Willow's eyes darted around, and she hurriedly unleashed her ultimate killer move.
"Oh my, Lord Delilah, you are a General personally appointed by Your Majesty, the sharp sword of Mason," Willow said. "Your Majesty letting Vasha handle those dangerous transport runs, isn't that just to protect you? This kind of expendable good naturally needs to be controlled through such extreme measures. In Your Majesty's heart, your status is the orthodoxy that no one can shake!"
Hearing the word "orthodoxy," the blade of Delilah's sword, which had almost been drawn, slowly slid back into its sheath.
She coldly snorted, her chest heaving violently, her gaze still fixed intently on the distance.
"If she dares to overstep the bounds even the slightest bit again, I will definitely let her experience the laws of Mason."
At this time, Daphne was still staring at the lines of Sophia's fair calves stretching out under the moonlight. The door to a new world in her heart had already slowly opened.
She had an epiphany.
Since touching hands was ordinary fast charging, and embracing was 'super flash charging'... then Vasha's action just now was definitely soul-level wireless charging!
My previous experiments were still too conservative. As a Saint, for the great cause of Mason's epidemic prevention, how could I lose to a princess who is just as feudal as that old geezer from Orr?
Although this body of mine was also a princess of Orr, the core was completely different.
Daphne still remembered that back in Orr, Vasha had also called her 'Witch' many times, so she wasn't close to Vasha either.
Next time... next time I must also find an excuse to try it.
I'll just say it's to check if there is any latent curse virus hidden on the soles of Your Majesty's feet.
Yes, this excuse sounds very holy, very professional!
I wonder if Your Majesty will believe it?
Just as these three trusted aides, each with their own different thoughts, were quietly bickering in the shadows, Sophia in the distance suddenly looked over as if sensing something.
Three dark shadows instantly shrank back uniformly behind the stone pillars.
Sophia frowned and looked at the empty long corridor, thinking that she was having auditory hallucinations from staying up late too much.
She kept feeling like there was the sound of several large mice grinding their teeth over there, but she had never seen a mouse in the Palace. Could it be that Irene was conducting some late-night experiment again?
She retracted her gaze and looked back at Vasha, who was kneeling in front of her with a tear-stained face but fanatical eyes, and let out a soft sigh in her heart.
"Get up. Since you've gotten the pass, go back and get a good rest," Sophia said. "Tomorrow when the sun rises, This Queen wants to see a fully prepared merchant caravan in the square."
"Complying with the decree... My King."
Vasha took one last greedy look at those pale golden eyes, only then slowly getting up and retreating into the darkness as if her soul had left her body.
Sophia pulled her sleepwear tighter and, in that slightly ambiguous residual warmth, stepped her bare feet back into her slippers.
When the first ray of morning sunlight pierced through the Kingdom of Mason's sky full of wind and snow, the originally quiet square instantly let out a muffled yet orderly roar, like a precision machine that had just been oiled.
On one side of the Palace Square, dozens of reinforced heavy load-bearing carriages lined up in a long queue.
The axles of these carriages had all been specially modified by Irene, wrapped in thick leather to reduce vibrations. Inside the carriages, heavy wooden boxes sealed with Black Rose wax were stacked one by one.
Irene was currently crouching beside a carriage, tightly gripping an iron wrench in her hand as she checked the bearings. She sported two huge dark circles under her eyes, and her pink twin-tails had frozen a bit stiff in the cold wind.
She stopped the work in her hands and looked with a face full of disbelief at that heroic and valiant figure in front of her.
"Wait... Your Majesty really let Vasha go?!" Irene exclaimed in a hushed voice, grabbing Willow beside her.
"Weren't everyone hemming and hawing yesterday, thinking she was a risk? She is a princess of Orr, after all! What if she takes those hundreds of black muskets and these ten thousand masks directly back to her home country? Our wave of mask diplomacy will turn into an act of funding the enemy!"
Willow smiled with a mysterious look that said 'you don't understand, this is all Your Majesty's calculation', and softly comforted her:
"Miss Irene, since Your Majesty has nodded, then Miss Vasha's heart right now is probably even harder than the iron axles of this carriage."
Irene didn't understand. She only felt that after staying up all night for overtime, everything had changed.
Standing at the very front of the convoy, Vasha had long since shed that sorrowful and humble appearance from under the moonlight last night. She had changed into an extremely tailored, black and gray waist-cinched uniform, her long hair neatly tied up behind her head.
