“You’re kidding,” Mary deadpanned.

“Of course I’m not, honey. It’s a far too serious matter to joke about,” Margaret said. “The armour is your life!”

“Yeah, right. So how about I wear something that offers, you know - any protection?” She wondered if Hans would support her in this. She’d have to wait quite a while to know since he wasn’t exactly allowed to stroll through armoury’s women’s changing areas and was instead trying to grab some lunch for them.

“I’m telling you, this armour style is proven time and time again to be just as effective as a full plate armour.”

“Your head is exposed. Your stomach is exposed. Your heart isn’t directly exposed only due to skin and a couple ribs. Heck, even your thighs are exposed!” Mary said, exasperated. “If the enemy wanted to strike at a protected area, he would have it harder than killing you on the spot!”

Margaret spun around, demonstrating her… whatever that was. Mail bikini? Prank armour? Minimalistic coffin? Sister Angelica’s fit inducer set?

“Listen, honey, you can trust me on this - that’s how most of the heroines dress for the battle. And most of them survive - and at much higher rates than the male heroes, I’ll have you know. So if you want something that’s proven time and time again? Pick one like this. Be free, don’t let society judge you just because you’ve got a pretty face and a body to match. It’s their problem, not yours if they have a problem with it.”

Was that what her mentor meant when he told Mary that she should get an armour that actually protects her? Something that's supposedly well tested? She struggled to remember the details of their conversation, but it felt like it was another epoch... Still, she didn't feel like that's what he was going for.

Margaret stared at her motionlessly for a few long seconds. Finally, Mary said, “I’m not wearing that.”

Margaret sighed, and let her arms drop. “Why do you have to be so difficult?”

“Huh?”

“Everyone else somehow knows their jobs, and, well - the world in general. Why can’t you just relax, take out the stick stabilising your lower back’s spine, and just fit in?”

Mary spread her arms helplessly. “I just want to wear something more protective-”

“Oh, is that so? And the looks you keep sending me are probably just because of how worried you are that I’ll fall and scratch my butt on stone?”

Mary gaped at the other girl for a long minute, lost for words. It took all of her considerable brainpower to try to scramble the few she’d found managed into a response. “ But I… I just…”

“How about this, Miss Judgement,” Margaret said, visibly fed up. “You don’t comment, stare, nor judge my clothing, and I don’t comment on the SJW hovering over your shoulders everywhere you go, your sense of superiority or that excuse of jeans you insist on wearing to hide whatever complexes you have. Deal?”

Mary lowered her eyes. “Deal,” she almost whispered as she shook Margaret’s hand. “But… could I still wear something more covering?”

Margaret sighed and closed her eyes for a moment, but then the usual if unusually tired smile returned to her usual expression. “Alright, honey, let’s go get you something nice. I’m sure they will have… something unorthodox enough for you.”

“So… how much do you know about the battle we’re going to face?” Mary asked timidly, pecking at the hot dog Han’s brought her for lunch. They were currently sitting close to the Academy gate, on the uneven ground that wasn’t excessively soft, but definitely sandy. Some others were lying on sunbeds way back - those that didn’t want to get their hands dirty.

According to her promise, Margaret did find something even Mary would consider decent. It was a plate armour, with a lot of various paddings beneath it - the thing was heavy, bulky, and a bit smelly. It looked (and smelled) like what some boys wore, but it was hastily adjusted to almost fit the girl currently seeking protection within its metal shell.

“Not much,” Hans shrugged. “Only that we’re to face some forces of evil as supports. We’ll not be landing any serious hits on whatever comes at us - mostly, it’s just a simple ‘look cool, but not too cool in the background’ duty. You know, intimidation tactics and stuff.”

“It’s nothing too serious, honey,” Margaret added. Her annoyance at Mary’s earlier behaviour seemed subdued at worst, if not forgotten already. “We may end up slicing an orc, or skeleton, or whatever it is, that it’s going to be today. Just try not to lose your head. Or any limb you’re particularly fond of.”

“Don’t forget about the blood either,” Hanse said. “It’s hard to get too attached to any particular drop, but if you lose them all… it’s not gonna be pretty.”

Mary looked around at the desert sands trapped within Academy’s walls. Other parties were slowly assembling, preparing to march out and face the enemy - whatever it would be. For some reason, they weren’t going to benefit from the protection of walls. She didn’t think it was just because of the drilling stare of Tanuor, their pet bull statue - for some reason, others were mostly unbothered by the thing.

Unfortunately, she had to admit (to herself, at least) that Margaret did have some point - her armour preference wasn’t particularly uncommon among other heroines. Sure, she was a bit on the less modest side of things - but to Mary’s surprise, she wasn’t particularly distinctive. There were even entire parties with matching outfits like that - she shuddered at the thought of being forced to dress like that in public.

Heck, right now, she was actually sticking out herself - sure, there were other girls decent by her standards, but… yeah, she could still count them on the fingers of her hands. And, well… even in the deep-red light of the setting sun, she had to admit that her choice of garments wasn’t as practical as she’d hoped either - there was a good chance that if she were to use it around noon, the heat would boil her before any enemy could shoot her with their arrow.

Hmm… actually… Was the sun supposed to be that shade of red?

Hans didn’t seem to think so either - he lifted himself up, swatting sand and scorpions to the ground. “It’s time.”

Wait. Scorpions? Mary shot upwards, frantically trying to see if anything was using her as a catwalk. With each move, her armour clanked loudly, and a high, but very dignified squeak left her mouth on its way to see the world.

She drew quite a lot of the attention from other parties, and the mixture of smirks and disapproval she saw on surrounding faces would probably fill her reserve nightmare fuel - she needed to sleep through them a lot quicker, or the tank would explode - and that was really new one, she’d just upgraded it a week ago!

Still… oh, right, the sun. So, by now, it was clear that whatever the crimson glow was coming from, it was not the ball of fire she was familiar with. How could she tell so easily, one might wonder?

Well, for starters, the sun wasn’t usually surrounded by the plethora of grey spider legs.