Chapter 11
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 11
Chapter Title: The Barbarian Couple's Supreme Physiques (1)
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“Welcome... Gah! Barbarians?!”
The moment we opened the door to the shop, a friendly greeting turned into a piercing shriek.
The clerk at the counter spotted us and staggered back, crashing into a display shelf before collapsing in a heap.
For an instant, a heavy silence blanketed the store, like ice water had been dumped over everyone.
The other customers browsing clothes began whispering as they stared at us.
“Those guys... aren't they barbarians from beyond the wall? Y'know, the 'Awe-Inspiring Folk'?”
“Leather outfits and axes to boot... the real deal.”
“Should we call the guards?”
Still, the atmosphere wasn't outright hostile.
Just wary glances and curious observations toward strangers.
Of course, a typical barbarian might've whipped out an axe right then and bellowed, “Who're you calling barbarians?!” while causing a scene.
“Ahem.”
I chuckled softly and wrapped my arm gently around Kara's shoulders, which had tensed up in the awkward moment.
Then, in a calm but pointed tone, I said,
“That's a bit harsh, don't you think? Our baby's listening, and you straight-up call us 'barbarians'?”
“Uh, um...?”
The clerk blinked in confusion.
She'd braced for anger over her slip-up, but I'd pivoted to baby talk out of nowhere, short-circuiting her brain.
I seized the opening with a sly grin and added,
“Bad for prenatal care, y'know? How about that 'Awe-Inspiring Folk' thing one of your customers said? Sounds way better, right?”
“Ah....”
At my smooth handling, the clerk's face flushed tomato-red.
Kara caught on beside me, stroking her belly as she chimed in.
“Yeah. We can't have our little one picking up bad words from the womb.”
Kara's voice was steady.
But her blue eyes radiated silent pressure: Apologize, or I'll rip out a pillar from this shop.
“S-Sorry! I was so rude...!”
The clerk bowed frantically in apology.
The soldiers around us seemed to relax too, murmuring things like, “Huh... they speak our language,” and “More civilized than I thought.”
Situation defused.
An elegant victory.
The Eisen Baron's advice was spot on.
His words from the night before came back to me.
『The borderlands see all sorts of people passing through, so there'll be some preconceptions. But it's more wary curiosity than blind hatred.』
『Use that low bar of expectations to your advantage. Be friendly and bold, and their guards will drop even faster.』
『Deep-rooted hatred is tough to uproot, but shallow wariness? It's like a weed—give it a tug, and out it comes.』
Exactly as he'd said.
A touch of manners and cheekiness, and their mild suspicion crumbled like dry grass.
I winked at Kara, and she giggled, hugging my arm tight.
Nice. First button's fastened right.
Just as I was about to start seriously picking out clothes...
Bang-!
The workshop door at the back burst open violently, and an elderly tailor with a measuring tape around his neck came charging out.
His hair was thick with white, but his eyes gleamed like a predator's—this was the shop's head tailor.
“What's all this racket! I can't focus on my work!”
He bellowed, scanning the room.
Then his gaze locked onto us.
“......!”
His eyes bulged wide.
I instinctively stepped in front of Kara, bracing for trouble.
But before I could tense up fully...
“Oh... ooooh!”
A gasp of awe burst from the old man's lips.
Like a miner stumbling on a raw diamond in the depths.
Or an artist finally beholding his lifelong muse, driven mad with inspiration.
“Outta the way! Everyone, move!”
The head tailor shoved the clerk aside and rushed straight at me.
“No... no way!”
He immediately started groping my waist and shoulders.
“Hey! What the hell are you doing?!”
I tried to pull back in shock, but he ignored me, prodding my back muscles.
“Over two meters tall... and no gut?”
“Pardon?”
“Guys this size usually have beer bellies or sagging love handles... but this? Perfect inverted triangle!”
He whipped out his tape measure and sized up my chest and waist in seconds.
“Chest width... tapering waist... heavens! It's sculpture! A living statue!”
The tailor shouted, spittle flying in his excitement.
“You lot! What're you standing around for? Get the pins! Fabric and chalk too!”
At his roar, more tailors poured out from the workshop.
They swarmed me, gasping in admiration like I'd stepped out of a freak show.
“Whoa... check out that shoulder line.”
“Off-the-rack won't cut it. We'd have to cinch the waist completely.”
“Draping baggy ready-mades on a build like this? Sacrilege! Custom all the way!”
In their eyes, I was no longer a “barbarian.”
I was the ultimate “canvas” and “mannequin” to showcase their skills.
Border town tailors catered mostly to burly soldiers—potbellied uncles—and were experts at concealing flab.
Then a ripped perfect model drops in outta nowhere. Occupational hazard kicked in.
“Um... excuse me?”
I glanced awkwardly at Kara, feeling cornered.
But she was in the same boat.
“Heavens... madam! If you don't mind, could you turn around once?”
Female tailors had encircled her.
“Oh my, oh my! Look at those hips!”
“Tall and perfectly proportioned... nothing like the waifish noble ladies back in the Empire!”
“Pregnant? Early stage, huh. Line's still killer! Empire waist dress, and you'd be a goddess descended!”
Kara's “healthy Valkyrie” vibe was rare in the Empire.
To tailors used to skinny noble gowns, her toned, statuesque figure was a godsend.
“Uh... we just came for some off-the-rack stuff...”
