The Wind Sprites in their Verdant Fairy Ensemble rose like lotuses breaking the lake, otherworldly maidens stepping down from clouded peaks. Bees and butterflies swirled, brown boots tapped a birdsong rhythm. Long white legs gleamed, slender lines flowed like a spring river running east.
Green knee-highs added a playful glow, bright as young leaves after rain, and the shy purity of the girls blushed like dawn on porcelain.
The mercs, used to boozing with their bros, never stood a chance. Platters and mugs hit the ground, mouths hung open, stunned by beauty that felt like a spell in daylight.
Their polished boots crossed the dead, brittle plain, and grass breathed awake. Flowers scattered like stars. Butterflies stitched color through the air, little lights rising and falling.
Hands crossed, shy as fish flicking under emerald waves. A soft shyness shimmered. On Yunita’s cheeks, two streaks of blush lay like sunset clouds, leaving hearts drunk and eyes swimming.
Medith broke her usual style. Her sea of willow-dark hair was gathered into a sleek ponytail that fell to her waist. The girlish air thinned; a mature, valiant calm took its place. Paired with the Verdant Fairy Ensemble and green knee-highs, she was a flash of spring in full bloom.
The women gasped; the curve of Medith’s smiling cherry lips was a twin to Melia’s. Shock rippled like wind through bamboo.
Sais stepped into a Verdant Fairy Ensemble she hadn’t shown outsiders for ages. Her queenly allure rolled out on its own, a heat that could make devils pause and mortal blood run hot.
Her flawless face carried a bewitching smile. Flame-red eyes held a hint of spring, bright and alive. One hand on her hip, she posed like a runway model, a perfect curve born of fire and frost. Blood-red hair burned across her back, and her mature aura poured out like wine from an open jar.
Their makeup was light, petal-soft, never gaudy, never forced—just a few strokes to show truth. Excitement and satisfaction, earned through hard work, made their long pink ears flutter like moth wings, and the mercs wanted to devour this sweetness like starving wolves.
“Wow… did I just… step into a fairyland?” Gerald’s old face went slack with awe. He rose with a cup in hand. Gulo shook his head, rubbed his bruiser’s eyes hard, and checked twice that he wasn’t seeing things.
“Ah… ah, ah—” A merc’s lips trembled. Tears shot out, hot as boiling tea.
“Gods! Let me drown in this vision! Don’t wake me, ever… please…”
“Ah! Medith! Medith!”
“Medith! Medith!”
Joy burst like thunder. They hugged and shouted Medith’s name. The roar carried so far that the Hexclaw Legion, drilling tens of miles away, jolted. They almost thought Medith had led a preemptive strike.
Medith sighed, a note of pity in spring air. Changing clothes alone could move these iron-blooded men to tears. Their days must be harsher than winter on a bare ridge.
“Uh… Medith… Miss, hello…” Gerald looked up like it was their first meeting. At the sight of her soft foundation and glittering cherry lips, his gaze skittered away. Only now did it hit him—Medith was, in fact, a woman.
Their first meeting had always carried a wind-cut heroism that infected everyone, making them forget beauty for steel. Now they returned to daughterly grace, brilliance burning too bright for him to face.
Medith hid her cherry lips behind her fingers and laughed, soft as rain. Her pink, gleaming nails flickered in firelight. A slight motion of jade-slim fingers tugged at the crowd’s very souls.
“Castellan, what’s wrong? We only changed clothes, and you can’t even get words out?” Medith leaned forward, mischievous light dancing, and winked at Gerald.
He caught her scent, cool as orchids in shade, and the mountain-crest curves that stole sight. Gerald’s old face flushed red. Words jammed like stones in his throat.
The mercs stared, guilt tugging at their eyes, duty tugging the other way. Milia and the rest took it in stride; they’d long accepted that people stumble. Especially mercs whose rules were more tavern lore than law.
Life’s already hard. To meet women—and such lithe, lovely ones—there’s no crime in looking twice. Call it a tiny payback for what they’d given the Radiant Knights.
Yunita had never seen a scene like this. With features akin to Medith’s, her attention was a bonfire. In the Verdant Fairy Ensemble, she looked like Medith’s maiden self—stripped of halos, purest spring.
Her jade-pale face flushed. Her left hand covered a half-open neckline; her right pressed the skirt’s edge. Those shy little motions drew gasps like sparks, and half the camp almost choked on their own blood.
Soon, Sais was first to move. She lifted to the cheerful music and danced, arms circling Medith’s slender waist. Their eyes met with warm ripples, and their steps sketched a dreamscape as bees and butterflies crowned them.
The other women joined. Milia took Yunita’s smooth, water-soft hand and guided her patiently through each step. The Elf Clan is born to song and dance; some arts are gifts from the womb, and an airy, winding voice is one of them.
Lina spun a tuft of green leaves at her fingertips. In moments, it wove into a harp. Rita opened her throat, raised her slender hand, and released a gentle, winding song. That voice felt like someone beside you, stroking and kneading aches away, and the mercs’ fatigue and sorrow drifted off like mist.
Gradually, the mercs got used to the outfits. The awkwardness melted. They joined the chorus; the pitch dipped but the fire rose, and many seized the chance to invite the women to a dance.
The women didn’t refuse. Laughing, they took those work-rough hands. With their softest steps and warmest voices, they soothed every heart like rain after drought.
Only, they seemed to forget—one man and one woman were still dueling, and the bout had yet to find its winner…