She coldly inspected the black muskets issued to the merchant caravan guards. Her movements were practiced and sharp, her eyes revealing a resolute determination to burn her bridges and fight to the end.
She would occasionally and unconsciously rub her own lips. The memory of touching that slightly cool, white jade-like texture last night still burned her soul like a spark.
In order to guard that lingering warmth, I will transform into Mason's sharpest fangs.
Leighton's garrison? Extorting bandits? In the face of the black muskets and Your Majesty's will, they are nothing more than dregs waiting to be incinerated. Whoever dares to touch this batch of goods is Vasha's mortal enemy.
Vasha had only temporarily learned how to use a black musket. She was astonished by the appearance of this thing; in her impression, only a Witch would use such spells.
But just as Your Majesty had said, if a Witch could use such spells, then when they were burned to death, why didn't they use such magic to fight back?
Instead, after such black muskets were invented, those other kings who had previously sneered at such supernatural energy now desperately wanted to buy them.
At this time, in the West Tower, Daphne was carrying a carefully prepared brunch—a berry tart sprinkled with magic icing sugar and a cup of perfectly warmed wild berry dew—walking with light steps toward the Council Hall.
Although her magic power was currently quite abundant, the image of that 'soul-level wireless charging' from last night lingered in her mind like a slideshow playing on a loop.
"Your Majesty's body is the convergence point of all meridians. That's right, I've researched it," Daphne muttered to herself with a serious face, yet the tips of her ears were so red they were almost dripping blood.
"In order to ensure that Your Majesty is not invaded by that despicable toxin from Orr, I must conduct a comprehensive magic power scan. This is the duty of a Saint, very holy, not strange at all."
However, when she excitedly pushed open the doors, what she saw was an empty throne.
"Where is Your Majesty?" Daphne was stunned.
"Your Majesty has already gone to the square to personally see the merchant caravan off, Miss Daphne," Victor said as he just happened to walk in, recording data with a solemn expression.
"Your Majesty said that Vasha's trip is an export of civilization. She must personally see them off to awe those scoundrels from neighboring countries with her imperial aura."
Daphne's hand, which was reaching forward, froze in mid-air. Her gaze fell upon the spare pair of soft-soled shoes that Sophia usually wore, and her shoulders slumped dejectedly.
"Wu... I missed it. I went through so much trouble to make up an excuse. That kind of... I don't know when the next time will be."
At the exit of the square, Sophia was draped in her black fox fur, her silver hair dancing in the cold wind. She watched the carriages slowly move, while in her heart, she was actually doing rapid mental calculations.
Selling these ten thousand masks to Leighton can be exchanged for a lot of high-quality cured meat, sausages, furs, and fabrics. If this wave of financial harvesting is successful, I'll be able to renovate the Palace's dining hall again.
As for Vasha, the look in her eyes when she looked at Sophia right now sent a slight chill down Sophia's spine. She kept feeling like Vasha wanted to do something strange.
"Vasha," Sophia said, turning around. Her pale golden pupils exuded an inhuman coldness amidst the snowy landscape.
"This minister is here!" Vasha knelt down again.
The piety of her movements made the secret agents of Leighton around them sweat profusely.
"Go. Bring Mason's civilization to Leighton," Sophia said, pointing at the convoy.
"As for Qubi's side, Victor, look for some more courageous merchants. If anyone wants to escort the Qubi merchant caravan, they can volunteer themselves."
Victor immediately nodded.
Did you see that! Your Majesty has profound foresight! She deliberately sent Vasha, this former princess, to Leighton, which is publicly slapping the King of Orr in the face.
And looking for merchants to go to Qubi is hinting that we are about to launch multi-front trade sanctions! Your Majesty is trying to grasp all the epidemic prevention supplies of the entire continent in her hands. How is this a merchant caravan? This is the Black Rose's expeditionary force!
With a crisp crack of the lead driver's long whip, the convoy slowly started moving under Vasha's burning and longing gaze.
Off to the side, Delilah was crossing her arms, staring gloomily at the departing carriages.
"Orthodoxy... I am the orthodoxy," she repeatedly muttered Willow's words in her heart.
Her right hand unconsciously rubbed against her own leather boots. Fixing her gaze on that figure from behind draped in black fox fur, Delilah felt it was time for her to go and apply to deliver some goods.
