Chapter 57: A private show
The rest of dinner passed quietly. The stares, the murmurs, the earlier interruption — Oliver forced them out of his mind, and Isolde seemed content to let it go too.
By the time they stepped out of the restaurant, the night air was cool and crisp, the cobblestone streets glistening faintly under the glow of magical lanterns.
Without really thinking about it, Oliver reached out and took Isolde’s hand.
She glanced at him, her crimson eyes softening just a little, and squeezed his hand back. Whatever frustration lingered from before melted into something warmer.
As they walked down the moonlit street, Oliver’s gaze caught on a shop at the corner — its sign was a simple crossed-sword and hammer symbol, and its window display gleamed with polished steel.
"Hey, there’s an armory," Oliver said, stopping in his tracks.
Isolde followed his gaze.
"Since we have money now," Oliver continued, "we could buy some weapons. And... maybe some tools. You did say you’d teach me runesmithing."
Isolde tilted her head, then smiled faintly. "Hmm~ That’s not a bad idea. We can’t let that talent of yours go to waste, can we?"
"Of course not," Oliver said with a grin. "I can’t always hide behind a woman."
Isolde stopped walking, her smirk turning into an exaggerated pout. "Oh? Do you dislike the idea of being protected by me that much?"
Oliver quickly shook his head. "No, no, of course not! I just mean... I want to be able to pull my own weight too."
Her lips curved into a teasing smile again. "Good. Because I was starting to enjoy bossing you around a little too much."
Oliver groaned, running a hand through his hair. "You’re never going to let me live that down, are you?"
"Not a chance," she said sweetly.
They resumed walking, their playful bickering following them all the way to the shop.
~~~~
Inside, the armory was bright and meticulously organized, the warm glow of enchanted lamps reflecting off polished steel.
Rows of weapons gleamed along the walls — swords, spears, axes, and bows of every kind. The air smelled of oil, leather, and faintly of soot, a smell Oliver found oddly comforting.
The shopkeeper, a burly man with a thick beard and arms like tree trunks, looked up from where he was polishing a shield. "Evening. Looking for weapons, armor, or something else?"
"Both," Oliver said, his excitement barely contained. "Mostly weapons and... any tools for rune carving you might have."
The man’s thick brows rose a little. "Rune carving, huh? Haven’t had a customer ask for that in a while." He set down the shield and gestured toward a glass case behind the counter. Inside lay several delicate, pen-like instruments with gleaming crystal tips.
"That there’s a runic pen," the shopkeeper explained. "Made from dwarven silver, with a mana-conductive crystal tip. You channel mana into it and carve into just about anything — wood, bone, steel, even stone. Price is five gold coins."
Oliver nearly choked. "Five—five gold?! For a pen?!"
Isolde just smirked, leaning her elbow on the counter. "Runesmithing isn’t a cheap craft, master. You want power, you have to invest in it."
Oliver groaned but reached into his pouch anyway. "Fine. But this had better be worth it."
The shopkeeper grinned, clearly happy to make the sale.
From there, Oliver began picking out weapons — not high-class enchanted ones, but sturdy, basic ones that were cheap enough to be considered expendable.
"I’ll take this one," he said, pointing to a simple steel longsword. Then a short sword. Then a spear. Then another spear.
Isolde arched an eyebrow. "Planning to arm an entire militia?"
"No, but..." Oliver scratched his cheek sheepishly. "I’m going to mess up a lot before I get this right. Might as well have spares."
"Wise thinking," the shopkeeper said approvingly. "Rune carving’s tricky work. Slip once and you’ll ruin the weapon. Better to start with cheap steel than lose an enchanted blade."
By the end, they had a small pile of gear:
Three standard longswordsTwo short swordsFour iron spearsA small bag of practice daggersA whetstone and oil set for maintenanceAnd, of course, the gleaming new runic pen
Oliver winced when the shopkeeper totaled everything up — nearly eight gold coins altogether — but he paid without complaint.
"Think of it as an investment," Isolde said cheerfully as they stepped back outside, their new purchases stowed neatly inside Oliver’s space pouch.
Oliver groaned. "An investment that just emptied my wallet again."
"You’ll live," Isolde said with a teasing grin. "Besides, once you start learning runesmithing, you’ll be able to make weapons worth ten times this amount."
That made Oliver perk up a little. "...Okay, that does sound pretty good."
