Chapter 6: Lace-trimmed leather nails.

Although she now had a luxurious dormitory and perfect logistical support, Hill had not forgotten that she was, first and foremost, an adventurer.

And what did an adventurer need most?

Equipment.

That rusted iron sword might barely suffice when bolstered by Phyllis’s magic, but Hill knew perfectly well that piece of scrap metal could meet its end in the next serious clash.

Moreover, she was still wearing the same old linen dress that would flash skin if she moved too vigorously.

So.

On a brilliantly sunny rest day, Hill suggested a trip to the commercial district for shopping.

Phyllis displayed an unusually high level of enthusiasm. She even woke up early and spent a full hour on makeup, turning her already exquisite features into something flawless beyond reproach.

Ordis Commercial District, Anvil & Rose Armory.

The air was thick with the scent of leather and oil—a smell Hill knew better than any other; the unmistakable aroma of a pre-battle outpost.

She headed straight for the corner where second-hand leather armor hung.

“Boss, how much for this hard-leather breastplate?”

Hill lifted a brown piece that had clearly seen better days—surface marred by several claw marks.

It was ugly, yes, but the hardening treatment was solid, and crucially, it protected the vital areas over the heart and abdomen.

“That one? Five silver and it’s yours.”

The shopkeeper drawled lazily.

“Three silver.”

Hill began haggling with practiced ease.

“The rivets are loose. I’ll have to fix them myself.”

Just as Hill prepared to argue passionately for this piece of rugged, hard-man gear, a pale, slender hand gently settled over the back of hers.

That hand carried an inexplicable, undeniable strength and firmly pressed the leather armor back onto the rack.

“No, Hill.”

Phyllis stood behind her, face wearing a gentle smile, but her eyes overflowed with undisguised disgust.

As though what Hill had just picked up wasn’t armor, but a moldy cleaning rag.

“Why not? The cost-performance is excellent…”

“It’s too heavy.”

Phyllis stated with absolute conviction.

“Even though Hill’s strength can be boosted under my support, carrying excessive weight normally will compress your skeletal growth. You’ll end up staying short.”

Critical hit.

Hill’s current height was only 158 cm—a genuine sore spot for someone who had once been a towering 185 cm warrior in her previous life.

“Besides…”

Phyllis distastefully wiped her fingers with a handkerchief.

“It still carries the previous owner’s sweat smell. Far too unhygienic. What if you get a skin infection?”

“Then what do you suggest we buy?”

Hill let go helplessly.

Phyllis’s eyes instantly lit up.

She had clearly been waiting for exactly those words.

She seized Hill’s wrist and pulled her forward like someone dragging a lost kitten straight toward another section of the shop…

The boutique area.

Here hung not rough beast hides, but finely processed magical beast leathers—and even silk robes embroidered with mana crystals.

“How about this one?”

Phyllis lifted a pure-white lightweight leather armor set.

Its design was less “armor” and more “outfit designed specifically to flaunt one’s figure.”

Form-fitting cut, and at the hem… lace trim?

The corner of Hill’s mouth twitched. She spoke helplessly:

“Phyllis, I’m a swordswoman, not a noble lady attending a ball. That lace will get caught on every branch in the forest.”

“That’s wind-spirit silk weave. It reduces air resistance.”

Phyllis lied without blinking—really it was just high-grade ordinary silk.

“And white suits you so well. It matches your hair perfectly. Plus there’s a defensive magic array woven in.”

“Too expensive.”

Hill glanced at the tag… 5 gold coins.

She couldn’t afford it even if she sold herself.

“No problem. I have savings.”

Phyllis waved a hand with the effortless ease of true wealth.

“Since we’re partners, my equipment is your equipment. It’s only natural tactical investment for the rear guard to fund upgrades to protect the vanguard.”

“But…”

“Come on, just try it. Just try.”

Phyllis gave Hill no chance to refuse. She stuffed the pile of exorbitantly priced fabric into Hill’s arms and pushed her straight into the changing booth.

Inside the narrow changing booth.

Hill fumbled awkwardly with the complicated ties at the back while facing the mirror.

She had to admit—expensive things really were worth their price.

The leather felt weightless on her body. The silk lining was cool and smooth against her skin. Joint mobility was completely unrestricted.

However…

Looking at the silver-haired girl in the mirror—clad in what amounted to a white silk miniskirt-style armor set, exposing the absolute territory of her thighs, waist cinched to an almost impossible span—

A wave of shame surged from the soles of Hill’s feet straight to the crown of her head.

This was absolutely not something Rayne should ever wear!

“Hill? Are you ready? I’m coming in, okay?”

The curtain lifted. Phyllis peeked inside.

The moment she saw Hill, Phyllis’s breathing visibly stopped for a beat.

In the cramped space, the silver-haired girl tugged nervously at the hem of the skirt. Shame flushed her cheeks crimson. The white combat outfit made her already fair skin appear almost translucent.

Like a fragile, alluring porcelain doll.

Phyllis’s pupils contracted slightly. The hand hidden in her sleeve trembled violently as she desperately suppressed the urge to pin Hill against the mirror and ravage her.

Too cute.

Want to lock her away.

Imagine dressing her up beautifully just for my eyes only.

“…It looks weird, right?”

Hill turned her head away, unable to meet Phyllis’s gaze.

“Maybe I should just go back to the hard leather one.”

“No. It’s perfect.”