Although Daphne's occasional charging experiments gave Sophia a subtle chill, the resulting consequences were extremely significant.
Under Daphne's near-overdrawn fanatical production, that Potion, which bore the color of Holy Light and a translucent amber shape, was continuously flowing from the high tower to the entirety of Mason.
Inside the temporary quarantine zone on the street in front of the Palace, the originally dead and silent air was broken by a clear stirring sound.
The old stonemason, as one of the first batch of volunteers, was currently holding a wooden bowl, carefully feeding medicine to a young carpenter who was originally burning up with fever to the point of delirium.
At the moment that glowing liquid slid down his throat, the young man's brows, which were originally furrowed in pain, surprisingly smoothed out at a visible rate.
"Look... the red spots have faded!" a volunteer beside him exclaimed, covering their mouth.
Those purple spots, which had originally spread across the skin like a gangrenous infection attached to the bone, melted away cleanly like leftover snow meeting a warm sun within just a few quarter-hours after the Potion went down the throat.
The old stonemason was greatly shocked.
"I've carved stones my whole life, and I've always felt that stones are the hardest things," he said. "But today I learned that Your Majesty's heart is even harder than stone; it's a hardness that can withstand the God of Death's scythe. Her inner heart is gentler than water, able to sprinkle this life-saving sweet dew into the mouths of mud-like people like us."
The washerwoman also nodded in agreement.
"My relatives in the neighboring country said that over there, those who get sick are dragged away and burned to prevent them from infecting the lords," she said. "But our Your Majesty... she clears out the best houses for us to live in, and exhausts Lord Saint to the point of getting dark circles under her eyes just to prepare medicine for us. How is this medicine? This is Your Majesty sharing her own life to extend ours."
The cured carpenter, who was originally on his dying breath, was surprisingly able to sit up on his own after drinking the medicine. He looked at his recovered hands and sobbed:
"I dreamed that the God of Death had already grabbed my ankle, but suddenly a silver light severed the chains. When I woke up, I saw this glowing bowl. In the future, if anyone dares to say a single bad word about Your Majesty, they'll have to ask the axe in my hand if it agrees first!"
The man who had originally been protesting was now completely won over.
He had entered this place as a volunteer because he distrusted the Royal House. But after staying here for a few days, he began to feel ashamed of himself.
"I was previously thinking if Your Majesty wanted to use us for Alchemy. Now I wish I could slap myself twice!" he said. "Your Majesty is reshaping the dignity of this land. She wants to let us know that as long as we are people of Mason, even if the sky falls, she will hold it up."
Before the commotion in front of the Palace had subsided, three squads of elite cavalrymen, carrying specially made medicine boxes on their backs, charged out of the city gates like three bolts of black lightning.
They did not carry heavy armor; they only brought black muskets, longswords, and those vials of Potions wrapped in cotton.
Horse hooves shattered the ice-sealed paths, kicking up crushed snow all over the ground, heading straight for Kree Village, Eagle's Nest Mountain, and Withered Willow Town. Those were Mason's territories, and they were also an indispensable labor force base in Sophia's eyes.
Outside Withered Willow Town, Mayor Hope was wearing two layers of thickened linen masks, guarding by the pile of mugwort bonfire that hadn't yet been extinguished at the town entrance.
His eyes were bloodshot. Just as he was feeling despair upon seeing another corpse covered in white cloth being carried out from within the town, a glimpse of the red and black Black Rose flag appeared on the distant horizon.
"Quick! It's Your Majesty's envoys! The medicine has arrived!"
The cavalrymen reined in their horses, the warhorses snorting heavy white steam due to the long-distance sprint. A soldier solemnly handed the medicine box over to Hope, his voice, though hoarse from the wind and snow, revealing a pride that belonged to a powerful nation:
"By Your Majesty's Royal Decree! One hundred portions of Potion, one thousand masks! Your Majesty commands: Mason shall not abandon a single citizen; the entire town must hold on!"
In that moment, the originally lifeless Withered Willow Town erupted into a suppressed yet profound wail.
"I've lived for fifty years, and this is the first time I've seen officials come to the village not to collect grain, but to deliver medicine," someone cried out. "They said this was brewed under Your Majesty's personal supervision... Oh gods, you have finally birthed a true King in Mason."
"We mountain folks have tough lives, but this evil disease doesn't listen to reason. I thought my family line was going to end this time, but the light in this bottle... drinking it makes my chest warm all the way through. When my illness is cured, these hands that can draw a hundred-pound bow will fight only for the Black Rose!"
