Holy Garb Comes Without Panties

"Saintess? Why are you coming back in?"

The gate guard asked in surprise as I turned on my heel. I tried to act as casual as possible, but I gripped the frayed hem of my dress tightly in my hand as I replied.

"Um, well... I think I need to grab some supplies before heading out on my journey. It's gonna be kinda tough in this state."

My voice trembled faintly. But the guard wasn't listening to my words—his eyes were fixed on the sliver of thigh peeking through my fingers. I could hear him swallow hard, loud and clear.

"Ah, y-yes... Of course. As expected of the Saintess, so thorough in your preparations. Haha, safe travels."

I hurried inside, fleeing his sticky gaze. Only after the clank of the gate closing behind me could I finally breathe.

The lively clamor of the marketplace assaulted my ears the moment I stepped into the castle grounds. Murmurs of conversation, the rumble of cart wheels. It was a small kingdom, but the village sprawling around the castle looked prosperous enough.

I remember this. It's the beginner village.

What had been mere pixels labeled "Shopping District 1" or "Residential 2" on my monitor now loomed before me as massive reality. Rough stone walls in medieval style, roofs thatched with rice straw. And people bustling between them.

The problem was that every single one of those people's eyes was locked on me.

"Oh my, look over there. Isn't that the Saintess?"

"Gods, what's with that outfit? Did the Demon King's army already get to her or something?"

"Shh, quiet! It might be the garb for a holy ritual."

Their whispers stabbed like daggers. Holy garb? What kind of holy garb is this? What saintess walks around with no panties, barely covering her nipples? I ducked my head, face burning, but that only made me worry my pussy would peek through the deep front slit, so I straightened up again.

Calm down, Sodohui. This is just the tutorial. Head to the shop, gear up.

I made my way toward the village square, drawing on my memories. No need to ask directions—the game map was etched in my mind.

"Haa, haa..."

Walking fast made the dress hem tickle between my thighs. I never imagined strolling without underwear could be this terrifying. I felt the men's gazes trace my breast curves, lingering on the subtle hint of ass cheek that flashed with each step.

Hurry, buy clothes fast.

Rounding the square corner, a familiar sign came into view: a hammer and shield on a general store. The go-to spot for newbie players to snag leather armor or potions.

I shoved the door open roughly.

Ding-a-ling!

"Welcome! Oh, who might this be? The Saintess herself?"

A fat, greedy-looking old man behind the counter lit up, eyes gleaming. Like everyone else, his gaze hit my sweat-soaked dress clinging to my chest before my face.

"...I'd like to see some clothes and gear for my journey."

No sooner had I spoken than a mechanical chime rang in my right field of vision. A translucent system window slid into view.

"...Ha."

A hollow laugh escaped me. Items I'd dismissed as starter trash on my monitor looked pathetic up close. The cloth garb on the rack seemed rougher than a rag, and the leather armor reeked of old sweat, like someone had worn it and tossed it.

"Oh dear, Saintess. Our wares are a bit humble, eh? But to conquer the Demon King, you need practical gear like this—not... heh heh, seducing monsters with that stimulating outfit of yours, right?"

The shopkeeper, Barga, chuckled openly, eyes raking my chest. His lecherous gaze felt like slime on my skin. Even these rags wouldn't shield me from the local men's filthy stares.

Wait, there was a way.

I furrowed my brow, grasping at memory fragments. This game, Saintess Dea's Erotic Journey, had a hidden feature. The "newbie wall of tears"—a high-difficulty quest item. First Saintess's Armor. Legendary gear supposedly in the royal castle's underground vault. I'd skipped it in-game out of laziness, but now it was my lifeline.

"Hey, is the rumor true? About the First Saintess's gear being stored in this village?"

Barga's eyes narrowed at my question.

"Oho, how'd you know? Well, legends are legends. They say a holy-mana-infused armor sleeps deep under the castle... but no ant gets in without royal permission."

"There must be a way."

I lightly shook my pouch, the 1000 gold inside jingling. His greedy eyes twitched.

"...Maybe. There's an old man at the inn who knows a secret passage linked to the castle sewers. But it's filthy with rats and slimes—think a Saintess like you could handle that hellhole?"

