The sun completed its rise and began to fall as Artyom ran across the road between Trellisia and the county’s capital. Brick roads gave way for cobblestone eventually turning into dirt, and as silver-tinged twilight kissed the world once more, order returned to his path.

Artyom was smart enough to pace himself this time. The inner turmoil that plagued his psyche and forced him to push himself to his breaking point had quieted, ameliorated by the gentle embrace of father time and a warm hearty meal.

He wasn’t taking it easy, but knew that he had to keep himself in a good enough condition to actually be of use. How was he supposed to save anyone if he was exhausted enough to pass out on the side of the road or unable to read someone as basic as a town gossip?

By the time Artyom arrived at the capital, which was more akin to a medium-sized city rather than a sprawling metropolis, he was ready. His magical exhaustion had just about vanished, and in its place was a full tank of power. On top of that, the man from Earth had a plan in mind.

Artyom slowed down to a walk on the cobblestone streets, which was when a terrible stench struck his nostrils.

He looked around to find its source, but only saw a row of buildings made of white-painted wattle and daub on either side of the road. It was reminiscent of a medieval European town, and like such locales of yore, Artyom expected their sewage system to be matching.

However, it wasn’t the smell of human waste in the air, rather it was a different human secretion: sweat.

Artyom lifted his right arm and smelled under his pit before recoiling with a grimace.

“I’ve been running in armor all day, of course I smell like this! Should I just find the kid first, or-”

“Step aside! Lord Roccol’s carriage is coming through!” shouted a voice from behind him accompanied by the rolling of wheels and an annoyed sounding neigh.

Artyom stepped to the side while turning to face a well decorated carriage. Curtains were pulled across the windows so he couldn’t look inside, but the driver, formally dressed like a high-class chauffeur from back on Earth, glared at Artyom as he passed by. He even sniffed for dramatic effect, but quickly turned his head back to the road and sped up as the smell hit him.

“Yeah, I’m not getting in there without cleaning up first.”

Artyom looked down the street, which rose along a gentle incline that didn’t stop until it reached the center of the city. At the very top of the sprawling hill was a large manor that dwarfed the other buildings underneath it. It was most likely the Count’s.

Before that though were many other buildings, all getting progressively larger and fancier as they got closer to the center.

“I should be able to find everything I need in order if I keep heading towards the center,” Artyom said to himself as he continued walking.

Within a few minutes, and after several detours through the outermost ring, he’d found his first destination: an inn. Humble was one way to describe it, from the roughshod exterior and unkempt grounds, to the smell of stale sugar on the bottom floor.

Artyom got several suspicious looks when he came in, but they quickly disappeared when he got himself a mug of sparkle and room for the next two nights.

He only needed three things from this place. First was a bed to sleep in, and that was entirely optional.

Second, more importantly, was an out-of-the-way location he could hide in that wouldn’t attract any undue attention. If worse came to worst and he had to run and hide, a place as hidden and uninviting as this would give him more time to plan his exit than a resort hotel that catered to nobles.

And third, which Artyom very urgently needed…

“Second floor, your room’s the third door on the right and the bathing room is at the end of the hall,” said the man behind the bar as he tossed over a key while using his left hand to pinch his nose closed. “And head to the bath first, don’t need you stinking up the sheets.”

Artyom nodded and headed upstairs to wash up. Thankfully his armor was easy to wash and quickly dry despite being made of metal fabric, and worked well enough to keep the water from his still soggy peasant linens from dripping down to his skin.

“I’m sure it’ll dry while I’m outside, but I won’t really need them for much longer anyway.”

After hiding some of his bulkier equipment in his room, Artyom left the inn and made his way down the main road towards the fancier part of town.

It didn’t take him long to find what he was looking for, and he quickly entered the small boutique. A bell chimed as he did so, alerting the woman inside that she had a visitor. She quickly dropped what she was holding onto a nearby table and strode over to her latest customer.