At this moment, Sophia was standing on the Palace's high tower, watching the fading silhouettes of the departing cavalry. She didn't feel much of a sense of holiness; looking at the subjects on the streets who were gradually beginning to be able to walk independently, she only felt that everything was returning to the right track.
As the first batch of cured subjects were able to carry out simple activities on their own instead of being unable to move, that suffocating dead air lingering over the Mason Royal City was finally dispersed by the vitality of hope.
The merchant caravan led by Vasha had already disappeared over the northern horizon, and immediately after, Sophia issued her second secret deployment order.
"Valery, I leave the matter of going to Qubi to you," Sophia said. "Bring enough merchants and black musketeers. The terrain in that area is very troublesome, so be careful. Also, you can go take a look at the mines that Qubi previously allocated to us, and conveniently scout for any news regarding coal mines."
Sophia sat behind the spacious desk, looking at Valery who was half-kneeling on the ground.
"Complying with the decree! This minister will definitely not fail the mission!" Valery crisply and neatly accepted the order and departed.
After he left, Delilah, who had been guarding the door like a sculpture all along, twitched her fingers that were pressing on her sword.
She originally thought that this mission would fall to her as well, after all, that kind of cross-border escort could best display military force.
"Feeling strange? Why I didn't let you go?" Sophia raised her head, her pale golden eyes sweeping across Delilah's face which practically had 'I really want to go and gain merit' written all over it.
"This minister... this minister doesn't dare," Delilah lowered her head, her voice somewhat muffled.
"After that letter was sent to Orr, This Queen keeps feeling like there's a pair of eyes staring at my back," Sophia said, rubbing her temples, her voice clear and cold. "Vasha is gone, Valery is gone. If even you are not by This Queen's side, my heart won't be at ease."
Not at ease! Your Majesty said she wouldn't be at ease without me! How is this an instruction to a subordinate? This is clearly a reliance on the orthodoxy, on her only pillar of support!
In Your Majesty's heart, even with that glowing Potion and the terrifying black muskets, the only thing that can truly give her a sense of security is still this longsword in my hand!
Vasha, that woman who only knows how to take advantage of the situation to kiss feet, is indeed just a temporary worker. Only I am Your Majesty's shadow guard!
And so, Delilah instantly felt pumped up! She abruptly knelt on one knee, her eyes blazing like torches:
"Please rest assured, Your Majesty! As long as this minister still has a single breath left, no filthy thing should even think about getting within three paces of Your Majesty!"
As the epidemic entered its long-tail phase, Irene's mask factory transitioned into normalized production, and the workers were finally able to take shifts to rest.
In the entirety of Mason, the only one still crazily overloading was Daphne.
This Lord Saint, under Sophia's various energy replenishments, was like a reactor with a perpetual motion machine turned on. The quality of the Potion she brewed was becoming increasingly absurd.
Sophia looked at Irene, whose wrists were sore from overworking, and Willow, who was rubbing her waist on the side, and suddenly had a pragmatic thought.
"Delilah, starting tomorrow, you will set aside one and a half hours every day to teach This Queen, Irene, and Willow some self-defense combat."
"Combat?" Irene widened her eyes and pointed at herself. "Your Majesty, I am someone who does scientific research. Am I supposed to swing a wrench at people?"
"You can treat the wrench as a blunt weapon," Sophia maintained her deadpan face. "Having black muskets doesn't mean everything will be fine. Just in case someone gets close, you must at least learn how to precisely kick and shatter the opponent's knees, or gouge out their eyes."
When Delilah heard this, not only did she not find it troublesome, but she grew so excited that her breathing became rapid.
"Your Majesty is wise! Military force is the cornerstone of civilization! This minister will definitely impart her lifelong ultimate techniques... No, will definitely impart the most practical killing—uh, self-defense skills without holding anything back!"
Since they were going to practice martial arts, the loose black fox fur and cumbersome long dresses naturally wouldn't do.
Upon hearing that they were going to practice martial arts, although Irene complained verbally, her body was very honest. She quickly drew up several sets of design sketches with a strong modern feel on her drafting paper.
"Your Majesty, this is Mason's first-generation tactical sportswear!" Irene proudly presented them to Sophia.