Barga licked his lips, eyeing my smooth shoulders and collarbone peeking from the rags. It felt like a taunt laced with threat: You go in that body, who knows what'll happen.

Sewer, gutter—doesn't matter.

Heading into the field like this? I'd be a monster cumdump in ten minutes flat. I needed basic defense—and above all, proper clothes with underwear.

"Where's this inn with the old man? Tell me now."

I tossed 50 gold ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠on the counter. Generous for info—he bared yellow teeth in a sleazy grin.

"Heh heh, generous as ever, Saintess! Head to the 'Drunken Ox' at the west end of the square. Old codger snoring in the corner."

Ding-a-ling. I paused at the door. Dying to bolt to the inn, but this damn dress... Cool air whispering between my thighs with every step, nipples poking through the thin fabric. Crossing the square like this was begging to be ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠grabbed.

"...Wait. Give me that tattered cloth garb and leather boots first."

"Heh heh, excellent choice! Here you go, Saintess."

Barga eagerly plopped the ragged cloth scraps and mud-caked boots on the counter. Add clothes to the 50-gold info fee, and my pouch felt noticeably lighter.

A translucent inventory window popped up, icons slotting in neatly. I sighed in relief and tapped it.

Phew, at least layer this on. Equip!

Click.

"...Huh?"

Nothing happened. Normally, a flash of light and the character dot would change. But my body stayed in the rag dress.

Panicking, I mashed the inventory icons.

"Why isn't it changing? Equip! Put it on!"

Then—a glow in midair, and with a damp whiff, the cloth garb and stiff boots dropped into my hands.

"Wha...?"

Heavy. Real object weight pressing my palms. I stared blankly at the musty rags in my grip.

"Saintess? What're you spacing out for? Try 'em on."

Barga's voice from the counter. His eyes gleamed sleazily again.

No way. No ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠freaking way.

"Um... doesn't it just equip with a button?"

"Button? What joke is that? Clothes go on by hand. There's a changing corner over there, but... if you're in a rush, strip right here—I won't mind. Heh heh heh."

My mind went blank. This wasn't a game. Reality. No system convenience from beyond the monitor.

To change, I'd have to strip this dress—bare my naked body before this pervert.

Insane! No way!

I clutched the cloth tight. From now on, every gear swap meant stripping bare, strapping cold armor to skin, tightening straps— all under the terror of prying eyes.

"...Show me the changing room. Now."

My voice shook as I snapped. Barga pouted disappointingly, pointing to a tattered curtain in the corner.

"Over there. Tight and dark—watch your step. Oh, if it's hard alone, I, Barga, would gladly help..."

"Shut up and face the wall!"

I dove behind the curtain. Dusty air stung my nose in the cramped space. I swore I felt Barga's gaze through the gap—chills down my spine.

Swish. Untying the straps barely covering my shoulders, cold air rushed over my chest. I'd posed nude for thousands of followers as Sodohui, but changing in a shop corner under some nameless pervert NPC's watch? A whole new level of humiliation.

Hurry... dress quick.

I wrestled the rough cloth over my sweat-damp skin. Fingers trembled in haste; buttons were a nightmare.

"...Haa, haa."

Finally dressed, panting. It had looked baggy at first grab. But one shift, and a weird sensation swept me.

Rippp. The fabric contracted like a living thing, hugging my curves.

"Wha? Wh-what...!"

Flailing didn't help. It cinched my waist, squeezed my ass cheeks till they nearly burst, clinging tight.

No mirror needed. This wasn't just clothes—it was a body-hugging suit designed to flaunt every curve.

Even this is the system? What a fucked-up game.

The eroge's "clothing correction" mechanic, now real, binding me. No matter what I wore, it'd turn slutty. The tattered cloth now shamelessly outlined my taut breast curves.

And the worst part...

"Hng...!"

No underwear. No bras or panties in this dump—so rough cloth straight on skin. Nipples stiffened from cold air and friction, poking boldly through the thin, taut ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠fabric. Obvious "no bra here" bumps.

"Saintess, all dressed? Took a while. Stuck somewhere? I could take a peek..."

Barga's slimy voice from beyond the curtain. His shadow crept to my feet—probably peeking for holes.

"D-don't come! I'm done!"

