Chapter 10
Written by Bayzo Albion
Lost in thought, I didn't even notice how my steps carried me to the doors of a small cottage, quaint and unassuming. Nothing fancy—just a modest little house tucked away at the edge of paradise, its walls woven from weathered wood and vines that seemed to grow in artistic patterns, as if nature itself had collaborated in its construction. A faded sign hung over the doorway, swaying gently in the breeze:
Clothing Shop.
Finally, I thought with relief, a wave of anticipation breaking through the philosophical haze. Maybe my grand debut in this world wouldn't involve me running around like some half-mad nudist philosopher, pontificating to indifferent skies.
Just in case, adhering to some remnant of earthly courtesy, I knocked on the door, the wood resounding with a hollow thud, though the door was already ajar, inviting entry with its subtle creak. After a short pause, during which I imagined the wonders within, I pushed it open and stepped inside, the threshold crossing like a portal to normalcy.
"Pardon the intrusion," I said cautiously as I crossed the threshold, my voice echoing softly in the cozy interior, lined with shelves of folded fabrics and hanging garments that whispered of styles from myriad eras.
"Hopefully not a full-scale intrusion?" drawled a woman's voice, dripping with lazy amusement, smooth as velvet yet edged with playful sharpness.
I stopped in my tracks, my eyes adjusting to the dimmer light filtering through curtained windows.
She stood before me like a painting brought to life, vivid and captivating: a tall, elegant figure with skin the color of ripe cherries, rich and inviting, and horns curving gracefully from her head, lending her beauty a dangerous, exotic air that hinted at demonic origins or ancient myths. Her head tilted to the side, a cascade of dark hair framing her face, smile curling at the corners—like someone who never let go of control, a mistress of games yet to be played.
For a moment, I forgot why I was here, mesmerized by her presence, the air charged with an undercurrent of intrigue. Then I quickly raised my hands in mock surrender, palms outward in a gesture of harmless intent.
"No, no—I come in peace, bearing only coin and curiosity," I said.
She chuckled softly, a low, melodic sound that resonated in the room like distant thunder, her eyes never leaving mine, piercing with an intelligence that saw through pretenses. "I heard you were robbed by some wild bandits. You newcomers waste no time making headlines, strutting into town like a force of nature."
"Yeah…" I let out a wry laugh, rubbing the back of my neck self-consciously. "News travels fast in this place, doesn't it? Faster than a rumor in a small town, apparently."
"Faster than shame, apparently," she remarked, her gaze deliberately sliding downward and back up again, her smirk widening just enough to sting, a teasing glint in her eyes that danced with mischief.
Heat flushed through me, a brief flare of embarrassment tempered by my adjusted settings, though I masked it with a crooked grin, refusing to let her unsettle me completely.
"Well, I thought I'd make a bold impression. But let's just say… it's time I found something to wear, lest I become the village's eternal jester."
"Clothes?" she echoed, her tone somewhere between boredom and mischief, leaning against a counter laden with bolts of fabric. "And here I thought you were enjoying your… natural state, embracing the freedom this world offers without reservation."
Her eyes glimmered knowingly, a spark of challenge in their depths, and I realized this "shop" might not be just about fabrics and coin—it was already shaping up to be another test, a dance of wits and wills in the heart of paradise's illusions.
With a flick of her wrist, she pulled a small white rectangle from her satchel—a magical artifact shaped like a tablet, its surface gleaming with latent power. Another deft gesture, and glowing lines of text materialized across it, floating like fireflies in the dim light.
Naked man spotted on the central road. Suspected victim of wild bandits. Identity unknown. Possibly a foreigner.
"I love reading gossip and news," she admitted, leaning forward slightly, her horns catching the lamplight in a mesmerizing dance of shadows. "My job is dreadfully dull. Magical clothes aren't exactly in high demand here. Most people settle for the standard beauty this world hands them—why bother with style when perfection is the default?"