On the drawings were tight cuffs, a neat cinched waist, elastic pants convenient for striding, and even soft-soled sports shoes with ankle guards.
Although limited by the materials of this era and having to be made with a composite of high-density silk and cotton cloth, visually, this design that emphasized muscle lines and mobility was extremely impactful.
When the seamstress in the Palace, renowned for her exquisite craftsmanship, received the drawings, her eyes nearly popped out.
"Th-This clothing is actually like this? It's not a skirt, nor is it loose-fitting pants? This is simply unheard of."
"This is the armament of civilization," Sophia spouted nonsense without changing her expression. "Just follow it. Make four sets. Keep Daphne's set for her, although she doesn't have time to practice right now."
The seamstress only felt that her life had been dealt a massive challenge.
Although she had almost no free time since coming to work in the Palace recently, it was far from being as difficult as these few sets of 'sportswear' that Your Majesty spoke of. She was going to have to study it carefully.
In a side hall with excellent lighting in the West Tower, a fierce struggle between traditional aesthetics and pragmatism was currently unfolding.
The seamstress, originally accustomed to sewing gorgeous large hemlines and complicated lace, was now trembling as she held Irene's few shocking sketches, her reading glasses nearly falling to the tip of her nose.
"Lord Irene. These, these best high-density silks and worsted wools in the storehouse, you really want me to cut them into this kind of... this kind of narrow and small shape?"
The seamstress pointed at the tapered pants in the sketches that clung to the body's curves, her voice carrying a hint of pity for the fabrics.
"Oh dear, this is called sportswear! If you make Your Majesty wear that three-layer petticoat to go kick people, is she going to fight or sweep the floor?" Irene retorted. "Plus, Your Majesty would get tired! This way it's easier to see the movements, and Delilah can guide her better too!"
Irene stood with her hands on her hips. Although her dark circles were as heavy as a panda's, her spirit was exceptionally hyperactive.
She grabbed a block of talcum powder from the table and swiftly sketched on the cutting table. In this era without Lycra and spandex, wanting clothing to be form-fitting without hindering wide striding movements was simply a tailor's nightmare.
"Listen here, all the leg and elbow cut pieces must use a bias cut," Irene said, tapping the table, enunciating every word. "Using the 45-degree displacement of the fabric's warp and weft threads can produce a natural physical extensibility. Furthermore, add diamond-shaped gussets here at the knees and armpits. This way, when Your Majesty does a side kick or throws a punch, the armpits won't rip open with a tearing sound."
The seamstress listened, dumbfounded. Although she felt that this cutting method wasted an extreme amount of fabric, upon closer thought, this structure could indeed make the originally rigid fabric become as flexible as skin.
"Lord, we don't have that kind of 'iron teeth that close with a pull' you mentioned. How is Your Majesty supposed to put on such tight clothing?"
"No zippers? Use this!" Irene grabbed a handful of specially made D-shaped copper rings and thin cowhide ropes from her pocket. "Don't use those outdated pearl buttons, they're too slow. On the sides and the collar, install these alternating copper rings for me. When putting it on, a tug on the rope tightens it, and when taking it off, loosening it will open it."
Irene gestured as she spoke. "For the pant cuffs and sleeve cuffs, directly use a drawstring structure, and add a layer of soft sheepskin padding to prevent chafing the skin."
Although this design seemed to lack a bit of noble elegance, it gained an industrial aesthetic known as capability.
The hardest things to deal with were the shoes. Without rubber, hard leather soles stepping on stone floors were not only slippery but also caused jarring pain in the feet. Your Majesty usually wore those royal dresses or gothic skirts, which were very suitable for small leather shoes, but if she exercised, it would still be very tiring.
"Soak the leather soles to soften them for me, and then in the middle layer, fill it with stacked thick felt and finely crushed dry cork wood chips," Irene explained while holding a disassembled leather boot. "For the bottommost layer, use fire to brand horizontal anti-slip patterns, and then nail a ring of extremely tiny copper nails to increase grip. This way, Your Majesty won't run like she's dancing on ice."
Although the seamstress had never heard of such a method, relying on decades of craftsmanship, she realized that the logic of this layered shock-absorbing design was extremely brilliant.
Half a day later, when the first set of dark gray sportswear took shape, the look in the seamstress's eyes as she gazed at the clothing had changed from finding it absurd to sheer reverence.
