-x-x-x- Made by Arude_Chan on Webnovel! -x-x-x-
Gingerly, Charice stepped away from Michael and down the staircase. The doors in front of him seemed to thump with power as he approached, an unseen force reaching for him.
The marble steps, normally cold, felt as warm as a mother's womb while the air bit at him with the chill of a tempest.
"I... Okay." Charice steeled himself, drowning his fear with the weight of Michael's words. He took the final step forward, his hands reaching the door. One touched the blue side, the other the red, while he pressed his forehead to the silver inscription.
Michael was right behind him, observing with a hint of satisfaction and pride in his stoic eyes.
One of Charice's eyes glowed a ruby red, while the other swelled with a crystaline blue; smoke flowed from them, yet despite gravity's work, it flowed upward.
The silver runes absorbed the gas; those etched into Order absorbed Chaos, while those clawed into Chaos absorbed Order. They took up the color of that which they absorbed, and finally, as Charice took a step back with an awed look, the doors swung open.
Michael gripped Charice's shoulder as he stood in stunned silence, prompting the Consort to flinch and come back to reality.
"Sorry... I... That felt..." Charice struggled to find his words; the sensation was indescribable.
"...I believe the door is a Blessed Item, a Divine Artifact of sorts. You had likely taken a peek into the realm of the Gods."
It wasn't as scary as Charice had anticipated; if anything, it felt like everything yet nothing at once —a peaceful tension, like the blazing universe seconds before the Big Bang.
Still... If that was the home of all the Gods, where were they? Their silence was louder than any scream Charice had ever heard, and he couldn't help but pause.
'W-Whatever, I'll see what that is about when I meet them... Right now, I need to deal with politics.'
Shaking the question off, the Consort stepped away from Michael's grasp and into the basement.
The basement was divided into three floors connected by a large, spiraling staircase in the middle. It was a huge area, as wide as The Ark, with large stone pillars that secured the ceiling.
The floor of each level was wooden, with each level holding different items. At the highest level, the one they were now stepping into, hundreds of clothing racks were displayed in the open, each filled to the brim with clothes of all shapes and sizes. Jewelry and makeup were available at various makeup stations scattered throughout, filled with everything one would need to make their avatar as beautiful as they wanted.
The one underneath this held various preserved consumables, enough food to last months during a siege, and useful items, such as lockpicks. Finally, the bottom level held the most precious items. Blessed Items, Divine Items, enchanted weapons, beautiful relics, and so on.
Charice's face glowed with joy seeing the array of beautiful dresses and cloaks, ranging from European maid dresses to the most ornate imperial cloth, including ordained military uniforms with dozens of beautiful medals. Illuminated by golden lights hovering in the air like tiny stars.
"Oh. My. God! Michael, look at this!" Charice shouted while rushing forward with a huge smile. Michael shook his head as he realized they would be here for a good while.
For an hour and a half, Charice dragged Michael between dozens of clothing racks, somehow never once losing energy, even if he had to slow down for his body to catch up sometimes.
The thick, stale air smelled of mint, freshly cut stone, and old wood. Charice took a deep breath while investigating some outfits, finding each one of them to be layered in perfume that stuck to their respective outfits.
He tried on various outfits and accessories, from gothic dresses only fit for the most undead of princesses to sleek robes and loose kimonos.
Charice paused with a most naughty idea as he looked at Michael. Of course, he did not let this opportunity go to waste.
With a step and a twirl, adorned in a frivolous, soft, European maid dress, Charice stepped out of a changing booth with an all too coordinated shyness.
"Welcome home, master..." He twirled his thumbs, "Would you like some dinner, a bath... Or perhaps... Me?"
As Michael's brain vanished into the aether and his eyes locked onto the Consort, Charice blushed furiously.
Under normal circumstances, he would never do this. Charice was shy and easily flustered, but Michael's previous words gave him a burst of confidence deeply unlike himself.
