Nothing.

She encountered nothing.

Her hair was still on end, but with all the different things she encountered, she wasn’t sure which one it was from, if not all of them. Of course, she was still calm, but it was an unpleasant feeling.

When in combat, it was not about being entirely serious. In fact, it was almost the opposite. The goal was to be between relaxed and stern, which created the perfect mindset. Concentrated would be the best word for it.

So, to relax, she did something familiar to her, maintenance.

As predicted, eventually the stuff on her armor became all powdery, and that included the rag. With a hard whip, all the clingy material fell off, and with a sharp wring, the water dripped out. The cloth was now a bit damp, perfect.

Slow and steady, she began the ten minute process of taking off her donned gear. Putting it on was a pain, sure, but taking it off was a truly daunting task. However, with moderate difficulty, even that was overcome. With a bit of shaking and some banging, it was done one piece at a time, getting all that could be gotten off before the thorough scrubbing.

By the end of it, the sabatons were, in what was popular nowadays to call ‘turn of phrase’, squeaky clean.

Honestly, she couldn’t understand the newer generation.

*sigh*

It reflected even the dim lighting. There were many things that she couldn’t do, but she’d be damned if she couldn’t do proper maintenance. Comparing it to her footwear underneath, it wasn’t even a comparison. One looked brand new, and the other was just… disappointing. She didn’t know if they could be called boots anymore. Probably not.

Giving them a proper polish, she let them out to dry, then reached into her bag for the whetstone. She paused. Why did he pack so much stuff in the bag? Now, after death, or not death, or whatever it was, she realized she took the ‘be prepared’ slogan of the military a little too far. She appreciated it now, of course, but she couldn’t pull stuff like this later. Less weight was better than more almost all the time. She would need to get a retainer. No, she wasn't close enough to anyone yet for them to be a retainer. She would steal the european term 'serf' for now.

Cleaning and maintaining is a much more arduous process than most people expect. At least, if you do it right. Every corner, every nook, sharpening every edge. With a quick wipe of the wet rag against the blade for a lubricant, the process began.

Overall, it wasn’t that exciting, but it was a bit enchanting to watch a master at work. It couldn’t be described in words, but it certainly wasn’t dull, and anyone would come back from the experience feeling a bit wiser. The sword, now restored to a more proper state, seemed to appreciate it as well. Though it was a bit much, she still remembered the steel when she first forged it, and in the rush named it Watatsumi. A more imposing name than what it was worth, but it was all the same nonetheless.

Now though, with a mighty luster restored, she could admire her features in the reflection.

Underneath the shelled exterior, her features simply astounded herself. She didn’t have the expression or face of a battle-hardened veteran at all. In fact, she remembered in both sets of memories to have a more rugged look. Perhaps, imperfections were removed during the strange, foreign process.

Her form was well curved and well endowed, with long pure black hair that rather than being in a chonmage, was in a ponytail with a small red ribbon holding it together alongside a pin holding it in place. Thankfully, signs of musculature carried over. She wouldn’t have to do training again to get the strong body she wanted. Somehow, surprising her though it wasn’t the weirdest thing she saw, it only enhanced her beauty. She didn’t know whether to feel happy about it or… whatever you were supposed to feel.

The black pants she was wearing were a blessing. He always hated those hakama that others wore. It was held up by a nice sash while overlapping the red shirt reminiscent of a kimono, though only going to her waist, left crossing the right and long sleeved. It was kept tight by the sash, but it still irked her that she didn’t have any undergarments to speak of. She appreciated hygiene, making that one of the things she wished she had. Though, beggars should not be choosers.

Wait, her eyes unconsciously narrowed, how do I deal with… that? Due to previous knowledge, she had a vague idea of what to do, but it seemed like what she went through wasn’t seamless assimilation, and some things were lost. In short, she was going to have to deal with it in the future, and it was going to be a pain, quite literally as well.

She felt a small tingle down her spine. She was using language and other things that were popular phrasing for the youth rather than being, as they put it, ‘old-timey’. She felt so, so hip? It was a really weird thing, and she didn’t know whether to like it or hate it.

Standing up, she shook like a dog, took off her clothes, flipped them inside out, and shook them again.

It was much easier to clean clothes.

Putting them on again, it didn’t have the sandpaper feel anymore, which was appreciated. Starting on her wakizashi named Orochi, which was named promptly after the theme was decided, she was rather embarrassed about the work on the handles. It was a great work compared to others, but with how much she improved since making it it was a rather shoddy job. Maybe I’ll redo it once I escape she pondered before starting on the bow.

Once the bow was done, then it was the quiver, then the strange spear, then the rest of her armor. Currently she was scrubbing at a particularly nasty spot on her gauntlets, though more so the hard leather underneath them. They were originally built with only hard leather to help deflect projectiles and blows, but she added the plates made from the same process as her swordsmithing herself.

A hand landed on her shoulder.

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

“Wou-.”

WHAM

The smack of the flesh was brutal. Her elbow slammed into the nose of the being behind her. With the solid crack, she was sure it was shattered. As her elbow sank into the skin, it was a miracle her sleeves were rolled up, else she ruin the fabric.

It was quite easy to tell they were coming, it’s not like the ceiling flora flickered. Whenever they moved on the roof of the cave, a dark patch would pop up, and slink along. She didn’t have to look to see if they were armed, since there was no noise. Of course, it could have been something like bone weaponry, but either way with how they moved they weren’t trained in combat or assassination. She could have stopped them.

