The next material was yellow slime powder. This was not the usual yellow floury substance that she used, but a much more translucent form, like ground-up citrine—a gift from the slime farm’s chief researcher, Idaea. When Dahlia had visited the nursery, the two women had bonded over their shared passion for slimes. Afterward, she had consulted with Ivano to determine whether the company could support the slime research. Ivano had been slick with Forto, and the Tailors’ Guild ended up shouldering the financial burden, with the result that Idaea now regularly sent powdered slime to the Green Tower. Recently, Dahlia had gotten grade-A yellow slime, the top grade in the system of A to E. The document inside the package had explained that it was from specimens with “healthy color and luster, high magic, and high translucency.” Yellow slimes possessed earth magic, and they were good for hardening and strengthening. They weren’t as potent as other monster materials and thus saw less use, but they had just the right balance to make cloth a little more resistant to ripping.
The mixture for the shirt was similar to the one used for raincoats—Dahlia decided to use pennyroyal extract and armored crab acid. Using powdered desert worm would have made it a lot more durable, but it would also have made the enchanted cloth too hard. On paper, her calculations said the mixture should provide the fabric with hardening and strengthening, but she was unsure—and extremely curious—how this top-grade yellow slime would perform in practice.
After carefully stirring this liquid mixture in a glass, Dahlia poured in her magic, then added the kingsnake powder and stirred it again. It was time to add the yellow slime powder, but uh-oh, to her nose came a tingle. It was the wee hours already and she wasn’t wearing a jacket.
“Achoo!” There went triple the amount she had meant to put in. Her panicking was juxtaposed with the beautiful powdered yellow slime sparkling in the liquid. She’d already added the kingsnake powder, so it would not keep, and throwing it out would have been such a waste. With a sense of waste not, want not and more excuses, she stirred the mixture a third time. If it was to fail, then she’d just hide the shirt before Volf arrived. Dahlia shrugged. “Guess I’ll call this magic practice.”
She turned the back of the dress form toward her and brought the mixture close to the embroidery. Whereas she would have spread it on a flat surface in making waterproof cloth, Dahlia would use magic to lift the content in the glass out. This was an enchantment that needed grade-ten magic, so it would be a difficult one. She mentally prepared herself for failure, then secreted magic from her finger.
“May Volf be safe and sound...” The mixture responded to Dahlia’s prayer and magic, and it floated up as a pretty sphere, pale yellow like the moon herself. It spun around twice and then was fully absorbed into the embroidery. However, it rippled out and coated the entire shirt. “Huh?”
In making waterproof cloth, shooting a weak but steady stream of magic was quite difficult; Dahlia was able to do it, but she could hardly call herself good at it. But this? This enchantment had her flabbergasted. Not a single drop dripped from the shirt, and the coating was even and thorough. She should have been happy, if anything.
“Let’s see, let’s see...” She touched the shirt, and gosh, was it weird. It was softer than waterproof cloth yet squishy enough that her finger was enveloped when she poked it. The texture was similar to the rubberized fabric of her previous life, but different in that the shirt was not elastic. Dahlia assumed this was what a thin layer of kraken skin would feel like. She poured water over the shirt, and it absorbed about a third while repelling the rest. In essence, this fabric was neither water-repellent nor very sweat-absorbant—good as neither a raincoat nor an undershirt.
“Welp, I must be drunk.” Maybe her intoxication had made her fingers a little less sensitive than they should have been. Maybe the shirt would harden over time, or at least she clung onto the unlikely hopes that it would.
She was sleepy, she was tired, and her eyes ached; nothing else to do but to sleep on it now. The morning sun illuminated Dahlia’s steps as she headed toward the bathroom.
Sleep came after the shower, and when Dahlia awakened, it was close to midday. Volf had today off, and it wouldn’t be long before he came by, so she hurried to dress herself, then headed down to the workshop. Dahlia felt the black tee again—it would still be uncomfortable as an undershirt. She intended to clean everything up before Volf got here, so she stripped the torso and placed the garment on the workbench.
“What is going on with you...?” Dahlia was stunned by the shirt she was talking to—it stood up straight on its hem atop the workbench, as though an invisible person were modeling for her. She slowly backed away, then the doorbell rang. Amid her shock and fear, she ran to the door, hoping to find the knight she was expecting.
“Hi, Dahlia.”
“Vooolf!”
“What’s wrong?!”
“There’s...”—she hesitated before continuing—“something inside. Maybe.” Volf would later describe her as having looked like she was on the verge of tears.
He threw his bag to the floor and, in one motion, put Dahlia behind him and drew a shortsword. His blade pointed at the freestanding black shirt. “What is that thing, Dahlia?”
“That shirt, uh, for some reason, has become like that...” To explain would be difficult, if not nigh impossible.