I shrieked, yanking the curtain aside and bolting out.

"Oho..."

Barga's eyes narrowed instantly, glued to the protrusions on my chest like magnets. His gaze licked my skin like a tongue.

"Well, damn—even rags look delicious on you, Saintess. Especially those perky holy peaks. Heh heh heh."

"Shut it! I paid—I'm out!"

Face burning with shame, I gripped Holy Sword Erilos like a cane and fled the shop. Nipple chafe sent shivers with every step.

To the inn, fast. Can't waste time on the street like this.

Head down, chest hunched, I sprinted west across the square. Barga's creepy laugh trailed me far too long.

Thud, thud. Bra-less breasts jiggled, rubbing fabric. Terror that my hidden contours broadcast to every man in town.

This world offered no protection. Only my knowledge and desperation were my shields.

Drunken Ox Inn... just get there.

Panting, I pushed toward the distant ramshackle wooden building. Tears welled from the raw nipple burn.

"Haa, haa..."

Steps to the inn felt leaden—not just my feet. Breasts rubbed raw sans bra.

Please, don't look. Don't look...!

Head down, eyes on ground—but stares stabbed like needles. Whispers. Ogling. Sleazy chuckles.

I ignored, lifting my head slightly—then froze.

"...Fucking hell."

Despair leaked from my lips. I'd blamed the system's clothing shrink on my body alone—but no.

Everyone's clothes were wrong. Women's market outfits clung obsessively to tits and ass cracks. Laborers' pants strained to burst.

Worst: the outlines.

"...No way, right?"

I doubted my eyes. A passing man's crotch: his "thing" bulged grotesquely through tight pants, long and heavy, swaying with each step, asserting presence.

"Oh, Saintess? What a body."

A woman brushed by, but my eyes stuck on her nipple prints through thin top. No bra—like me. Did this world even have underwear?

Everywhere... nothing but lewd scenery.

Should've been normal market bustle: selling, haggling, walking. But physics here twisted for sexual stimulation. Clothes accentuated more than nudity. Every motion felt like cheap erotica.

"Heh, Saintess. Hunching your tits just makes 'em pop more, y'know?"

A thug whispered, shoulder grazing mine. Chills exploded. His eyes on my chest—nipples standing proud through cloth, proof of my shame.

"...Move!"

I shoved past, sword forward. I knew it was an eroge world, but immersed? Pure torture.

Men's bulging cocks, women's crisp tit lines. Brain polluted with filth no matter what.

Hurry... hide in the inn.

Wanted to shut my eyes—but couldn't. Lewd events could pop anywhere in this hell.

Clutching my pounding heart, I poured my last strength toward the "Drunken Ox" sign.

The building was classic medieval European timber. But what grabbed me was the crude wooden sign at the eaves.

"...Hangul?"

My jaw dropped blankly. Gothic Hangul carved bluntly amid medieval fantasy vibes.

In-game, I'd shrugged it off as good localization. But real? Eerie dissonance wrapped me—modern prop in a set corner. Alien, yet the sole familiar comfort in this horror.

"Haa, haa..."

Clutching chest shame and ragged breaths, I gripped the inn door handle. Rowdy laughter, sour booze, and greasy oil wafted through the wood.

Here. The old man's inside.

Opening meant more lewd scenes unknown. But no choice. Better than gawking at men's crotch bulges outside—dim inn safer.

Clank. Trembling fingers pushed the door.

Creeeak!

Harsh friction revealed the interior. For a split second, the noisy air seemed to freeze.

Dozens of eyes poured onto me at the entrance.

"Hey, check it. Saintess?"

"Ooh, way holier than the rumors..."

Inn worse than streets. Day-drinking mercenaries and villagers had glazed eyes, zeroing on my chest bumps through thin cloth—like scripted.

"..."

Suppressing heart-leap panic, I clenched fists. Show fear, become prey. I forced a haughty saintess expression and strode to the dark corner Barga mentioned.

Clack, clack. Boots echoed loud. Ignored lewd whistles behind, eyes scanning for the "snoring old man."

Focus, Sodohui. Just a game quest.

But acrid booze stinging my nose and sticky gazes through cloth brutally reminded: this was no virtual dream.