The morning mist had yet to disperse when a luxury carriage adorned with flowers and ribbons pulled up in front of the Church.
Yuna stood beside the carriage, her face beaming with a radiant smile.
Celia stood at the doorway, her gaze shifting back and forth between the flashy carriage and Yuna.
There was no escape.
Celia sighed and glanced back over her shoulder.
Lynn was hiding behind the door, poking her head out, curiously watching Celia.
As an assistant, Lynn had no idea what kind of deal her Priestess had struck with the Baker’s granddaughter — she only knew they’d be heading out for a long trip today.
“Lynn.” Celia waved her over.
“Yes, Lady Celia.”
“As a member of the Church, how could I possibly enjoy this chance to see the big city all by myself?”
Celia wore a look of solemn righteousness on her face.
“So, you’re coming along too.”
“Eh, me? But someone has to stay and watch the Church.” Lynn pointed at her own nose, still stunned by this sudden stroke of fortune.
“That’s not important. Today is the Fashion Festival—just treat it as a holiday and relax.” Celia waved her hand dismissively.
“Brilliant!” Yuna circled around Lynn, as if appraising a raw, uncut gem.
“How could I not think of this? Just having fallen black isn’t enough—you need pure white for contrast, to really push that sense of forbidden allure to the limit!”
“Lynn, get in the carriage! I just so happen to have a spare outfit!”
Before Lynn could figure out what ‘forbidden allure’ meant, Celia and Yuna had already ushered her into the carriage, one on each side.
Elent, meanwhile, sat next to the driver’s seat with his broadsword slung across his back.
His task today was not only to protect them, but to play the role of an unfortunate Fallen Knight.
……
“Hold still, Celia. I need to extend the eyeliner upward a little more—it should have a hint of contempt for the world.”
Inside the carriage, Yuna pressed Celia’s chin with a brush in hand.
Celia was forced to tilt her head up, instinctively wanting to blink as the cool tip traced the corner of her eye.
“Don’t blink,” Yuna ordered.
Celia could only stare at the wood grain on the carriage ceiling, forcing herself to keep still.
A moment later, Yuna finished her work. She handed Celia a mirror.
The person in the mirror wore dark red lipstick, her eyes deep and sultry, the usually clear green irises now looking a bit dreamy under the accentuated eyeliner.
Clad in a revealing black Saintess Robe, Celia felt less like a Priestess and more like a succubus in a tavern, harvesting souls.
“Perfect. Now it’s your turn, Lynn.”
“M-me too? Do I have to look like that?” Lynn, seeing Celia’s appearance, went pale and clutched her chest with both hands.
“No, no, no—you’re the control group.”
Yuna pulled a pure white robe from the trunk.
The contrast between this outfit and Celia’s could not have been more stark.
It was astonishingly modest—layers upon layers of white lace and heavy satin, the collar buttoned all the way to the chin, the sleeves so long they covered the backs of the hands.
Atop her head, a Nun Cap embroidered with golden thread.
The whole ensemble was so proper not a sliver of skin was exposed.
“Put it on.”
Once Lynn was dressed, she looked just like a Saintess from a Church mural: sacred, pure, and untouchable.
“So cute!” Yuna exclaimed in admiration once again.
Only, this “Saintess” was now trembling with nerves.
“Lady Celia, this outfit is so heavy.” Lynn tugged at her skirt, seeking help from Celia.
Celia gazed at the flawless white-clad Lynn before her, then looked down at the fishnet stockings on her own legs.
No contrast, no pain.
But this was just what she wanted.
As long as Lynn looked pure enough, everyone’s attention would be drawn to her—in which case, maybe Celia’s own bizarre getup wouldn’t stand out so much.
Celia reached out to tidy Lynn’s collar.
With a faint metallic clink, Celia’s hand—gloved in black lace—rested on Lynn’s pure white shoulder.
Black and white, fallen and sacred, formed a striking visual contrast in that moment.
Yuna, fired up by the scene, pulled out her notebook and began scribbling down inspiration at a frantic pace.
“Lynn, remember, this is all about spreading the majesty of the Church. White stands for the mercy of light, black for the coldness of judgment. We are twins of light and shadow—one cannot exist without the other.” Celia uttered nonsense with a straight face.
Looking into Celia’s eyes, Lynn gradually calmed her nerves.
If Lady Celia said so, there must be a deeper meaning.
“I understand! I won’t let you down, Lady Celia!”
Celia withdrew her hand, guilty, and looked away.
This child is just too easy to fool.
……
By noon, the carriage had arrived at Baker City.
As the annual Fashion Festival, today Baker City was even livelier than usual.
The streets were packed with merchants and tourists from all around, banners fluttered in the breeze, and everywhere people strutted about in all kinds of strange costumes.
The carriage pulled up at a temporary backstage entrance near the Central Square.
“We’re here, let’s get out.” Yuna hopped out first, beckoning to those inside.
The door opened, and the noisy crowd suddenly fell silent.
A foot clad in battered leather boots touched down, followed by Elent—covered in fake wounds, tattered leather pants, his bare torso bound with a few Bandages.
His muscular physique drew more than a few glances from the female adventurers in the crowd.
Feeling the stares, Elent blushed, but remembering the Priestess’s instructions, he forced himself to keep a stern face, pretending to be fierce.
Celia crawled out of the carriage first, with Lynn following timidly behind, clutching Celia’s sleeve. Last was Yuna.
The odd trio stood together on the street.
The fierce, injured Knight; the seductive Fallen Nun; and the pure, flawless Saintess.
“Which theater troupe is that?”
“Oh my god, that black-clad nun is so shameless.”
“What a daring design!”
Voices of discussion surged like the tide.
Celia forced herself to ignore all the stares. If I don’t feel awkward, it’s others who’ll feel awkward.
But before they could take a few steps, a familiar voice rang out from the crowd.
“Hey, isn’t that the girl who sells Abyssal Black Dragon’s Breath?”
Celia froze.
It was the Association Appraiser whom she’d once sprayed in the face with Happy Water, now peering at her from among the onlookers.
The old Appraiser’s gaze wandered over Celia’s fishnet stockings, Lynn’s Saintess Robe, and Elent’s muscles, finally settling on the Collar around Celia’s neck.
A look of sudden realization crossed the Appraiser’s face.
“So that’s it,” he muttered to himself. “This must be some high-level ritual attire for summoning a black dragon!”
“I knew that potion was something special. Sure enough, only in this kind of sacrificial getup could you create a flavor that pierces the soul!”
Celia watched as the Appraiser spiraled deeper into his own fantasy. After a moment’s silence, she replied in a haughty tone:
“Since you understand, why are you still in the way?”
“Mortals should not gaze into the abyss.”
The Appraiser immediately stepped aside.
With Elent and Lynn in tow, Celia walked on with a proud, indifferent stride, passing under the Appraiser’s awestruck gaze and the amazed stares of passersby.
Oh well, since we’re here.
As long as we make it through the Fashion Festival, I’ll have a year’s worth of free cheese tarts.
Let’s do this.
These cheese tarts are like mini cheese cakes.