There were a lot of things that sounded wonderful in theory. Being dressed entirely in gold, or silver, was one of them. Dallion had often wondered why such clothes weren’t as popular, given the wealth of some of the people in Nerosal. After all, the general had an entire room of gold sand that served no apparent purpose. When it came to clothes, though, gold was avoided, despite there being rolls of fabrics of it sold. Even Eury had “diluted” the gold strands in the clothes she had made him with other fabrics.

Now that Dallion was wearing the most magnificent outfit he had ever seen, made entirely out of silver, he understood why. It took considerable effort on his part not to rip it off and throw it away in disgust. After a few minutes, it felt like the equivalent of wearing a radiator in summer. Mory had assured him it wouldn’t get any worse, especially after sunset, though that didn’t make things better. And, of course, there could only be an extremely thin internal layer of cloth inside, because “the noble would spot if there wasn’t.”

That aside, the craftsmanship was remarkable. Mory had aged the threads, making sure that Dallion didn’t like wearing a bad Halloween costume of tin foil. His vest and trousers were “vintage dark” while the shirt—with actual silver buttons—was several shades lighter. The new harpsisword and dagger sheaths, along with the shield ornaments were bright as expected—and equally uncomfortable to Dallion’s guardians. The aramdil shield was outright unimpressed, going on the closest thing to a tirade Dallion had heard about dwarf forging skills and the ways they could turn metal into anything, including pillow fluff.

After another ten minutes of final adjustments, Dallion was taken back to the lobby, where the rest of the group were waiting. The thing was that they weren’t the only ones there.

“Looking good, Dal.” Someone stifled a laugh.

Half the guild had gathered with the sole purpose of getting a good laugh. Dallion could see amusement ringing through them, like a chorus of bells. He wasn’t the only one in that situation, though. Luor and Gloria were also dressed in a set of clothes that were just as uncomfortable as Dallion’s. The only difference was that the metal Mory had chosen for them was copper.

The prize, however, went to Vend. The elite was well groomed, dressed in a multi-layered custom suit that combined lace, three sets of metals and enough ornaments to make muggers have second thoughts about robbing him out of fear they would be mugged as a result.

“It’s not my first time,” Vend said, seeing Dallion’s reaction. “At some point it’s just better to have a set of clothes on hand. Anyway, ready to go?”

“Is it too late to say no?” Dallion asked semi-jokingly.

The answer was obvious.

Initially, Dallion expected the noble to send a carriage to get them to the noble in question. As it turned out, those things only worked in reverse. The group was expected to talk to the estate, where a carriage would take them and the noble to the Stone Garden. The only relief was the knowledge that no one would dare mess with them when in such clothes—no one in their right mind would risk annoying a city noble.

“Any of you know the proper etiquette?” Vend asked as the group walked through the city roads. Seeing them, crowds of people were already starting to gather.

Now Dallion understood why Hannah wasn’t too upset. Having it be known that her inn’s awakened were assisting a city noble with something was a sure way to increase her customer base.

“I’m familiar with the basics,” Veil said with a note of pride.

“Ignore them,” Vend quickly said. “Another practical lesson. We’re not going there to be their equals. We’re commoners, so we have to remain polite commoners.”

“Bow, spoke when spoken to, that sort of thing?” Dallion asked.

“Close enough. I’ll do the talking, although depending on who we get they might chat a bit with the pair over here.” Vend glanced at the Luors. “Most important thing. Don’t flatter them, don’t try to kiss ass, and don’t lie. Their perception is much higher than hours, and they hate that sort of thing. Polite, but honest, got it?”

Dallion nodded. On the surface, this sounded rather good. Not having to kiss up to some snobby noble was a welcome difference from Earth. However, the way Vend said it suggested there was a bit more to it.

They made their way through the normal parts of the into a place where a large stone wall emerged, similar in shape and thickness to the outer city walls. There were a set of guards there, and similar to the ones on the outer city gates, they didn’t care one bit that a bunch of people in expensive clothes went inside.

Apparently knowing that they were protecting deities tended to make people slack off. Of course, it also meant that if someone was strong enough to kill the nobles they were protecting, they wouldn’t do it in sneaky fashion.

The buildings inside the gate seemed remarkably simplistic, common almost. True, they were larger—though not higher—than most Dallion had already seen, and far less well kept. In several instances, Dallion managed to see cracks on a wall here and there.

Boredom, Nil sighed. That’s the price of being at a high level. They don’t have to keep up so other things become an obsession. Most of these buildings are made from bricks taken from ruins in the wilderness and transported here one at a time.

People really go for that? Dallion couldn’t believe it.

People probably won’t, but when you’re a noble, what does it matter? When you can turn tin to gold, having something that cannot be changed is considered far more special.

Why not just build their houses out of special materials?

Imperial decree. That is reserved only for the imperial family.

“Don’t stare,” Vend whispered.

“Is it rude?” Dallion asked out of habit.

“No. I don’t want to listen to the history of a building dressed like this.”

The building they were supposed to get to would have been considered extremely nice back on Earth, though here, Dallion had to exert his force of will not to enter the realm and repair it. Similar to an English manor, it had over hundred windows and three main entrances. Naturally, Vend led the group to the backdoor.

“Polite and honest,” he repeated, and knocked on the door.

