The Black Mage's Radical Makeover (7)
"What? What's going on?!"
Kali was still barking outside, and amid the noise, Idi's voice mixed in.
"Kali... sis... don't bark..."
That's weird. Kali had stopped fearing Idi after the holy water bath, so why was he barking like that today?
In the meantime, Idi and Pelle entered the inn.
"Kali doesn't recognize me... hehe..."
Idi scratched her head with a foolish grin.
The moment I saw her, I dropped the knife in my hand. It fell straight down, stabbing into the wooden floor.
Marim and Brione, who had been tussling over the cabbage, froze in place. Della covered her mouth with both hands like she'd witnessed something utterly shocking, while Celereja on the landing rubbed her eyes repeatedly, as if questioning what she was seeing.
Idi stood there, blushing shyly in outrageously provocative clothes. It was a sleeveless knit top that clung tightly to her body, with a large inverted triangle cutout exposing the center of her chest. Her skin, deprived of sunlight, was so pale it bordered on ghostly white. The exposed upper cleavage gleamed almost illusorily. Her waist was slim compared to her massive breasts, flaring out immediately into wide hips. The knit ended at her hips—just barely covering her panties. Her plump, juicy thighs and slender calves were as white as her chest, and her small, chubby feet were squeezed into high heels. She looked a bit unsteady and awkward in the unfamiliar shoes, but that only made her seem all the more endearing. If she'd worn them confidently, it might have felt off-putting instead.
Even in the summer heat, she was sweating, so the lower part of her chest was darkly stained. But more shocking than the outfit was her hair. Gone was the messy, unkempt mane hanging to her waist—instead, glossy obsidian-like short hair swayed like velvet.
Seeing our reactions, Idi smiled bashfully.
"Hehe... how do I look...?"
"Uh..."
Marim was the first to speak. She'd spent the least time with Idi among us, so maybe the shock was less for her.
"Who are you...?"
No, it wasn't less shock—it was just that she straight-up didn't recognize her.
"Marim... it's me, Idwild... hehe... what's wrong..."
As Idi scratched her head, her smooth, sweat-glistened armpit came into view.
"Eek?!"
Marim let out a bizarre yelp. That broke the ice, and gasps of admiration erupted from all around.
"You scared us, Lady Idi. My god... how can a person change this much...?"
Della gently stroked Idi's short bob, as if touching something forbidden.
Celereja bounded down the stairs and circled Idi, inspecting her. Marim fiddled dazedly with her big ears.
Idi answered Celereja and Della's questions with an embarrassed expression.
Pelle, arms crossed in the back, watched the scene before sauntering off to the kitchen without a word.
I was utterly entranced by Idi's absurd outfit and figure.
Was she... always like this? No matter how I thought about it, I'd pegged her as just a gloomy, hunchbacked girl with a bit of a belly and pallid skin...
"Dressed up like that, you're so damn pretty."
Turning around, I saw Brione smirking at Idi, the cabbage in her hand torn to shreds and shedding leaves.
So, here's the full story of the 'incident.'
The moment lunchtime ended, Pelle forcibly stripped off Idwild's apron and dragged her by the wrist out of the inn.
Outside waited a cart piled high with Idwild's bizarre clothes and a mule. Kali wagged his tail to follow, but Pelle glared and shooed him away.
"Whine..."
Intimidated by the demon, Kali slunk back into his doghouse.
Pelle led Idwild—who was pulling the cart and mule—down the street, where the scorching midsummer sun beat down on their heads.
"Hot... how much hotter will it get in real summer..."
Already drenched in sweat, Idwild tugged weakly at the hem dipping into her cleavage, fanning herself.
"Tell your innkeeper to catch an Asenaris or something."
"Asenaris...? What's that...?"
"You're a black mage, but you don't know monster names?"
Asenaris were spirit-like monsters half-kin to elementals, inhabiting the northern mountain ranges around pioneer cities like Apenzel. Their trait: ceaselessly emitting cold air. There was even a rumor that the north's killer frosts were due to them.
