“This way, please.” The young apprentice flew to the side of the archduke’s palace. A cluster of several three-story mansions was there, surrounded by several well-kept layers of orange bushes. All the buildings were exquisite, even if nowhere as large as the palace itself. These had to be the guest residencies; either that or the staff quarters.

Casting a spell, the mage opened the large double doors. Before entering, though, he landed on the ground, patiently waiting for Dallion and Diroh to pass first. In contrast, Dallion remained an inch from the floor at all times. In the short time he’d been a battle mage, he had developed the habit of avoiding contact with unfamiliar surfaces.

“A tailor team is expecting you in your chamber,” the apprentice explained. “I wasn’t aware that there would be anyone accompanying you, so it will take a short while for the second one to arrive and tend to your novice.”

“Tend to me?” Diroh asked with a predatory smile. “That’s so thoughtful of you…” she looked at the boy, indicating she expected to get a name.

“Calpex,” he quickly said. “Apprentice Calpex Lyan.”

“Yes, how very thoughtful of you, Calpex. I can see why you were made an apprentice.”

The insult passed over the apprentice’s head, who mumbled something in thanks, then quickly flew off, likely to inform the mage and archduke of the guests’ arrival. Wasting no time, the fury closed the door.

“You’ve become vicious,” Dallion said, amused.

“I’ve always been. You just never noticed.” Diroh placed all of Dallion’s floating belongings in the corridor. “I know his type.”

No doubt she did.

“How are you with nobles? The banquet won’t be the same as a hunter’s tavern.”

“So you’re really planning to go?”

The fury made it sound as if she disapproved, but the emanations from her told a completely different story. She was eager to see the inside of an archduke’s palace. The more Dallion looked at her, the more he found the scruffy fury he’d met way back to be gone. Awakening had that effect on people, changing their perspective of the world, infusing them with curiosity, and helping them deal with deep-rooted flaws.

“Going yes,” he said, making his way through the corridor to the first ornate double door. “Staying, no.”

The room was his personal bedroom, as expected. Large and richly decorated, it had thick carpets woven out of gem cloth, massive paintings with such detail that only someone with a perception of forty could truly appreciate, as well as several large tables, chairs, a desk, and an impossibly large bed. Four people were there waiting for him, their appearance combined with the racks of cloth suggested they were the tailor team Calpex had mentioned.

“Greetings, mage.” All of them bowed. Interestingly, all of them were human. Given the city’s size, Dallion would have assumed there to be a gorgon, or at least a dwarf as well. “Will you allow us to take your measurements?”

Without a reply, Dallion floated to a spot in the room, a few steps away from the large window, then raised his arms sideways. Taking the hint, the tailors quickly started taking measurements. There were no conversations the entire time. Everyone knew precisely what they had to do, occasionally asking Dallion to move certain parts of his body so they could get a more accurate measurement.

“Do you have any specific preferences?” the head tailor—an old man well in his sixties—asked.

“Make sure it fits with my robe.”

The man froze. The tailors looked at one another as if Dallion had made a death threat.

“The archduke has… not allowed such an option,” the tailor said after a while. “Only mages are allowed to have robes, and although you are—”

“Fine.” Dallion had no intention of arguing. “Just make it clear that I am one.”

“Of course. And the young lady?”

Dallion was tempted to casually mention that she was a princess, more as a poke to her than anything else. In the end, he wasn’t able to keep himself from doing just that.

“Make sure to illustrate that my novice is a princess.”

Several of the tailers looked at the fury.

“A genuine fury princess,” Dallion added. The wave of anger emanating from Diroh’s calm surface let him know that he had done his job.

You’re getting your sense of humor back, the armadil shield said.

Did I ever lose it? Dallion asked mentally.

Do you really want me to give you an honest answer?

Dallion was just about to respond when the dryad guardian continued without giving him the chance.

Didn’t think so.

Watching the tailors perform their craft was both fascinating and pitiful. Able to see their stats, Dallion knew their level was well in the fifties, along with the skills to match. Each of them individually would have the strength to defeat armies, fight monsters, even take down a chainling if provided with the necessary equipment. Instead, they spent their time making clothes based on the archduke’s whim.

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The colors chosen for Dallion combined blue, purple, and cyan, with a little bit of black here and there. The end result was formal, yet simple: a standard set of deep blue gem thread trousers and a vest to match, combined with a long-sleeved cyan shirt. The boots were dark purple, matching with his short cloak. Definitely not a combination he’d consider or even find suitable, but looking at the final result in the mirror, there could be no doubt that it was eye-catching.

By the time Diroh’s “group” arrived, Dallion’s tailors were finishing up the final touches, adding a few decorative elements here and there. It didn’t skip his attention that none of them had examined any of his weapons.

“No changes to my gear?” he asked.

The head tailor shook his head.

“Afraid not,” a new voice said from the far corner of the room.

Looking in the direction, Dallion saw a new person standing there: a tall male figure dressed in an expensive black outfit with a domino mask covering half of his face. Two things were notable about the newcomer: he was someone Dallion had met before, and his hair was platinum blond.

