"What are you standing there for? Sit!" The lady flicked her hand, pointing at the sofa opposite.
Altaïr, still holding the "deposit" in his hands, looked a bit stiff, but obediently did as told.
Francesca squeezed in beside the lady, hugging her arm with a grin. "This is Altaïr, the guy I told you about.
And this is my mother. You can call her Instructor Gael or Lady Gael, but don't call her Miss. She doesn't like it."
"Hello, Lady Gael. It's a pleasure to meet you." Altaïr bowed his head in greeting. The fact that she was an Instructor made him somewhat more reserved than usual.
"Hmm..." Gael fell silent for a moment, then suddenly looked at Francesca. "Why does this feel exactly like a daughter bringing her boyfriend home to meet the parents for the first time?"
"???" Altaïr's face filled with question marks.
Francesca's expression went dark. She let go and shoved her mother's shoulder hard. "Are you out of your damn mind? Is that a joke you can just throw around? He and Isis are a thing, okay?!"
"Ah, sorry, sorry. Spoke without thinking. Don't take it to heart." Gael waved her hands repeatedly.
"...Actually, Isis and I are just comrades, teammates," Altaïr explained, feeling helpless.
"Right, right, sure. Let's not get into that now." Gael brushed the topic aside. "Young Altaïr, there's a reason I called you over to the estate early, a whole night in advance.
Francesca should have told you everything already. No point in me repeating it. In short, that's how it all stands.
But let me ask a couple of things first. I heard you can use multiple weapons?"
"Yes, I'm quite proficient with Long Sword, Dual Blades, and Sword and Shield. I can use Great Sword and Hammer, but I rarely bring those out in actual combat."
"Good, very good. I heard you can do the Long Sword Charged Slash, the Sword and Shield Blade Dance, and those kinds of techniques? Don't show those little brats moves like that, or you'll make their hearts fly right out of their chests.
Just show them the fundamental techniques of each weapon. How does that sound?"
"Of course." Altaïr nodded seriously.
Although he hadn't intended to take payment to begin with, now that the other party had stuffed the money right into his hand, there was no point in forcefully pushing it back.
Since he'd taken the money, naturally, he would do the job however the client wanted.
"Good man! You can't wear that equipment of yours tomorrow. Otherwise, those little brats will just attribute any skillful techniques you show them to the advantages of high-grade gear.
I've prepared a High Metal set for you. It better fits the image of someone who's only recently become an official hunter. Try it on and see if it fits."
Altaïr nodded.
He'd originally assumed the other party would just throw together some random student-grade Hunter's Armor. He hadn't expected them to prepare so thoroughly. This Instructor was truly going to great pains to ensure her students got proper training.
He found a room, took off his Seregios set, and put on the High Metal set, the kind anyone could forge after diligently mining ore. He moved his body around a bit.
Not bad. Though it wasn't as form-fitting as custom-made Armor, after adjusting the straps, it was perfectly fine for normal use.
Altaïr returned to the Reception Room wearing the High Metal set. Mother and daughter let out a simultaneous "Whoa!"
"From an elite soldier to a common grunt in a flash!"
"Not bad, not bad!"
"..." Altaïr looked down at the gleaming chest armor and pauldrons. "It fits well, but isn't this Armor a little too new? Anyone can tell it was just swapped in."
"Good point." Gael furrowed her brow.
Altaïr considered himself a true professional. Since he'd taken the money, he'd deliver the best results possible.
"Is there a spot nearby with lots of gravel and loose stone? Toss the armor in there and scuff it up. That should improve things considerably.
Also, do we have materials like Monster Claws or Fangs? Use those to mimic attack marks on it.
Oh, right, apply the faux Monster attack marks before scuffing it with gravel. That'll blur the scratch edges so they don't look so freshly made.
An experienced eye examining it closely would still see through it, but it'll be enough to fool the trainees."
Gael and Francesca's expressions turned strange.
"You really know your stuff, kid."
"Master, what exactly did you do for work? How are you so skilled at this?"
Altaïr's face remained impassive. "I served in the Loc Lac Rangers. I've seen a fair share of... unconventional things."
Mother and daughter both made sounds of sudden comprehension, clearly convinced.
Only Sajji shot him a sidelong glare.
What nonsense is that, meow? He'd served in the Loc Lac Rangers too. How come he had no idea about these armor-weathering techniques, meow? Altaïr had obviously picked this up somewhere else, meow.
