In the darkness of the military tent, Walter's hands explored Elin's body, like a mounted rider rediscovered his homeland. Studiously, he lifted her new leather corset onto her torso and contracted the lacing.

"A little tighter, please," Elin asked.

"You're sure?" Walter whispered.

"Mhm. I don't want it to shift."

The strings creaked under tension. After securing the knot, Walter pressed his hips against Elin's rear, and she released an embarrassed giggle. Donning her armor was an unexpectedly intimate ordeal. As she endured it, her thighs habitually squeezed together, and Walter grunted.

When she told him, "You have to be my squire," she meant it as a joke, and he laughed with her. Yet, here he was.

"My apologies, I didn't intend to," she rasped, "Does it look nice?"

"Yeah," he said, "It's hard to hold back."

"We will, if you wish, as always," Elin held her breath a moment, "but please wait until after the quest."

Hollowness panged her lower belly when he leaned away.

Walter designed and gifted the armor to her, though it barely qualified as protection. When he mentioned, "Making armor fit for a heroine," she imagined the women immortalized in the illuminated manuscripts and stained-glass windows. Female heroic armor exposed skin. Without their legendary enchantments, combat would be suicide. Though outrageous, Elin believed them beautiful, worn by the greatest and most stylish women to ever live.

Scholars often debated the heroine's survivability, despite taunting the enemy with a brazen exhibition. Now she knew why. Heroines were absurdly durable, or, at the very least, their bonus HP worked just as effectively as their male counterparts.

Elin's cheeks burned hot at the potential exposure but craved the change. No longer would she suffer a sheet of metal crushing and bruising her breasts; no longer would her feminine silhouette be erased by bulky padding and chainmail. With her newfound physical durability, she resisted injury better than her ruined paladin armor, attacking her was meaningless.

Walter confused her because he ordered more material tailored than she anticipated.

Leather concealed most of her skin. Thigh-high boots covered the entirety of her legs and sported disappointingly flat heels, and a pleated skirt draped over her hips. Form-fitting pauldrons strapped to her shoulders, and vambraces to her forearms and the backs of her hands. Thankfully, he corset didn't cover her to her neck. Cleavage propped up proudly by the formed material; elf maidens created flattering leatherwork.

Walter forced a compromise on the color. The majority was dyed white, as he planned. Underneath and atop of her left breast were two red roses with stylized petals, and their thorny stems, also dyed red, coiled down her ribs and waist. The line continued between the pieces and stopped above her left ankle. To this day, she did not reveal her motivation for the red. Elin wanted to wear a reminder of Walter's spilled blood, because of her mistake, and under no circumstances would it be permitted again.

Walter held up a mirror, and Elin studied herself in the candlelight. Her misgivings about the conservative coverage faded.

Not only did she appear heroic, but she also felt classy.

If she looked at her shadow, ignoring the fluttering skirt, then it would be easy to mistake her for a naked silhouette. Since Walter designed it, that means he thought of her with a heroine's beauty. Comparatively, she stood out. Where skimpy armor framed her body on display like a painting, this outfit alighted the imagination, like peeking through a dress's hip-slit.

"I love it." Elin kissed him.

Her grin expanded mid-kiss when he wrapped a short red cloak around her shoulders, which dangled to her lower back.

"One last thing," Walter said.

He revealed a polished steel rapier. Intricate metal rosepetals decorated the handguard, and the blade, a little thicker and heavier than average, displayed an acid-etched stem with thorns. The dense weight suited her strength.

"You committed to the rose motif. How much did it cost?"

Walter sighed, "We're broke. We'll be monster killing for the rest of the winter."

"That might not be a problem soon. It feels sturdy. I'll make excellent use of it." She sheathed the sword and turned to model it. "Does it suit me?"

"Very."

When they exited the tent, Elin nostalgically scanned Camp Wolf. The camp was physically the same. Long-standing temporary structures crowded the entirety of it. Noblemen promised, habitually, to upgrade, but they rarely delivered. The only permanent buildings were the motte and bailey, where the officers, suffering the displeasure of managing the camp, slept, ate, and issued orders, and even those were crude.

I fought and lived here for years, but I don't recognize anyone.

Silence usually dominated the camp's mornings, because monsters primarily attacked at night, and the soldiers rested during the day. Sergeants barked orders, in practiced growls, since the dawn, and the soldiers marched with a sense of urgency. They scooped the scattered gravel into meticulous pathways, organized the supplies along chalk lines, and brushed and cleaned all visible surfaces. Armor and weapons gleamed.

"Are those trebuchets? I didn't notice them before," Walter asked.

Elin tracked Walter's line of sight to the siege weapons towering over the motte and bailey walls, "Yes. We call them, 'Fang and Claw.' We use them if the undead army is particularly numerous."

Ship-sized triangular berms of earth, reinforced with mortarless masonry, created the front line, which Elin called, 'The Jaws of the Wolf,' and she explained the undead funneled into the shrinking spaces between the berms. The grossly outnumbered soldiers defeated the monsters piecemeal, and mages launched spells from the safety of the raised ground.