The snug waist cincher outlined the waistline, the elasticity of the bias-cut pants made the legs appear slender and powerful, and paired with those specially made soft-soled short boots, the entire outfit exuded a cold and power-filled charm.
"This kind of clothing... worn on Your Majesty's body, it's simply like..." The seamstress wracked her brains and finally squeezed out a phrase. "Like a goddess about to hunt in the dark night."
"That's exactly it!" Irene clapped her hands in satisfaction and turned her head to give Willow a cheeky grin. "Go, deliver this set to Your Majesty. Oh, and tell Instructor Delilah that the equipment has been upgraded, and tell her not to go soft when training. Of course, if she ends up making Your Majesty hurt from the training, I won't be responsible for covering her medical bills!"
The fireplace in the side hall was burning fiercely, illuminating that set of dark gray first-generation tactical sportswear. The seamstress and Irene watched with full anticipation as Sophia entered the inner room to try it on, their minds still picturing the majestic appearance of the hunting goddess.
However, when Sophia lifted the curtains and walked out, the air fell into a dead silence lasting three full seconds.
Sophia stood expressionlessly in front of the bronze mirror.
Because this kind of slim-fit tailoring was a pioneering creation at this time, the seamstress and Irene subconsciously felt during production that "since it's worn for physical activities, it absolutely must not constrict Your Majesty."
The result was that the tapered pants, which were originally supposed to hug the curves, piled up into several folds at Sophia's slender calves. The position of the cinched waist also sagged downwards, making her look not like someone going to fight, but rather like a half-grown child who had sneaked out wearing adult's clothes.
"...Irene," Sophia said, pulling up the loose waistband. Her pale golden pupils held no fluctuations whatsoever. "This Queen feels that your understanding of 'room for movement' might have resulted in some misunderstandings."
"T-This is an accident!" Irene cried out, her face flushing crimson.
She hurriedly rushed forward and gestured on Sophia's body.
"I originally thought high-density silk would become tighter after shrinking, who knew..." Irene giggled, thinking that Your Majesty looked extremely cute at this moment.
But soon enough, after Sophia changed back into her own clothes and came out, finding Irene still laughing, she shot a piercing glare her way. Irene immediately stifled her laughter, her fingers awkwardly fidgeting back and forth.
"Looks like we need to make a new one for Your Majesty. We can't let this one go to waste either, let me try it!"
Irene snatched the clothes away and dove into the inner room. A moment later, she walked out crestfallen. Although she was a tiny bit taller than Sophia, her skeletal frame was similarly delicate, so the clothes hanging on her body were still as loose as a potato sack.
Subsequently, Sophia called Delilah in. After all, among these few people, the tallest person was Delilah.
This orthodox General did fill out the shoulders when wearing it, but due to her excellent muscle lines resulting from long-term martial arts practice—sporting a V-line, a perky rear, and toned leg lines without missing a beat—the position of her pant legs appeared too tight. Her movements emitted dangerous signals of taut fabric.
Finally, this set of Type I prototype sportswear was handed to Willow.
When Willow somewhat shyly finished changing and walked out, everyone's eyes lit up.
Compared to Sophia's cold slenderness and Irene's petite stature, Willow, who labored year-round, possessed a well-proportioned skeletal frame, and had full breasts, surprisingly managed to fill out this outfit perfectly.
The tight bias-cut fabric outlined her gentle yet taut curves, and the copper ring laces cinched a perfect arc at the side of her waist.
"Your Majesty... this, this isn't quite appropriate, is it?" Willow tugged at the hem of her clothes nervously.
"There's nothing inappropriate about it. When the time comes, we will also be dressed the same way," Sophia waved her hand, turning her gaze to the seamstress. "Since the style has been finalized, then measure again. This time, you must measure tightly against the skin; not a single fraction of a millimeter can be off."
The seamstress hurriedly assented. She fished out a soft leather measuring tape painted with black markings from her sewing basket and was about to walk toward Sophia.
"Wait!" Irene suddenly rudely interrupted, blocking the seamstress's path. Her gaze circled around the leather tape measure and then looked at Sophia. The gossip Willow had shared with her about Vasha kissing the tips of Your Majesty's toes flashed rapidly through her mind.
Are you kidding me! How could such an opportunity to openly and properly touch every corner of Your Majesty's body by measuring her be handed over to a seamstress?
This kind of sacred work involving human body dynamics and precise circumference calculations can only be handled by a genius mechanic like me! That Orr woman Vasha even dared to use her mouth, what's wrong with me touching her a bit?