"Catch one, and it'd cool the whole inn."
"Really...? Maybe I should ask Bertrand... sweat smells might bother the guests..."
Pelle suddenly grabbed Idwild's arm and yanked her close. Caught off-guard, Idwild stumbled into her.
Taller than Idwild, Pelle bent down, pressing her nose to Idi's nape and sniffing.
Idwild jolted back in panic.
"You stink...!"
"Hm. No smell besides soap."
There was a faint sweat scent, of course. But the inn's premium soap was strongly scented. Staff always carried its fragrance, intensifying with sweat in the heat.
Pelle exaggerated by saying only soap—no reason for it. For someone like Idwild with rock-bottom self-esteem, positivity and praise were key first. Praising others didn't come easy to Pelle, so this was her way of boosting her.
"But... what are we doing in town...?"
"Hair salon and clothing store."
"Huh...? Why...? Cutting your hair? You look pretty already..."
"Not mine—yours. And new clothes."
Idwild tilted her head, stroking her frizzy mop.
"Why cut it? Waste of money...? Hot in summer, but warm in winter..."
"Is that hair or fur? Cut it now."
Even under the blazing noon sun, Pelle's cool tone made Idwild nod obediently.
"And buying clothes."
"Uh... but I have no money..."
Pelle sighed at the hesitant Idwild, then scolded her for wasting wages on such crap before saying,
"Money's coming soon."
They arrived at the clothing store where Idwild was a regular, cart in tow. It was sizable, but Pelle sized it up instantly.
Place stocked with cheap crap, waiting for suckers.
"Wait here."
"It's hot..."
Leaving Idwild and the mule outside, Pelle entered alone.
The owner emerged—a middle-aged woman in horn-rimmed glasses and a bizarre feathered pin. Her wrap dress ill-fit her plump frame, explaining why she'd peddled that garbage to Idwild.
She hesitated at Pelle's horns but, recognizing an inn worker, plastered on a fake smile.
"Hoho. From 'Crossroads Troll,' I see. Oh my, so slender and stylish."
Flattering nonstop, she eyed Pelle up and down, gauging how much she could squeeze.
But Pelle's cold, dismissive gaze unnerved her. Unlike the frequent big-boobed dimwit, this was no pushover.
"Looking for a leather jacket. Preferably with ornate shoulder decorations."
"Perfect—I have just the thing for your long, sleek build. Lucky day, sis."
Cheap service, cheap laugh, cheap flattery. That's how Pelle pegged her.
The owner fetched one from the rack—identical to Idi's, with horn-like shoulder bits.
"This here's Penshraits cowhide..."
"How much."
"Huh...? Oh, feisty one. Twenty silver."
Idwild had said fifty. Price-gouging based on the mark, as expected.
"Hey. You sold it to someone else for fifty—why twenty to me?"
"Fifty? No way. It's twenty. Must've misheard."
Pelle pointed outside. There sat sweaty Idwild petting the mule, cart overflowing with clothes.
The owner spotted her, covered her mouth, and chuckled. Her beady eyes behind the glasses spun for an out.
But Pelle didn't wait.
"Scamming the clueless like that? Refund it all."
"What? Refund? Already sold—no take-backs, hoho."
She waved it off laughing, but Pelle didn't smile. She stepped forward.
"You knew those clothes were unwearable when you lied to sell them. Should've expected this. And why the informal tone since earlier?"
"You demon bitch, threatening me?!"
The owner dropped the mask as Pelle did. No one with a mild temper pulls shady deals.
"Work at an inn and think you're human? Call the guards now—who gets hauled off, me or you?! Huh?!"
But she couldn't finish. Pelle seized her collar with crushing grip.
Choking, the owner stared into Pelle's face—and froze in heart-stopping terror. Pelle's pupils slit vertically like a snake's, black scales sprouting from her nape, crawling up her jaw to cover her face.