Within seconds the door swung open, revealing an incredibly large person that would even give Grunt a run for his money. Giving Vend a clear look reserved for a servant who disapproved of the guests their noble had invited. Without saying a single world, the man made it very clear that none of the group were welcomed. It was an impressive talent, only overshadowed by the true disgust the man held towards them. Dallion could see it as bright as day, just as he could see the unusual amount of envy the giant held towards Vend.

“Wait here,” the servant grumbled, then gently closed the door.

He doesn’t like us much, does he? Dallion wondered.

His job is not to like you, dear boy. Servants are generally children of a family under a noble’s employment that don’t have the skill or courage to do anything else. Most haven’t even become double digits.

That made sense. There was no point to take the risk if they weren’t going to do anything with the newfound powers.

“How long does the waiting last?” Gloria asked. Back in the day, it was her family that played such games, so she knew the deal quite well.

“Not long,” Vend replied. “There’s betting involved, so no one would want to be accused of cheating.”

“That’s dumb,” Veil scoffed. “It’s not like an hour or two will change anything in terms of the bet. Grandpa used to—”

“Dal?” a familiar voice asked a short distance away. “What are you doing here?”

To Dallion’s great surprise, across the small garden separating manors, none other than Falkner was standing, saber in hand. His clothes were very different from what he wore in the guild. On the surface they appeared quite simpler, but with Dallion’s perception he could see the amount of special metal threads woven within. What was more, there was a coat of arms embroidered on his shirt.

“Falkner?” Dallion was just as surprised.

“We’re here on a job, your grace,” Vend quickly stepped in. “Apologies for not informing you.”

The moment of confusion quickly disappeared. Before Dallions very eyes, Falkner changed from the cheerful confused boy to an icy noble whose family ruled cities.

“It’s quite alright. I've only been a guest here for a short while.” His glance moved from Vend to the Luors. “Who are those?”

If you bothered to show up at the guild more, you’d have known, Dallion thought.

Careful, dear boy, Nil warned. This is his home. Here he’s not your guild mate. Here he's a future noble.

“New recruits, your grace,” Vend replied with the same calm he always had. Clearly this wasn’t the first time something of the sort had happened. “They’re village nobles and friends of Dal’s.”

There was a moment of silence, though not to Dallion. What the boy didn’t say Dallion’s music skills helped see—a level of infatuation he hadn’t seen since middle school.

“Pure blonds?” Falkner managed to say.

Great, Dallion wanted to facepalm. There goes another one. How do they do it? How big a deal is blond hair, anyway?

Hush, you’ll learn when you level up further, Nil said. It’s natural for a boy his age.

Before things could get any more awkward, the mansion backdoor opened again. Falkner immediately took the opportunity to walk away, pretending that he didn’t know Vend and the others, and the group discretely redirected their attention to their assisting noble.

“Is that them?” an old female voice asked.

Without a doubt, the person was very different from what Dallion expected. When the dryad guardian had said that it was likely they would send a less relevant member of the city lord’s family, Dallion had expected someone of the approximate age of his grandfather. Instead, he was looking at a woman who was pushing a hundred.

“Yes, Lady Marigold,” the servant said immediately. “Members of the Icepicker—”

“Ah, if it isn’t little Vend.” The woman swung her cane, interrupting her servant with a sizable push. Despite her appearance she remained a noble, which also meant that she likely had more points on body than the servant’s combined.

“Always a pleasure to see you, Milady,” Vend bowed, and to Dallion’s surprise actually meant it. “I was unaware that you had an interest in such mundane activities.”

“With everyone fussing over this stupid celebration, any excuse to get out of the house is welcome.” Slowly, she made her way out into the open. “Also, I bet a small sum when I heard you were involved.”

“Of course, Milady.” The elite smiled.

“So, who have you brought with you?” she turned to get a better look at the rest.

Dallion knew this whole time that the old woman routine was pretty much an act, and still he found himself acting as if it wasn’t, bending down, so she could get a better look at him.

“All fresh rookies from the wilderness,” Vend explained. “As far as I know they come from a village called—”

“Aren’t you a sweet one?” The woman pinched Veil by the cheek.

Dallion felt for his friends. This was one fight he could do nothing but lose.

“And pure blond too,” Lady Marigold went on. “My niece married a pure blond in the capital. Lovely boy. Although not as cute as you. You say you’re a village chief?”

Wait, when did he say that? Dallion asked.

Still haven’t caught on? She’s not asking because she doesn’t know, she’s asking to make polite conversation. Nobles make a point to know as much as possible about everything they get involved with. Everything and everyone.

“Yes, Milady,” Veil replied with a stiff expression. “One day more.”

“And ambitious. Everyone loves a boy with ambition. Well, maybe except his sister,” the woman turned to Gloria. “Keeping him in check, I hope?”

“Lady Marigold,” the servant interrupted, despite the fear that resonated throughout his very being. “Your carriage is here. Would you—”

“Who needs a carriage when Vend is with us?” The woman raised her cane slightly, causing the large man to brace himself. Thankfully, this time, nothing followed. “Isn’t that so, Vend?”

“Walking wouldn’t be my first choice, Milady. Not with a bet involved.”

“Thoughtful as always. I keep telling my ungrateful grandson to send more artifacts your way, but he seems to be obsessed with the big five. It’s this new fad. Back in my day we were happy to get the thing cleared. Now, it must come with a certificate saying which guild cleared it. Absolute nonsense, if you ask me.” The woman cleared her throat. “Very well. Get the wagon here. We have a garden to improve.”