She didn’t know what it was, but it was very humanoid though of an inhuman gray hue, and obviously was sort of civilized, with fair enough looking garb. Previously, it might have looked quite pretty, though now wasn’t the case. She avoided the teeth, and because of that she was knocked out in one blow.

Sighing, she took the blood off her elbow. She would have to look forward to talking to someone later.

She continued to clean her gear as if nothing had happened.

…

Isirith was confused.

She felt all warm and tingly, but also a bit in pain at the same time. Whenever she tried to remember what happened earlier, it was like hitting a wall. Isirith has hit many walls, so she knows what it feels like.

The crunching of her wings on the stone below was a bit painful, but not too bad overall. Her mouth tasted a bit irony, and her nose felt stuffed. Now that she thought about her nose however, it stung a bit more. Not the worst, but not the best.

Maybe she fell asleep on the ceiling again. It’s not that she wanted too, but sometimes it was just so… inviting! She was more of an instinctual person, so the thought of sleep made her happy.

Isirith’s vision was a bit shaken, but everyone feels drowsy when they wake up. Now she could think for a bit. Hmmm, she brainstormed.

She recalled the rock called out again a little bit ago, so she was one of the people who moved. There was always fresh people when the rocks called out, so she trilled in delight. It was perfect, and would make it an amazing opportunity to get gifts for her sisters.

Isirith’s hands and feet had hundreds of small, tentacle-like grippers that could be retracted for climbing on the ceiling or walls. Some of the older sisters could have things like claws too. They were so lucky!

With an adamant resolve to grow like that someday, she scurried along the ceiling on one of the less used paths. Though where it lead changed, perhaps it would carry good fortune? Nothing here was very light sensitive anyway, so any creatures wouldn’t notice even if it went somewhere dangerous. She hummed to herself in delight as she imagined what she might find.

There were all kinds of outside-people. Feel-male outsiders which were hard to confront, and men-male outsiders which were easier to. They’re sometimes tall, some short, but most of them traveled in groups, so she would have to wait till one was left behind. Then, she could take the shinies and baubles and wrappings they had, and make everyone else happy.

“Coo-coo-coo.” Her plan was genius.

Silently, she slid onward.

Until she spotted it. A really, really shiny shiny. Her eyes glittered in the red reflected light.

Isirith frowned. It was a feel-male, she was sure of it. It was strange it wasn’t wearing a flutter-thing that reached down to the ankles, but she still knew it was a feel-male. Why? Because it had the lumps on its chest. Isirith felt so wise, she could already tell her males apart!

So, should she do it? It looks like a feel-male, buuuuuuut there are shinies. Also, she looks dangerous, buuuut she’s alone. She has a sharp stick within reach, BUUUUUUUT there are shinies! It hurt her head to think so hard.

An idea came to mind. Maybe she could sneak up on her, THEN take her with her, then go back to the cave and take the shinies.

It was a perfect plan, as usual.

She frowned. It turns out, it wasn’t perfect, somehow she got here, lying on the floor next to the feel-male. The powder Isirith exuded didn’t seem to give her the dizzy eyes like everyone she encountered. Then they would just follow her.

As Isirith stood up, the blue liquid that came whenever she hurt herself dripped down. Maybe she got an ouch on her head, she didn’t know. All she knew was that the feel-male was still next to her, so she did the one thing she knew she could do.

“Hello.” Her tone was a bit more nasally than she remembered it. Probably the stuffy nose.

The feel-male, finishing the polishing of her shiny hat-thing, looked at her. Then nodded. When her mouth moved though, some dumb words she couldn’t understand came out.

“Wanna come back to our den?”

She put her hand on her chin, but in the end gave no response. Isirith was smug, she learned what this meant. They were thinking. Isirith understood, she liked thinking as well. At least, most of the time, when it didn’t hurt her head.

She pointed to herself for introduction, “Isirith.”

She nodded. But that was strange, why didn’t she introduce herself too?

“Tell me your name?” Sometimes, you had to put it in a question she noticed. It may seem like some were stupid, but some just had trouble understanding. Maybe she spoke a new language. A warm shiver went down her spine. Maybe she could learn it later, that would impress everyone else!

She shrugged, and Isirith nodded. I see I see… She doesn’t have a name.

Most of the time a person might take that as not understanding or not caring, but since Isirith was, uh, Isirith, she took it the actually right way.

“I see, we’ll have to name you.”

The feel-male nodded in agreement.

“How about… red?”

She frowned. Oh well, Isirith’s specialty wasn’t names.

She just watched as she mouthed off garble that wasn’t understood at all. Her personal favorite weird one was Onna-Bugeisha. Then, she stopped, her unstirred face looked at Isirith, then pointed to herself. “Tomoee.”

“Tomoee?”

She shook her head. “Toe-moe-ee”

“Oh, okay Tomoee.” She guessed her pronunciation was a bit off. “Anyway, want to come back with me?”

Tomoee furrowed her brows, then shook her head. Afterwards, she put on her shiny stuff, which looked really heavy, as Isirith watched. Finally, she pointed at her, saying a word she didn’t know.

“Serf.”

Her face crumpled in confusion, which ended up hurting her nose for some reason. Why IS my nose hurting? That was something for later.

“Does that mean… yes?”

Then, extremely hard, she clasped Isirith’s head, and shoved her into a kneeling position. The grip was iron, and her legs were water. Only then did she realize the difference between them. The special powder her body emitted which gave people the blank stare didn’t work not because she didn’t apply it enough, but because of the power difference between them. That, with the forced feeble position, finally let her understand the word.

“Serf.”

It meant servant.