And for such words, a reward was in order. Charice was supremely confident in his new body; he had spent an entire real-life week sculpting every inch of it to be as perfect as possible while still maintaining some human imperfections, so why not reward his most beloved servant with this sight?
He glanced into a nearby mirror, seeing his curves, shoulder-length golden hair, and large blue eyes just above his cute lips - A surge of confidence filled him.
Then, a wave of embarrassment and anxiety gripped his soul.
Judging by Michael's reaction, one would assume the plan had worked well, but Charice didn't.
'I-I, uh, did I take it too far?! I know Michael is super serious about his duties, so... Oh no...!'
With a blink, Michael's brain returned to the material plane, and he cleared his throat.
"A-Ahem. Consort." He looked on sternly, even if he was reluctant to say what he was about to say. "That was a bit inappropriate."
Well, even if he said that, Michael wasn't going to forget this any time soon. A new core memory, one could say.
A pang of heat shuddered through Michael's body, but he quickly cooled it. Now was not the time to stray from his duties; he glanced away and silently exhaled to anchor himself.
"R-Right, sorry... I thought you'd like it..." Charice said with a blush, looking away while his fingers played with his skirt, once again seeing his embarrassing dress reflected at him.
And just like that, Michael was de-anchored once again.
'Oh my Gods.' Michael scrambled internally, 'Why must you tempt me this way?' Truly, Michael understood how Eve felt, tempted by the forbidden fruit.
"It's..." He struggled to reprimand Charice, but finally managed to come to a compromise with himself. "It's alright. I understand you wanted to do me a favor, which does make me glad. But... Please." He motioned to the changing room, and Charice nodded, shamefully returning to it.
Michael sighed, realizing Charice would likely never tease him in such an appealing way ever again unless he invited it.
'My words doom me so...'
Charice, stepping out of the changing booth once more, cleared his throat.
As silence filled the air, the reason for their visit hung over him, but Charice couldn't help but be reluctant to jump into the difficult task of dressing himself like a true monarch. Maybe Michael would let him procrastinate for just a few more minutes?
"Consort." Charice's eyes lit up with hope, "I think it's about time we pick an outfit for the delegation." And just like that, the hope withered and died.
"Oh... Right." Charice mumbled, glancing at the mess of dozens of outfits around him.
"I'll have the other Paragons clean up, don't worry," Michael noted, noticing his guilty look.
Charice couldn't help but wonder why the maids couldn't do it; cleaning was, after all, what they were paid for. Still, ignoring that thought, he played with his hair while thinking about his options.
'Okay, think. The dress needs to scream wealth and status; casual and loose outfits are out of the picture.'
Charice walked around, picking out various outfits while whispering into the air.
"Too loose, frivolous, cheap, that's a skirt... Hm. No, they'd confuse me for a girl, that would be awkward..." They might just confuse him for a girl still, given his feminine charm, yet Charice wouldn't mind that much: A part of him even welcomed the idea.
Inside, more and more filters were being placed on his choices.
'Outfits were mostly used among nobles to assert dominance without any words, but also to establish status. Depending on the region, there were different styles. Around us is a very European-looking landscape, so I can assume with some certainty that purple clothes represent royalty.'
Charice sighed in regret, lamenting his decision not to send out a scout to investigate their surroundings in more detail out of concern for his troops and the possibility of it escalating tensions.
Now, having laid out the outfits on the floor, Charice played with his hair while deeply pondering.
In front of him were uniforms, clothes worthy of Emperors and Kings, but those felt so pretentious that Charice could hardly imagine wearing them.
Then, a scent struck him as he closely inspected one of the sets. The sweet scent of lavender and sugar, along with a refreshing scent of mint and lemon.
There was nothing more to consider; this outfit was it.
As Charice took it to change, he felt the warm fur inside tickle his skin.
Stepping from the changing booth, Charice was now adorned in a garb similar to that worn by Cardinals of the Catholic Church on Earth.