"I get it. Must be tough for you," I said with a sympathetic nod, though inwardly my mind was already racing, imagining what magical functions clothing here might actually have—armor that deflected spells, cloaks that granted invisibility, or tunics woven with charms to sway hearts. The possibilities were as tantalizing as they were daunting.
"Oh, you have no idea," she sighed dramatically, tossing her hair with a theatrical flair that made the air shimmer faintly. "Day after day, staring out the window, waiting for someone interesting to show up… It's torture, a slow drip of monotony in a world where boredom shouldn't exist."
"Torture?" I blinked, caught off guard by the word's weight in a realm supposedly free of suffering. "Seriously? Isn't this supposed to be the safest, most harmless place in the universe, a paradise where pain is just a forgotten myth?"
"Harmless?" She gave me a look usually reserved for children caught trying to eat sand, her crimson eyes narrowing with a mix of pity and amusement. "Where have you been the last… I don't know… decades? Or are you completely new here, fresh from the void with no clue how this place works?"
"I'm just from the north," I replied with studied indifference, leaning into the lie I'd spun earlier, my tone as casual as if discussing the weather. "Long winters, brutal and unforgiving. Hard life, scraping by on frost and stubbornness. Not exactly paradise, so yeah… I'm still adjusting to your so-called heaven, with its endless sunshine and smiling faces."
She narrowed her eyes, the spark in them sharpening as if she could see through the cracks in my story, weighing whether to call my bluff. A faint glimmer of interest flickered there, like she'd just spotted a new toy—or a worthy opponent—in the mundane parade of her day.
"Are you really a northerner?" she asked at last, her voice low and probing, a velvet blade testing my defenses. "You look so scrawny even a frail boy could knock you down with a stiff breeze."
"You're right," I agreed meekly, bowing my head in mock humility, though my lips twitched with suppressed mirth. "Without my first-class gear, I'm the weakest man alive, a mere shadow of my former glory. But I don't feel ashamed of that—humility is the first step to greatness, or so I've heard."
My words hung in the air—half self-deprecating joke, half strange confession, laced with a sincerity that surprised even me.
"Ha!" The demoness arched a brow, her gaze sweeping me from head to toe with open interest, lingering just long enough to make my skin prickle. "And an optimist, too. If my legendary weapon had been stolen, I'd have already leveled half the city in a tantrum, leaving scorch marks and shattered dreams in my wake."
"No great loss," I shrugged, making a show of indifference, though my heart raced at the thought of her wielding such destructive power. "Weapons can be replaced, forged anew from the raw stuff of this world. Heads, on the other hand… those are a bit harder to come by."
She snorted softly, a sound that blended derision with reluctant amusement.
We stepped deeper into the shop, the air thick with the scent of possibility. My eyes widened despite myself, drinking in the spectacle before me. Shelves overflowed with everything from simple linen shirts and sturdy traveling cloaks to armored corsets studded with gemstones and enchanted plate mail that seemed to hum with latent magic. Bright fabrics in every hue imaginable—sapphire blues, emerald greens, fiery crimsons—draped elegantly alongside dyed leather and metal that glinted beneath the shop's magical lamps, their light casting prismatic patterns on the wooden walls.
"So then—what kind of clothing do you desire?" the demoness asked, her lips curved in an amused half-smile as she watched me stroll around like I owned the place—despite, well, owning not a single stitch of clothing, my bare form a stark contrast to the opulence around me.
"The plainest. And the cheapest," I answered, keeping my voice steady, trying to salvage a shred of dignity in my utterly vulnerable state, though the absurdity of my situation wasn't lost on me.
"Frugal approach," she murmured, nodding with a curious balance between mockery and approval, as if thrift were a quaint novelty in a world of abundance. She gestured toward a rack tucked away near the wall, its contents less ostentatious than the gleaming armors nearby. "In that case—this way."
I followed, acutely aware of how absurd I must have looked: naked as the day I was born—or reborn, rather—walking like a self-appointed lord through aisles of shimmering armor and regal silks, my footsteps muffled on the woven rugs beneath.