~~~~
The walk back to the inn was quiet, peaceful — the moon hanging low, bathing the cobblestone streets in silver light.
By the time they stepped through the inn’s front door, Serena was waiting at the counter with her usual warm smile.
"Oh, welcome back!" she said cheerfully. "How did it go?"
Oliver and Isolde exchanged a glance. Then Oliver grinned, pulling his guild card from his pouch and holding it up proudly.
"See for yourself," he said.
Serena’s eyes widened slightly as she leaned over to inspect it. When she saw the newly stamped 1 under Missions Completed, her smile brightened even more.
"Well, look at you two!" she said, clapping her hands together. "First mission completed, officially adventurers now. That calls for a little celebration!"
Oliver chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. "We actually already had dinner elsewhere... sorry."
Serena’s lips formed an exaggerated pout. "And here I was ready to make you my special roast."
Oliver blinked at her reaction and, before he could stop himself, thought, ...That’s actually kind of cute.
Isolde stepped in smoothly. "We appreciate the thought, but we’re tired. We’ll just head up to our room."
Serena nodded understandingly, though there was a teasing glint in her eyes as they turned to leave.
"Alright," she called after them. "But make sure you two aren’t too loud tonight!"
Oliver nearly tripped on the stairs. "Wha—?! Serena!"
Her laughter followed them all the way up to the second floor.
When they entered their room, Isolde shut the door behind them, then — to Oliver’s mild surprise — raised her hand and muttered a spell.
A faint shimmer rippled through the air, and the room suddenly felt... muffled, as though a thick blanket had been wrapped around it.
"...What was that?" Oliver asked.
Isolde turned to him with a sly smile. "Noise-cancellation barrier," she said matter-of-factly. "Wouldn’t want Serena to overhear us after that little remark of hers, would we?"
Oliver blinked. "...Wait, are you saying we’re—"
Before he could finish, Isolde stepped close, pressing a finger to his lips.
"I did say I’d give you a reward for completing your first quest," she said, her crimson eyes smoldering with mischief. "Consider this your hero’s feast."
Oliver swallowed hard. "...You’re really dangerous when you say things like that, you know."
"Mm." Her smirk widened. "Then I suppose you’d better prepare yourself, master."
~~~~
The first outfit was tame — at least compared to what followed.
A thin silk robe, barely reaching mid-thigh, tied loosely at the waist. Isolde stepped out from behind the folding screen, barefoot, her hips swaying as she moved.
She paused just a few feet away from the bed, tugging on the sash until the robe fell open just enough to show a deep hint of cleavage and the curve of her toned stomach. Then, with an elegant motion, she let it slide off one shoulder, baring smooth dark skin to the warm lamplight.
Oliver’s mouth went dry. "...That’s not exactly sleepwear."
"It’s in fashion among noblewomen these days," Isolde said with a faint laugh, letting the robe slip entirely from her shoulders before pulling it back on loosely. Then she turned, giving him a view of the robe clinging to her hips, before disappearing behind the screen again.
~~~~
The second outfit was far less tame.
Black lace, so sheer it barely counted as clothing, clung to her curves like a second skin. The bra left almost nothing to the imagination, her nipples clearly outlined beneath the thin fabric, and the panties were cut high, showing off the full curve of her ass.
Isolde turned in a slow circle, letting him see every angle, every inch. When she faced him again, she hooked her thumbs into the waistband and tugged it down just a little — not enough to reveal everything, but enough to make Oliver’s breath hitch.
"Y-You bought this just to torture me, didn’t you?" he said, his voice hoarse.
"Perhaps," Isolde said, her lips curling into a teasing smile. "You look so cute when you’re trying not to drool."
Then, with a deliberately slow motion, she cupped her breasts from below, pressing them together and giving them a little bounce.
Oliver groaned and gripped the pillow tighter.
~~~
The third outfit nearly killed him.
A black corset that cinched her waist and made her chest look impossibly full, paired with thigh-high stockings and delicate heels that clicked softly against the wooden floor.
She strutted toward him like a catwalk model, hips swaying with every step. When she reached the bed, she climbed onto it on all fours, crawling toward him with her ass raised high, the corset squeezing her figure into sinful perfection.
When she reached him, she arched her back like a cat stretching, her ass swaying inches from his lap.
Oliver swallowed hard. "You’re gonna kill me..."