“Hello, welcome to Aspa’s Tailor Shop! I’m Aspa, the owner.” She had dark brown hair mixed with noticeable strands of white. Despite the forming wrinkles on her face, she gave off an air of vibrancy that energized Artyom by second-hand exposure.

“Hi, I’d like to rent some formalwear for the evening.”

“It’s not for Count Cabbafor’s party tonight, is it?” she asked with a chuckle.

“Well…”

“Really? Then you should’ve come here sooner!” said Aspa with a light frown as she turned to a rack of hanging coats.

Their design was a peculiar amalgamation between modern day suits and medieval royal wear. One set that caught Artyom’s eye featured clean pinstripe gray fabric making up the form-fitting sleeves and body while an old school white ruffle worked its way down the exposed neckline. Some kind of spotted white fur lined the cuffs, as well as the back like a miniature cape, or rather a bib worn the wrong way.

It didn’t look bad by any means, but it was… something.

“I’ve got all the latest fashions here,” said Aspa with a confident smile. “But most of them would probably stand out on waitstaff.”

“That’s fine, I’m going as a guest.”

“Really? Then why are you coming in here dressed in those linens?”

“It’s what I wore when I came into town,” said Artyom with a small glare.

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“Really? I wouldn’t have guessed.”

The man from Earth rolled his eyes but didn’t bother to reply.

Honestly, pretending to be a recently-hired waitstaff would have made it easier to get into the party as opposed to acting like an invited guest, but that had its own challenges. They would likely have matching uniforms and expect some level of deference out of Artyom. He didn’t know what they would wear ahead of time, and whatever server outfit he got from here might land him working in the back of the manor instead of mingling with the other guests. Not to mention acting deferentially clashed with Artyom’s go-to infiltration strategy.

“How about this piece, it really suits you. Ha! Get it, suits you?” said Aspa, picking out the set Artyom had eyed earlier. “Not to mention the neck ruffle is made of chroma wool all the way from Freeacres. If you’re a magic user, you can even control its color, though most people leave it white.”

“Works for me, how much will that be?”

“Asking for the price before buying? You’re not a member of the nobility, are you?”

Artyom froze for a moment before regaining his composure. “Didn’t expect that to be a thing here as well.”

“I have to wonder, how did you get invited to Count Cabbafor’s party in the first place?”

He glared at her again while responding, “Let’s just say I’m a sort of foreign dignitary.” For the people of Earth who find themselves far from home.

“Really? That would explain all of your oddities.”

Artyom felt a vein begin to throb on his forehead. The idiosyncrasies of the people in this world were hard to keep up with, and the latest one here was just annoying. But he only had to deal with them until he could bring the hero to safety, so he decided to ignore the- maybe purposeful- jab.

“So that’ll be twenty gold coins a night for this suit.”

Artyom looked into his pockets and counted out eight.

“It seems that my country is having some budget problems.”

Aspa let out a sigh. “How much do you have?”

“Eight gold.”

“Hmm, that’s tricky,” she said, tapping her chin. “Though I have one idea.”

She walked over to another wall farther in the back and pulled out a large cotton shirt dyed royal blue, along with a similarly colored pair of poofy pants. Intricate patterns were stitched into it in silver thread that resembled the designs on Skeya’s priestly robes, albeit smaller.

“This is normally worn to sermons, and the material is on the cheaper side so nobles can look humble.”

Artyom was pretty sure the silver looking thread was made of actual silver.

“So the outfit is also within your budget. And it’s become popular recently to wear this to events as well to show off your humility and devotion to the goddess.”

“Humility… right,” said Artyom. He hoped nobody would notice his own lack of it when trying to get into the party.

“It costs four gold to buy, and only buy. If I rented out clothes like these, I wouldn’t be able to afford my own rent!”

“That’s reasonable, I’ll buy it. Does it come in a size that’ll fit over my own underclothes?”

“Size?” asked Aspa. “Just put it on in the changing room and I’ll get you fitted right now.”

Artyom didn’t bother asking her to clarify and headed into a small closed cubicle in the corner of the store and came out wearing the blue outfit over his armor. The formalwear was several sizes too large, even with the baggy outfit underneath.

