing the androgynous handsomeness of her form.

“Phyllis…”

Hill turned, so moved she hardly knew what to say.

“Thank you. This is… the most comfortable thing I’ve ever worn.”

“As long as it’s comfortable.”

Phyllis adjusted the high collar; her fingertips lightly brushed the hard edge.

The gown was indeed beautiful.

But it carried the designer’s unmistakable intent.

From neck to ankle—not an inch of extra skin exposed.

Even her hands were to be covered with matching velvet gloves.

This way, no one could see Hill’s skin.

No one could glimpse the scenery beneath the heavy fabric.

Hill belongs to me.

And only to me.

“Let’s go, Hill.”

Phyllis linked arms with Hill, her face blooming into a delighted smile.