"Francesca, go to my room's item box and grab some Claws and Fangs. No, wait. My materials are probably too high-grade; they might end up slicing right through this Iron Armor. Francesca, go get yours. I recall you have some, right?"
"I do, I do. Oh, and Amos told me to tell you, Altaïr was pulled over by us right after high-intensity training this afternoon. He needs a proper meal tonight."
"Minor matter. Someone!" Gael raised her voice to a shout. "Tell the kitchen to serve plenty of hearty dishes tonight! Protein, understand? Protein! No more of those tiny bowls and little appetizer plates trying to fob off our guests!"
"Yes, madam." The attendant's voice answered from beyond the door.
Altaïr: "..."
So that's how this works? A tiny bit disappointing.
"Right then, we'll deal with the Armor weathering later. First, I'll take you to meet Francesca's grandmother. All the wealthy ladies of Dundorma love going to her for styling. Let her give you a full makeover!"
As she spoke, Gael rose from the sofa and strode ahead. Altaïr and Sajji hurried to follow.
The pair plus cat tramped noisily through the labyrinthine luxury mansion.
When they passed a wall-mounted painting, Sajji tugged at the hem of Altaïr's clothes and whispered, "I'm pretty sure we've passed this spot before, meow."
Altaïr, staring dead ahead, rapped Sajji on the head. "Silence."
Up ahead, Gael, leading the way, was starting to lose her composure. She halted, then bellowed, "Someone!"
Instantly, a maid rushed over to her side. "Madam."
"Escort us to the old woman's quarters," Gael said, fighting to preserve her outward dignity.
"Yes."
The maid bowed and led the way.
"Ugh! This is what comes of a house too vast. You never know where Francesca's grandmother has wandered off to." Gael heaved a deep sigh. "And that old lady of mine, at her age, still running around everywhere!"
Altaïr: "..." He suspected the old lady's wandering off might not be the real reason.
"We don't actually live here normally. We stay near Isis's place, those small houses are so much more comfortable!"
"My sense of direction in the hunting grounds is crystal clear. Even without looking at a map, I'd never get lost!"
"It's just that the structural design of this mansion is absurdly counter-intuitive!"
The entire way, Lady Gael kept offering arguments from every angle to prove that "getting lost at home is perfectly normal."
Altaïr could only keep responding with "Uh-huh," "Right."
—--
At last, led by a maid, they arrived before a quiet Warm Pavilion.
Gael waved the maid off to do whatever she needed to do, raised her hand, knocked a few times on the door, then pushed it open and entered. "Sis! I've come to see you!"
Sis? Weren't they looking for Francesca's grandmother?
Altaïr's head was full of question marks, but this clearly wasn't the time to ask, so he simply followed Lady Gael into the Warm Pavilion.
An old woman with a full head of silver hair sat on a reclining chair by the window, letting the lingering twilight glow, bearing little warmth, stream through the window and settle over her entire form.
Seeing Gael enter, the old woman said with some exasperation, "Always so boisterous. You've ruined a perfectly fine sunset view."
With that, the old woman's gaze shifted to Altaïr. "And who is this young man?"
Gael sidled up beside the old woman with a grin. "His name is Altaïr, a friend of Isis. I've asked him to come and help out as a teaching prop."
The old woman rose slightly. Even the simple motion of nodding her head carried an air of grace.
Altaïr hurriedly bowed in return, secretly grumbling to himself.
This lady matched the aesthetic of this mansion perfectly, unlike Lady Gael, who seemed more like a female mountain bandit who'd accidentally barged in.
"Sis, take a look for me. How should I spruce this kid up to make him look even younger?"
"Even younger?" The old woman gave Altaïr an odd look. "This child is twenty at most, isn't that young enough?"
"Not enough! Best if he could look seventeen or eighteen!"
The old woman looked at Altaïr again. Under her stare, he felt so awkward that he couldn't help but tighten his expression.
"Relax a little." The old woman laughed softly. "More important than outward appearance are expression and bearing. Your gaze shouldn't be too sharp, and don't press your lips together so tightly.
Change your hairstyle and that should about do it, the kind young men like nowadays, fluffy short hair tied into a little ponytail at the back."
"Got it! I knew you'd know best!"
(Translated by yourtl.app)