"The seamstress is getting on in years, her eyesight isn't good," Irene said with a stern face, snatching the tape measure away and speaking to the seamstress with an aura of imposing righteousness. "This kind of sportswear requires accurately capturing the direction of the muscles. You can teach me the specific measurement locations, and I will do it hands-on. That way the data will be the most scientific."
The seamstress froze for a moment. She couldn't help but feel that Lord Irene's eyes were flashing with an almost greedy passion, but in the face of Irene's powerful aura, she could only nod haltingly.
However, her eyesight wasn't good? Although she was a bit older, her eyesight was the best! Even with the finest needle, she could thread it in a single second!
But she didn't dare utter a word. After all, Your Majesty didn't show any intention of refuting it either. Working here in the Palace, it was better for her to be as cautious and prudent as possible.
"Then... alright. Please look, Lord Irene. First, measure the neck circumference, then the shoulder width. The most important are the bust, waist, and hip circumferences," the seamstress instructed. "These represent the maximum looseness of this kind of sportswear."
Holding the tape measure, Irene took a deep breath and slowly walked toward Sophia. Sophia still had her arms raised horizontally, standing as still as an exquisite porcelain doll, allowing Irene to approach.
As the distance shortened, Irene could smell that faint scent of wintery cold fragrance emanating from Sophia's body.
With trembling hands, she first wrapped the tape measure around Sophia's slender neck.
"Neck circumference is done," Irene murmured in a low voice, her fingertips casually sliding across the back of Sophia's cold neck.
That electrifying, tingling sensation nearly made Irene cry out. Your Majesty's skin seems to have gotten even more delicate! Is it because she's been eating plenty of milk and meat lately?
Following that, she squatted down, and the tape measure moved upwards along Sophia's slender calves.
"Lord Irene, you need to press it tighter so that the side seam lines will be accurate," the seamstress diligently guided from the side.
"I know! I don't need you to teach me!" Irene growled in a low voice, as if to cover up her guilty conscience.
She held her breath, her two hands wrapping around Sophia's waist. Because she was too close, the tip of her nose almost brushed against the inner lining at Sophia's waist.
Wu... so thin. Your Majesty's waist feels like it could be gripped with one hand. Furthermore, this kind of close-up observation, this feeling of completely controlling Your Majesty's body data, simply gives more of a sense of accomplishment than inventing the black muskets!
Sophia lowered her head and looked at the pink twin-tails buried at her waist, patting Irene's head somewhat helplessly.
"Irene, are you done measuring? This Queen is about to be suffocated by you."
"Almost! Almost! There's one last piece of data!" Blushing, Irene grit her teeth and moved the tape measure further down.
Watching Irene's back, which was practically glued to Your Majesty, from the side, the fingers Delilah had pressing against her sword let out another cracking sound. The raging fire in her heart was about to burst through the roof of her skull.
Irene... you bastard who takes advantage under the guise of science! I never thought you were this kind of person too! Just as despicable and shameless as that Orr woman!
Irene could naturally feel Delilah's furious glare.
But... she was just shameless!
----------
Early morning.
The scent of pine resin and a faint smell of burnt silk from staying up all night still lingered in the air.
Irene had slept well. Her hands, as steady as precision instruments, presented the second-generation tactical sportswear—rushed out overnight by the seamstress under her guidance—before Sophia.
"Your Majesty, this set is absolutely the pinnacle crystallization of science and art," Irene's voice exuded an almost maddened sense of accomplishment.
When Sophia pulled back the curtains and walked out once again, the side hall, which was originally filled with hushed discussions, instantly fell so silent that even the sound of the leaping fireplace flames was clearly audible.
This time, there were no loose folds, nor were there any awkward pile-ups. The dark gray, high-density composite silk was like a second layer of skin glowing with a cold light, tightly wrapping around Sophia's one-point-six-meter-plus figure.
Irene's measurement data, which could be considered borderline harassment, exerted a terrifying power.
The cinched waist locked perfectly just below the ribs, making Sophia's originally extremely slender waist appear as though it could be grasped in one hand.
And the elasticity of the bias cut perfectly accommodated and outlined her full and taut chest curves, which presented a stark contrast to her cold and detached face.
Without the concealment of the cumbersome petticoat, Sophia's long legs, which possessed excellent proportions and tight lines, were completely freed.
