Chapter 10 - Today’s Lucky Item [part 1]

May the eyes of the hallowed gods lay lightly upon you.

- The traditional welcome of the city of Al-Lazar.

The visit to the shoemaker’s unfolded in much the same way. The young noblewoman, wielding charm and the sheer weight of her high station, compelled the weary craftsman to comply with her demands. No, the shoes would not be for riding. Yes, she knew they would be difficult to balance in. She overruled his every objection. The poor man tried to argue against the practicality of heels, but foolishly so—this wasn’t about practicality; it was about fashion. Heels subtly transformed the body’s proportions, lengthening the silhouette, accentuating the calf muscles, and creating a slimmer appearance. Not that she needed to appear slimmer, of course.

She partially mollified the man by ordering a pair of standard riding boots for Eloise and Miriam as well. Her maid tried to protest, but a single click of Seraphina’s tongue silenced her. Seraphina also managed to persuade the shoemaker to work free of charge by suggesting he stamp his signature boldly on the boots as a mark of his craftsmanship.

At first, he could not quite grasp the concept—why put his name on shoes that would not belong to him? Patiently, Seraphina explained the idea. Adding his maker’s mark in an obvious fashion would signal that the wealthy and privileged sought him out; when others saw her wearing his creations, it would make a powerful statement. Others, especially the flourishing merchant class of Sariens, would clamor from all over the duchy, nay the kingdom, to commission work from him. They would do anything to ape their betters.

As an added gesture, she ordered a pair of boots for her father and paid for them herself. She assured the cobbler that she would tell her father about his cooperation in the matter. This was both a veiled threat and an incentive, for her father, the Red Troll Anatoli, the Lord Duke, was both revered and feared.

With a satisfied smile as the bell above the shop door signaled their exit, the blonde girl felt the full force of her Charisma at work when the cobbler shouted at his thanks at her. She truly was wonderful at bringing out the best in people.

"Lady Seraphina, you must have been a bandit in a former life," remarked Eloise in disbelief, witnessing lightning strike twice in the same day. "It’s the only way to explain what I’ve just seen."

Miriam, true to her nature, stayed silent, not wanting to attract her mistress's attention. Frest, on the other hand, couldn't resist adding his own opinion.

“You said it! I can see why all the highborn folk stay rich and only get richer. You put the blinkers over that one, milady,” he offered uninvited. “I mean, you could probably charm the birds right out of the trees to sing for you,” he added adjusting his helmet’s strap.

The comment brought an amused smile tinged with just a hint of frost to Seraphina’s face—she had basically just done that the day. “Why, Frest and Eloise, I shall accept your words in the spirit they were offered—and overlook their somewhat questionable bluntness.”

“Now then, Eloise, if you’d like a turn about the town, Frest will escort you,” Seraphina offered. “I’m sure you’ll want to get to know more of Sariens.”

“Yes, Lady Seraphina!” Eloise replied, her eyes lighting up. “There was a bookstore…”

“Don’t forget to bring back the package I ordered from the alchemist, Jurgens,” Seraphina interrupted with a smile, feeling a sudden, inexplicable urge to temper the dark-haired girl’s obvious excitement. “After that, you may, of course, do as you wish,” she amended quickly.

Eloise responded with a perfectly executed curtsy—at just the right angle and form. Excellent, the girl was learning.

“Now then, be sure to return before the seventh bell. I’d hate to have to send half the guard out looking for you,” Seraphina added sweetly. “If you buy anything else, have them send the chits to the castle, but remember to pay Jurgens in coin. You’ll be a dear, won’t you?”

*****

Walking alone with her maid through a slightly more disreputable part of town, Seraphina could see that, despite being a monster, Miriam seemed noticeably unsettled. In this area, the pair of girls stood out like sore thumbs.

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“Lady Seraphina…” her maid murmured softly.

“What is it now, Milly?” Seraphina replied, her eyes scanning the narrow street. Even in Sariens, there were places like this.

Trying to distract herself from the tense surroundings, Miriam asked, “Why do you always call me that? If you were to shorten my name, surely it would be ‘Miri,’ right, milady?”