Kara stammered, dazed, but the head tailor shook his head firmly.
“Out of the question! That'd be an insult to clothing!”
Face flushed with passion, he launched into a rant.
“We've dressed 1:1 marble replicas for eccentric capital nobles before. Perfect proportions, sure. But stone's static! No need to account for joint dynamics or muscle flow—the essence of movement in garb.”
He seized my arm, eyes blazing like a zealot's.
“But you two? You're different! These bodies... straight out of myth, living heroes breathing and pulsing! A once-in-a-lifetime shot to pour my craft into a moving masterpiece!”
“Thanks for the flattery, but it's getting embarrassing...”
“Please, I beg you. Let us make your clothes. No charge! Hell, just wear 'em!”
“Wait, no charge? You're running a business.”
“Dressing bodies like yours is an honor! Come on, this way!”
In the end, we got dragged to the fitting rooms by the tailors' eager hands.
Pure chaos.
“Spread your legs a bit more! Thigh girth... art.”
“Madam, arms up. Off-shoulder to highlight those shoulders!”
Dozens of tailors swarmed, measuring, draping fabric, pinning.
Started off awkward, but soon it was hilarious.
We'd worried about discrimination as barbarians, but instead, it turned into a fan meet.
Empire folk are more passionate than I thought.
I smirked at my reflection—surrounded by tailors.
Then Kara's voice floated from the next booth over.
“Oh, this dress is pretty. Barg! How's this look on me?”
“Gorgeous! Absolutely gorgeous!”
Her joy lifted my spirits too.
The real fitting session kicked off.
Kara first.
She drew back the curtain, and the shop erupted in awe again.
“Ooooh...!”
They'd tailored an officer's uniform—black base—with cinched waist and hips.
The dark fabric contrasted her pale skin, oozing allure.
Early pregnancy kept her lines intact: uniform fit perfection.
“Perfection, madam! I thought a war goddess had descended!”
The tailors clapped like seals; browsing soldiers gawked.
“Whoa... that silhouette.”
“Beats the Imperial Guard.”
Kara admired her mirror image from every angle, smiling.
My turn was the problem.
“Nngh....”
I was groaning in the changing room.
“Sir? Almost done?”
“No, this... arms won't go in.”
Sweat poured as I wrestled the shirt.
Near-two-meter height was bad enough; the muscles were worse.
No fabric could handle boulder-hard traps and delts.
Empire uniform cloth—stiff, inelastic—screamed before even hitting my shoulders.
I emerged half-exposed, and the tailors' faces turned grave.
“Trouble... biggest size, and it's hopeless.”
The head tailor stroked his goatee, frowning.
“How long are you staying in town? Give us time—I could rush special fabric from the capital.”
I shook my head.
“Nah, just resupplying before heading straight to Eisen Guard. Can't linger...”
My words rippled unease through the tailors.
“Eisen Guard?”
“That's near the capital—full of hotshots!”
“If those guys see this physique... we'll lose our shot!”
Their eyes wavered.
Border craftsmen pride on the line.
No way they'd let slick capital dandies steal this godly canvas.
“No! Can't let that happen!”
The head tailor glared fiercely.
“Grab the largest we got! We'll improvise sleeves at least!”
Desperate, they ransacked storage for a massive uniform—big enough for bear hide.
They mobbed me, forcing it on.
“Arm this way... hnnngh! Almost!”
“Huff... huff...”
After frantic effort, my arms finally sleeved.
But.
“This... is super tight? Can't breathe.”
Buttons? Forget it. Back and shoulders strained to burst.
“It's fine! Fit's locked! Roll your shoulders!”
At their urging, I flexed carefully.
Just a tiny bit.
The subtle tension Winter Claw warriors use for warm-ups.
That instant.
Riiiip-!
Snap!
A sharp tear echoed as the back fabric shrieked.
Barbarian compressed muscle.
Rubber-ball bounce, steel density—explosive flex no normal cloth survives.
Tattered shreds fluttered down.
Suddenly naked, I scratched my head sheepishly.
“Uh... told you it wouldn't work. Do I owe you for this?”
But the tailors' reaction surprised me.
“Owe us? This is data!”
They didn't care about the ruin.
Eyes sparkling: See? Told you!
“Saw that? Standard oxford can't take the tension coefficient!”
“Silk blend? No dice—needs stretch!”
Ignoring scraps, they taped my back again, diving into heated debate.
As their manic zeal left me flustered...
The head tailor steeled himself, face grim.
“No choice. Bring it!”
“You mean...?”
“Yes. The Clozer family treasure!”
Moments later.
He emerged from deep storage with a dust-caked ebony box.
His hands trembled faintly opening it.
Creeeak.
A lustrous, exotic fabric gleamed inside.
Shifting hues like living hide under light—mystical.
“This is...?”
A gawking soldier's eyes widened.
Head Tailor Clozer caressed it, voice quivering.
“Behemoth Leather.”
“Behemoth?!”
I echoed, and the shop fell deathly quiet, gasps stifled.
Empire founding era.
Legendary high demon from the Gates' opening: Behemoth.
Its hide: tougher than steel, flexier than rubber. Remembers user's mana—self-heals on infusion. Insane specs.
Gates sealed, supply vanished. Only imperial vaults or frontline commanders saw it.
Why use a national treasure on a stranger like me?
I stared, dumbfounded.
But his eyes burned with madness.
No reasoning with him.