The garb was loose on his frame, intended for larger persons, but not as loose as his preferred clothes, striking a balance between comfort and professionalism. It stretched well beneath his feet, dragging gently across the floor, yet no dirt dared touch the fabric.
Charice wore a black cassock with a vivid velvet trim, piping, and 16 buttons. The fascia, a wide fabric sash, was also velvet, wrapping around his waist like a wide belt, accentuating his figure.
From his shoulders, with a tiny neck guard, extended a black cape, trimmed with the same velvet color. At the heart of the cape was a symbol, one that was also hung around his neck.
The symbol, simply known as "The Chord," which Charice inspected with a curious eye, was hung around his neck on a lapis and redstone chain that shimmered with a faint mist that trailed from it.
The Chord depicted a velvet background, within which were a blue and red spot orbiting one another. Charice felt a shiver crawl up his spine as he sighed with a tremor, feeling an energy fill his being.
His head cleared further, and his heart beat faster as the butterflies in his stomach soared like eagles, choking his throat.
Clearing said throat, Charice took a deep breath and gave his new outfit a twirl, observing himself in a nearby mirror.
"Hmm... Is something missing?" Charice said, an itch clawing at his brain, he brushed his fingers against his lips, placing a few dark pins in his hair to keep it straight.
Michael, watching from afar, had not the faintest clue about fashion. Still, he noticed two things.
"Perhaps some shoes would be in order?" Michael asked, not daring to wonder how dirty Charice's toes must be after walking barefoot all this time.
"Hm?" Charice turned to him, "Oh no, no. Absolutely not! Shoes are so... Uncomfortable, I can feel things way better this way... And my feet haven't even gotten dirty! I haven't felt the need to bathe either, which is... Weird? I feel gross now."
Thinking about it, it made sense. Michael had spent a significant portion of his time thus far near or around the Consort, and at no point did he smell anything short of clean. His skin never lost its luster, and even in grief or fear, no impurity dared to form on his visage.
'The benefits of being a living saint, I suppose...'
Clearing his throat, Michael then looked at Charice's face and silently judged, seeing if any additions could be made.
Charice, flustered by the sudden and intense stare, glanced away and squirmed in place. If he were asked to put on the maid outfit again, he might just be as ripe as a tomato.
Nonetheless, Michael found himself impressed, not just by the Consort's beauty, but also by his, perhaps unintentional, wisdom.
'The outfit is clearly religious; even foreigners would likely recognize the fact that the symbols hold some meaning. By doing this, the Consort is making it immediately clear that he is an important figure, and after the visitors learn the context, it immediately sets him up as the city's absolute religious authority. People will see the Consort wearing this in the future as well, which will boost his legitimacy on spiritual foundations.'
Michael was frankly prepared that the Consort would pick some frivolous dress that could pass off for a servant, but he was pleasantly surprised to see Charice handling this effectively.
A part of him couldn't help but feel a different kind of anxiety. 'How long will the Consort need my help? If I'm discharged, or worse, kept around as baggage due to the Consort's care for me... As a paladin, he couldn't bear the thought of being a burden. Luckily, Charice's soft voice brought him back to the real world.
"I don't know... I need something on my head! I can feel it..." He hummed, staring at his reflection like a predator sizing up its prey.
"Have you considered some decorations on the face? Earrings, mayhaps... Or a hat?"
Charice gaped, stars nearly forming in his eyes, "A hat! Yes!"
Without delay, he rushed to pick one out from the vast selection, finally settling on a black velvet saturn priest hat, with a pair of leather strings, one red and the other blue, falling from the side.
The sides of it were a bit too long, making Charice's head look small, but they also provided some shade.
With one last look in the mirror, Charice took a deep breath and looked at Michael with an uncharacteristically self-assured smile - or something akin to it. It felt brittle at best.
"No time like the present." And with a final tap on Michael's shoulder, the two exited the basement, the door shutting behind them.