Military officers, affluent citizens, and unseated nobility visited for Elin's combat exhibition on a central berm. She quietly bristled. Undoubtedly, Priestess Evelyn reported Elin's Level 100 status to the Temple of Gaia and the governor of Letun, and they, in turn, certainly informed the seated nobility, and possibly royalty. The news of a boss monster defeated, by itself, warranted more of a response. Instead? The respondents were a gaggle of disinterested farmers, wagoneers, and bookkeeping lieutenants.

On the outskirt of the group was Priestess Evelyn, and the two locked eyes for a moment before Elin forced her attention away.

After a dramatic yawn, a man dressed in a glossy black fur overcoat greeted her. "Lady Elin. I am Lord Remont Manticore, governer of Letun. We have gathered here to confirm your ability. It's our understanding you have achieved the level of 100?"

She sighed and buried her impatience. "That's correct."

"Then, if that's true, we would appreciate your help in a difficult matter," Lord Remont said, "The Pale Troll has long been a threat to the nearby area. It shall be your mission to eliminate it. The army will be in reserve--"

"That won't be necessary," Elin's voice was curt, and, to erase her annoyance, she cleared her throat after-the-fact, "Surely the Lord of Letun has received news about my level? There is no need to risk their lives, so allow me the honor of single combat."

"Yes, about that," Lord Remont's voice was dry and dragged on, "We would like to perform an independent 'Scan' of your progress. Although we must investigate claims of heroism, forgive us, it is difficult to believe you out-of-hand. Is there an oracle present at Camp Wolf?"

Priestess Evelyn said, "There is," and she did not look pleased to reveal the information.

Little Laria soon arrived, carried by Sister Lora, the child in one arm and a large book in the other. When Laira saw Elin and Watler, her smile grew, and she fidgeted in only a way a child can. Soon, she squirmed enough to convince Sister Lora to set her down, and the child sprinted to them. Sister Lora's smooth stride increased despite the nun's habit and positioned herself between the girl and the crowd.

Laira's arms wrapped around Walter's knees, and the colliding force wobbled him. "I missed the two of you! The knight and the giant!"

"Hello to you, too," Walter rubbed Laira's head.

She beamed in delight.

I don't have to be jealous of a little girl, Elin thought. I don't.

"Giant?" Lord Remont muttered. He glanced between Walter and Priestess Evelyn. When no explanation was forthcoming, he rolled his eyes. "We're all busy men, so, if you don't mind, please save the stories for later."

Once Laira performed the 'Scan 2' spell, Elin's information appeared upon a floating holographic box.

Elin Level 100 HP 9,999 / 9,999

Where is my last name? Elin thought. A scan never failed to reveal it before.

The crowd leaned forward to stare. Moments dragged by as the read, and re-read, the scant information. Murmuring increased like a gathering storm, until the crowd's composure collapsed like rainfall. "It's true!" "All nines! Is that even possible?" "By Gaia, could this be a new age?" "We have to let everyone know!"

Lord Remont stared transfixed at the holographic box until it disappeared, only then did he speak. He eyed the book in Sister Lora's hands and asked, "May I see Lady Elin's 'Lineage Testimony'?"

So it's 'Lady' now?

Sister Lora propped up the book, and Priestess Evelyn flipped through its pages. When she found Elin's entry, she stepped aside, and Lord Remont rushed forward.

His voice stretched like a strained piano wire, "Paladin and Valkyrie? Does she possess a poly-lineage?! Are they both active? How absurdly potent!"

The revelation caused another flurry of excited rambling from the crowd. An argument swirled in the middle of their frantic kowtowing: someone offered their son, and someone chided she shouldn't be sullied by a low-born. Soon, everyone attempted to arrange a marriage. Many agreed a reverse harem was the only option.

"Though it manifested," Elin yelled over the crowd, "My paladin abilities are no longer accessible to me. I won't speak of the reasons. Furthermore, I will not be married this day."

"Even still!" Lord Remont said.

Elin clapped her hands once, and the crowd silenced. "I believe you brought me here for a reason? Shall I defeat the Pale Troll?"

"Yes, of course!" Lord Remont said, "Should it please you to do so!"

"I will take my leave. Advise me when the Pale Troll is located." I know it's rude for me to leave first since I hold the lower social rank, but I can't endure their chatter any longer.

When Elin and Walter turned to leave, Lord Remont snatched Walter by the upper arm. "Where do you think you're going? We need a proper entourage for a heroine! Get out of my sight! Get out of her sight, peon!"

Elin snarled and reached for Lord Remont's wrist. However, she only grabbed air, since he recoiled away from Walter like a poisonous asp bared its fangs. An awkward moment stretched, while Remont stared in disbelief at Walter, and Walter tilted his head in confusion.

"Let me make one thing perfectly clear," Elin's tone was threateningly low, "Sir Walter is my squire and no other. Do not make me repeat the reminder."

"You will need a deponent, as all heroes do," Lord Remont said, shaking his hand, "My apologies, Sir Walter. I hadn't realized the strength of your loyalty."