“The archduke prefers that the only weapons at the banquet are his.”

“Overseer.” Dallion wasn’t certain whether he was supposed to nod or not. In the end, he chose not to. “I would have thought that mages are exempt.”

“A logical assumption, thus completely wrong.”

Not to mention absurd, Dallion thought. Spellcasting allowed him to summon his weapons with ease, not to mention cause more devastation than he could with his harpsisword.

“I don’t make the rules. I just make sure they’re enforced.”

The tailors quickly finished with the final touches and left the room, leaving Dallion and the overseer alone. No sooner had they done so than the door vanished, transforming into another part of the wall.

“Champion, then hero, and now mage.” The overseer smiled. “You really have no limit.”

“I’d like to think so.” Dallion kept posing in front of the mirror, checking out the final design of his outfit. It was flawless, even if completely impractical. “Lux,” he said.

The bladebow rose up into the air, then carefully examined him with the kaleidovristo sight. Not finding any lingering echoes or anything else alarming, the weapon then descended onto one of the small tables.

“Any other warnings?” Dallion asked.

“I’m just here to escort you and your “novice.” Nothing more.”

“A-ha.” Dallion wasn’t convinced.

“You’ve been here before, so you know how things work. I’ll be outside when you’re ready.” The door to the room re-emerged. “One final thing. Itella’s also here.” The overseer vanished.

Itella? Dallion thought.

That was one of the archduke’s children, though not a particularly capable one. Dallion had clashed with him twice. Once he defeated him during the Nerosal Festival tournament, and the next right here in front of his father. There was no doubt that the noble held no warm feelings towards Dallion, but it was absurd to think he’d go against a mage.

“I’m not playing your games,” Dallion said, glancing at his weapons. Nothing stopped him from taking a dagger just in case. On the other hand, there was something better he could do.

“Keep an eye on each other,” Dallion folded his own clothes then arranged them on the bed. While doing so he took ruby and placed it on his shoulder. The shardfly’s new illusion powers helped him blend in perfectly, taking on the form of a shoulder button.

Gathering his thoughts one final time, Dallion left the room. To his surprise, Diroh was already there, dressed in a long gown that sparkled as if made of snow. White and cyan combined, creating the appearance of ice and crystals, but that was not all. The tailors had taken the pain to add some jewelry to the ensemble: rings, arm bracelets, as well as a tiara. Dallion also noticed that the fury had added an accessory of her own—a necklace composed of large, flawless pearls.

“Told you to keep her hidden,” he sighed, casting a masking spell on the cloud creature.

“Hey,” Diroh pulled away. “There’s no need for that. The pearls are just fine as they were.”

In all truth, they probably were, but Dallion didn’t want to risk there being a device or otherworlder that could see that the cloud fox wasn’t from this world.

“Put my things in the room, please,” he said.

“Why? I think they’re fine where they are?” Air currents took Dallion’s belongings one by one and stacked them neatly away, as requested.

With a nod of approval, Dallion proceeded to go outside.

The overseer accompanied the pair to the grand stairway leading to the palace. Three pairs of marble statues rose on both sides, an homage to the previous archdukes of the Lanitol family. And just as before, one of them remained half destroyed. The reason, from what Dallion had been told, was that those who didn’t have the power to prevent a civil war did not deserve to remain unpunished. It was interesting to see whether the same principle would be applied to the current archduke’s statue. Most probably not.

“It’s rather nice,” Diroh said, admiring the craftsmanship as they passed.

“It was better last time,” Dallion whispered.

“How many noble banquets have you been to?”

“Just one.”

During his previous visit with March and Eury, crystal shardflies had filled the air, directing the guests to the entrance. After what had happened at the Academy, it was understandable why Archduke Lanitol would prefer to avoid having them. Hopefully, he had only cast them out of the city and not killed them.

A few steps before the entrance, Dallion suddenly stopped.

“Anything the matter?” The overseer looked over his shoulder.

“No,” Dallion lied. “Didn’t expect the nostalgia to hit me.”

In reality, he had found what had been bothering him ever since arriving to the city. The place was too quiet. With the level of his empathy trait, there should have been thousands of guardians eager to have a chat. Some should have remembered him from last time. And yet, he couldn’t hear a single voice: neither creature, plant, nor guardian. If he didn’t know better, he’d almost think he was in the middle of the wilderness.

“The archduke is waiting,” the overseer reminded. “There’ll be more nostalgia inside.”

A dozen yellow-clad servants were present once Dallion entered the palace lobby. Last time, one of them had made sure to snobbishly tell Dallion the rules of proper etiquette. With Dallion being a mage now, all of them bowed without a word, letting him pass.

“Enjoying yourself?” the overseer asked, leading the way.

“A bit,” Dallion replied. “I take it I’m to be in the main hall this time?”

The overseer chuckled.

Dallion was just about to make some snarky comment when a voice sounded in his head.

Careful, an item guardian whispered. They’re out to get you.