Seraphina paused mid-stride, turning to look at her maid. “Is that what’s on your mind, Milly? Well, if you must know, Seraphina once had a cat named Milly… who, unfortunately, had an accident,” she said, momentarily dropping her usual guarded tone. Almost at once, she realized her mistake.

“Was there… another Seraphina, Lady Seraphina?” Miriam asked, looking slightly confused.

Seraphina glanced ahead. “Just a slip of the tongue, Milly. You don’t mind me calling you Milly, do you?”

For a moment, Miriam’s face brightened, as if she wanted to say something, but then she remembered just exactly who she was talking to. “Not at all, milady,” she answered, looking a bit deflated.

They continued on for another hundred paces before stopping outside a dingy-looking tavern. A faded sign overhead, reading ‘Crossed Crows’ in the local script, depicted two white crows facing opposite directions, the paint flaking and worn. A single storey construction, the building’s walls looked precarious, with patches of stucco crumbling away to expose poorly laid bricks, held together mostly by ageing mortar.

Seraphina was here to acquire something—a rare, optional item that the protagonist Este Lize, later known as the Deliverer, could obtain if she ventured to the Sarien duchy before heading to the University of Quas.

She surveyed the quiet, narrow street, confirming there were no prying eyes, then pushed open the door to the establishment. The door creaked unwelcomingly on unoiled hinges, as if the very act of entry was an affront to its purpose. Seraphina almost felt sullied just touching it. Her maid reluctantly followed, shaking her head and muttering something under her breath.

A truly ugly man stood behind the bar counter. He was relatively tall and middle-aged, with scars running up and down his arms from the battles he had won and lost. His face was so asymmetrical that it looked like he had been the victim of several serious strokes. Wiping a tankard with a grimy rag, he was the very picture of a stereotypical fantasy barkeep of a rundown tavern. Perhaps he hoped the bacteria in the tankard would trouble each other rather than infect whoever drank from it next, Seraphina thought. Her lips curled in distaste before she forced a smooth smile onto her face.

It was a shame, for him at least, that he had something she wanted. Seraphina could attempt to undertake his quest line, but the thought of actually doing it without a glass screen between her and his character revolted her. With this in mind, she decided on a more direct and expedient approach.

She scanned the establishment, her eyes glancing over the dilapidated furnishings that were, quite literally in some places, on their last legs.

“Are we the only guests at this hour?” the young girl asked as she approached the bar, doing her best to maintain a pleasant expression. The stench of old, spilled ale and other unpleasant odors were, to put politely, distracting.

The man looked up from his chore, offering them a grunt of acknowledgment. “Things are quite for another three turns of the glass, missy,” he answered in a raspy voice that nonetheless seemed to carry in the empty tavern.

He was lying through his teeth—no one came to The Maiden of the Wisterias.

“Wonderful!” clapped the young noblewoman, playing along. “Then we will have some privacy, Arvan.”

The older man leered, licking his lips as his imagination began to run wild against his better judgment. How did the girl know his name? Had he seen her before?

"Take off your clothes and undress, if you please, Milly," commanded Lady Seriphina.

The words jolted Arvan, distracting him just as the first threads of suspicion began to creep into his mind. His hands froze, and he set down the tankard and cloth, his jaw slightly agape as Miriam began untying the bow at her neck. The scene was surreal.

The young maid looked on the verge of tears as her hands shakily started unbuttoning the front of her uniform.

"Where is your Luck, Arvan? Show me," the blonde noblewoman asked, her voice low and hypnotic, sending his thoughts into a spiral. Almost against his will, he pointed to the bracelet on his wrist.

A fist slammed into him with the force of a bull at charge, sending him sprawling onto the filthy wooden floor. Bottles tumbled from the shelves behind him, shattering in an explosion of glass and pottery.

Seraphina leapt over the counter, grabbing the dirty rag and forcefully stuffing it into the barkeep’s mouth. Keeping one hand over his mouth, she straddled him and drove her fist into his shoulder, feeling brittle bones snap under the impact. Arvan attempted a scream, but his howl was muffled by the cloth.

To her satisfaction, notifications drifted across her inner vision.

You have learned Unarmed (lvl.1)

You have learned Unarmed (lvl.2)

You have learned Unarmed (lvl.3)

You have learned Unarmed (lvl.4)

You have learned Unarmed (lvl.5)