“[Perfect Full Body Fit],” said Aspa as soon as she saw him.

The outer clothes began to shrink until they, as the Skill implied, were a perfect fit… if there wasn’t anything underneath them.

“It’s too tight,” said Artyom with a wince.

“Really? That’s because what you’re wearing underneath is taking up too much space!”

“Can’t you make your Skill adjust it to fit anyway?”

“It’s called ‘full body fit’, not ‘full underclothes fit’. Why would it do anything else?”

“I mean, have you even tried experimenting with your Skill?”

“Excuse me, but I’m the one who’s had this Skill for decades. It’s in the name, so there’s no point trying something like that!”

Artyom let out a sigh as he unbuttoned the outfit while making his way back into the changing room. After a moment, he came out wearing only the outfit, with a gray sweatshirt and sweatpants neatly folded in his hands.

“I hope you’re at least wearing underwear, I don’t want to have to get my rentals washed any harder than they have to.”

“I’m buying this piece, remember?” asked Artyom. Something within him snapped however, and he finally blurted out what was on his mind. “And how do you even get customers with an attitude like that?”

“Because I’m the best tailor in the city, and every noble who passes through here knows that! How can I not take advantage of it, have you ever met any of the nobility before?”

“I passed by one of their chauffeurs, and that interaction explains everything.”

“It would, wouldn’t it? And their bosses can be so much worse. You’re nowhere near as bad as them, honestly.”

“Probably because I’m not a noble, or even from here.”

“Really? Then how did you become a dignitary?”

“It’s a long story,” said Artyom, thinking back to his previous mission and that awful meeting with Gus. “Let’s just say it’s because of what I’ve done.”

“From merit, huh? That’s quite rare. At least for important jobs like that. But if you’re not a noble, then sorry for treating you this way, especially when you haven’t done anything to deserve it.”

Artyom tilted his head for a moment, but then shrugged. “Don’t worry about it, you can make it up by trying to use that Skill on what I’m wearing and these together,” he said, lifting up his gray armor.

“I told you, it isn’t named that way-”

“Just give it a try, aren’t you curious how far you can push your Skills and what heights you can reach beyond what you already know?”

Aspa quieted down and looked to the side for a moment, deep in thought. When she looked back at Artyom, it was with curiosity to rival a cat. “You know what, why not?”

After one more trip into the changing room, Artyom reemerged with the gray sweatshirt and pants worn underneath the blue prayer clothes.

“Alright, I have both of your clothes visualized in my mind instead of just the top layer. Now, [Perfect Full Body Fit]!”

The clothes on Artyom began to shrink. The baggy armor was the most noticeable, tightening around his skin just enough to closely hug it without feeling restrictive. He couldn’t tell what it looked like underneath the other set of clothes, but Artyom was sure it would look like a morph suit that showed too many details.

But the “humble” prayer clothes on top didn’t get so close to him. They too began to shrink, but stopped before they started to feel uncomfortable. Looking in a mirror, Artyom saw that it looked like it was the only layer he wore, and unlike last time, this fit was perfect.

“I didn’t think that would work…” mumbled Aspa.

Artyom turned to her with a smile. “It’s surprising how flexible some Skills can be, none of them are set in stone. Maybe you could come up with something else fun?”

“Oh, most certainly. Thank you for showing me this.”

“Don’t mention it. Though a discount wouldn’t hurt.”

“Fat chance, I still have rent to pay!” said Aspa with a witch-like cackle. “But I can tell you one thing about the nobles you’ll be meeting at the party; if there’s one thing they fear, it’s a threat to their coffers. And I don’t mean my prices, I’m talking about what they trade in. I’ve seen news of low iron or silver prices make the ones who own mines shake in their britches here.”

“Thanks for the information,” said Artyom. He was already amending his plan to make good use of it. In fact, it was the last piece he needed to make it as likely to succeed as possible.

After paying the four gold to Aspa, Artyom left the boutique and made his way up the hill towards the Count Cabbafor’s manor.

Next step was to find a way in.