The slim-fit tapered pants extended downwards along the curves of her rounded buttocks. Contrasted by those specially made shoes that outlined the lines of her ankles, her entire person revealed a dynamic beauty full of wildness and order that had never been seen in the women of Mason before.
Irene felt like she was going to get a nosebleed.
Your Majesty's usual attire binds her chest quite tightly. Now that she's wearing sportswear and doesn't need to bind it so tightly, one can see that Your Majesty's figure is truly too good!
She practically knelt on the ground observing those seams.
"Genius... I am truly a genius!" Irene exclaimed. "Look at that waist-to-hip ratio, that is the golden ratio calculated by the gods themselves! The way Your Majesty's body breathes beneath the sportswear is simply more mesmerizing than the engagement of the most precise gears. This kind of fullness, this kind of proportion, this is Mason's strongest secret weapon!"
Delilah temporarily lost her ability to speak due to shock.
This orthodox General even forgot to breathe. Her eyes, which were accustomed to seeing battlefields, were currently staring intently at Sophia's taut back lines caused by raising her arms horizontally.
This is not just clothing... this is the materialization of fighting intent.
Your Majesty is clearly just over one point six meters tall, but why is it that after wearing this outfit, the oppressive feeling she exudes is even stronger than those two-meter-tall heavily armored knights? The lines of those legs, if one were to take a side kick with that kind of power, probably even their soul would be kicked out of their body, right?
Your Majesty... is truly too beautiful, beautiful like a peerless silver blade quenched in poison.
Willow also couldn't help but cover her burning cheeks with her hands, unable to stop making 'wow wow wow' sounds.
I only thought Your Majesty was unattainable before, but after putting on these clothes, Your Majesty's figure... Heavens, the contrast between that fullness and thin waist, even a woman like me who serves her day in and day out feels my heart beating so fast.
This is the true goddess of the hunt; that kind of aggressive beauty amidst elegance can truly drive the entire Palace crazy.
Gazing at Your Majesty's aura, the seamstress also couldn't help but shed tears of old age, completely switching sides.
That's right, Lord Irene was right! I've sewn skirts my whole life, and always felt that women should be wrapped up in layers upon layers of fabrics. But today I realized that the sense of power in women can actually be displayed so intuitively.
Your Majesty's body proportions are a gift from the Creator. This sportswear is not blaspheming the fabric; it is liberating the body!
Sophia spun around in front of the bronze mirror, experiencing this long-lost sense of flexibility.
She had to admit, although this girl Irene's train of thought was a bit crooked, her professional capabilities were truly solid. This sense of support and wrapping was already very close to modern professional sportswear.
Although the look in these few people's eyes made it seem like they wanted to place her on an altar and worship her.
However, since everything was prepared, Sophia was ready to get serious. She couldn't slack off too much in the upcoming combat training; she couldn't afford to trip on the very first round.
The incident where she and Irene were attacked in the West Tower before could not be allowed to happen a second time. Even if there were still people with malicious intent out there, she definitely needed to have her own means of self-defense.
"Very good." Sophia's clear and cold voice rang out in the side hall, successfully snapping the few people obsessed with her beauty out of their daze.
She slightly tilted her head, her silver hair brushing across the tight collar, her pale golden pupils reflecting the fanatical faces of the few people.
"Since the armament is in place, Delilah, bring your things. See you at the Drill Ground in half a dual-hour," Sophia instructed. "This Queen wants to see if this 'goddess of the hunt outfit' can withstand the torment of actual combat."
"Yes!" everyone said in unison.
On the top floor of the West Tower, the golden motes of the Holy Light danced lightly above the boiling crucible.
Daphne was holding a long-handled spoon, mechanically stirring that pot of Potion that was as translucent as amber, while her mind was still reminiscing about that moment from last night that made her magic power instantly skyrocket.
Taking advantage of the interval when the Potion was settling, she set down the wooden spoon and stretched her back long and hard. Because the range of her movements was too large, her exquisite hair accessories trembled along with her.
She walked to the window and looked out. The formerly chaotic Palace was now in orderly condition, and the subjects were methodically transporting supplies. This sense of peace that transcended the era made her feel a heartfelt pride.
Suddenly, her gaze was drawn to the Drill Ground in the distance, which had been left vacant for a long time.
In that open space covered by snow, a few figures wearing dark gray sportswear were slowly stepping in.
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