Phyllis stepped inside and stood behind Hill.

She reached out and finished tying the ribbon at the back that Hill could never reach herself.

Her fingertips deliberately—or perhaps not—brushed across the sensitive line of Hill’s spine, causing a faint shiver to run through her.

“We’re buying this one.”

Phyllis whispered into Hill’s ear, voice thick with satisfaction.

“Anything else would be trash unworthy of touching Hill’s body.”

In the end, under Phyllis’s combination of authority and financial assault, Hill not only acquired the new armor, but was also forced to purchase an expensive pair of lambskin long boots and a lightweight yet razor-sharp mithril shortsword.

When Hill stepped out of the shop, she looked completely transformed—but the weight of the massive debt she now owed Phyllis made her footsteps feel leaden.

“Eight gold coins in total…”

Hill pressed a hand to her forehead in pain.

“How many horned rabbits do I have to kill to pay that back?”

“You can pay it back slowly.”

Phyllis carried several large and small bags—all filled with Hill’s old discarded clothes, which she insisted on taking back to dispose of properly.

Her mood was so good she was even humming.

“I won’t charge interest. As long as Hill stays my partner forever, that’s enough.”

On the way back to the dormitory.

Though the new boots were beautiful and the leather incredibly soft, for Hill—who had not yet fully adjusted to the delicate sensitivity of this body—prolonged walking remained a form of torture.

Halfway there, her pace noticeably slowed. Her brows furrowed almost imperceptibly.

“Feet hurting?”

Phyllis—who had been secretly observing every tiny shift in Hill’s expression—immediately stopped.

“It’s fine. New shoes always rub a little. Normal.”

Hill forced herself to keep walking.

Back in her soldier days she had marched kilometers with blood blisters.

“No.”

Phyllis glanced around, then pointed to a roadside bench.

“Sit.”

“Really, it’s not necessary—”

“Sit.”

This time Phyllis’s voice carried less sweetness and more sternness.

The tone of a doctor dealing with a disobedient patient.

Hill paused, then obediently sat down.

Phyllis crouched in front of her, heedless of the curious stares from passersby, lifted Hill’s foot, and placed it on her own knee.

She carefully removed the expensive new boot, then peeled off the white cotton sock.

Sure enough, the back of Hill’s small heel was rubbed raw—a patch of red, the skin slightly broken, a thin thread of blood seeping out.

“See? It’s already broken the skin.”

Phyllis looked at the wound with heartache.

The distress in her eyes was so thick it nearly overflowed—mixed with fury at her own mistake in choosing the shoes and deep self-reproach.

She extended a fingertip. A faint green glow appeared.

“…Heal.”

Coolness covered the burning pain.

The redness vanished instantly. The skin became smooth and flawless once more.

“All better. No more pain.”

Phyllis did not immediately release her hold. Instead she kept Hill’s foot cradled in her palm, thumb gently kneading the sole and arch.

“You’ve been walking so long—your muscles must be tired too. Relax a little.”

This had already gone far beyond treatment.

In the middle of the street, having a beautiful girl hold and massage her foot…

Hill’s face instantly turned scarlet. She tried to pull her foot back:

“Ph-Phyllis! We’re outside! People will see!”

“So what if they see?”

Phyllis looked up, eyes clear and utterly frank.

“I’m a healer. Treating the wounded is my duty. Does Hill think my hands are dirty?”

“That’s not what I meant…”

“Then stay still and behave.”

Phyllis increased the pressure, pressing firmly on a certain acupoint.

“Mmph!”

A sharp, refreshing sensation shot through every nerve ending. Hill couldn’t help letting out a short, involuntary moan. Her toes curled; her foot nearly kicked Phyllis in the chest.

“See? Your body is very honest.”

Phyllis gave a soft laugh, lowering her head to hide the brief flash of darkness in her eyes.

Hill’s foot was beautiful—elegant arch, toes round and lovely like little shells.

The feel of it in her hand was smoother than the most expensive silk in the world.

I want to… break these ankles so she can only ever be carried by me.

No—no!

Hill would cry.

Better to do it like this—let her grow accustomed to my touch… accustomed enough that she can’t fall asleep without my hands massaging her.

“All done. Put them back on.”

To prevent herself from losing control, Phyllis reluctantly released her and helped Hill put the sock and boot back on.

“Can you walk now?”

She stood and offered her hand.

Hill tested her weight on the ground. The soreness had truly vanished completely, replaced by a light, floating comfort.

“…Yeah. Thank you.”

Hill gently took the hand Phyllis extended.

That hand was soft yet strong, and…

At some point, holding this hand had become as natural as breathing.

“Um, Phyllis.”

As they started walking again, Hill looked down at their joined hands and spoke softly.

“You spent so much today. Later… I want to get you something too.”

Phyllis turned her head. The setting sun gilded her golden hair like a halo.

She smiled so brightly her eyes curved into crescents—like a child who had just received candy.

“I’ll look forward to it. No matter what Hill gives me, I’ll treasure it as the most precious thing for the rest of my life.”

Hand in hand, their shadows merged into one on the bluestone path.

Hill felt she had made an incredible profit today.

New top-tier equipment, and an even deeper bond with a god-tier support.

While Phyllis believed she had profited far more.

Because on those new boots, she had secretly imprinted a location-tracking magical mark.

No matter where Hill went,

She would shine clearly on Phyllis’s map—like a star of fire.