The tent was a disaster. Torn fabric sagged around me, mute testament to the impossible growth spurt that had occurred overnight. Raphtalia and Rifana, still partially wrapped in what remained of their child-sized clothes and draped with anything I could grab – a spare cloak, a small blanket – huddled together, eyes wide and bewildered. Filo, in her towering Filolial Queen form, stood awkwardly, her magnificent wings tucked in the confined space.
"Okay," I said, my voice clipped and weary. "This is… a situation."
An understatement of epic proportions. This was a three-alarm, reality-shredding, divinely-orchestrated inconvenience. My two recently rescued demi-human children, who had just endured the trauma of re-enslavement (albeit voluntary, for power), were now physically adult women. In rags. Camping outside a town at dawn. With a giant bird.
"Master," Raphtalia whispered, her voice trembling slightly despite its new, mature resonance. "We… we grew?"
"Yeah," I deadpanned, resisting the urge to point out the obvious. "Rapidly. Undeniably. And inconveniently."
Rifana just nodded, her face still pale, staring at the torn sleeve hanging from her shoulder.
"Filo," I instructed, turning to the massive bird, "can you stay in that form? It's… slightly less conspicuous than your other one right now."
Filo tilted her head, chirped affirmatively, and carefully settled into a guarding posture near the shredded tent opening. Good. At least one of them was adapting without existential crisis.
"Alright," I said, forcing practicality back into the driver's seat. "New clothes. Now. Before anyone sees this." The sheer, scandalous visual of their predicament was a problem that needed solving with extreme prejudice. And the only place that sold clothes at this hour, likely without asking too many questions once they saw me, was Beloukas.
Getting them ready was an exercise in awkwardness. Raphtalia, with trembling hands, used pieces of the tent fabric and the spare cloak to create a rudimentary wrap. Rifana, more pragmatic despite her fear, tied a blanket around herself like a toga. They moved with a stiff self-consciousness that was heartbreaking to see, their suddenly adult bodies unfamiliar and exposed. I studiously avoided looking anywhere I shouldn't, focusing on the task at hand with the single-mindedness of a man defusing a bomb while covered in bees.
The walk through the pre-dawn streets of Seyaette was tense. We stuck to the darkest alleys, moving as quickly and quietly as possible. Their height and new forms made them stand out, even in the dim light, but the improvised coverings hopefully hid the worst of it. I kept one hand on my shield, hyper-aware of every shadow, every sound. The memory of Honoka and the assassins, coupled with the universe's apparent determination to throw curveballs, had my paranoia levels at maximum.
Beloukas's shop was just stirring when we reached it. A single lamp glowed inside the grimy window. I pushed open the door, the familiar chime announcing our arrival.
Beloukas was behind the counter, wiping down the surface, looking utterly mundane. Until he looked up.
His eyes, sharp and calculating, landed on me. Then they flickered to Raphtalia and Rifana standing just behind me, bundled in their makeshift coverings.
His jaw went slack. The cloth he was holding dropped to the floor. The carefully constructed mask of the shrewd slave trader shattered, replaced by a look of sheer, unadulterated disbelief.
"You!" he sputtered, pointing a trembling finger. "Shield Hero! And… and they?!"
His gaze raked over Raphtalia and Rifana, his eyes widening with each passing second. He had seen them yesterday. Small, scared, child-like demi-humans. Now, standing before him, were two beautiful young women. The contrast was so stark, so impossible, that even a man who dealt in the horrific realities of human trafficking couldn't process it.
"Don't ask," I said, cutting him off before he could even formulate the inevitable, impossible questions. "We need clothes. Adventurer gear. For them." I gestured to Raphtalia and Rifana. "Adult size. Good quality, but practical. And we need it now."
Beloukas stared for another moment, his mind clearly struggling to reconcile yesterday with today. Then, the inherent pragmatism of the merchant, the deep-seated need for profit, reasserted itself. A slow, calculating glint returned to his eyes, mixed now with an almost gleeful curiosity. This was a story. A phenomenon. And he was getting front-row seats – and the chance to make a sale.
"Right," he said, his voice regaining its oily smoothness, though still tinged with awe. "Growth spurt, eh? Remarkable. Truly remarkable. Heroes… always full of surprises. Come, come. I have just the stock. My finest demi-human gear. Perfect for… rapidly maturing companions." He practically purred the last words.
He led us to a section of the shop I hadn't seen before, filled with mannequins displaying sturdy leather armor, practical tunics, and cloaks designed for movement.
"Something durable," I insisted, running my hand over a jerkin. "Lightweight. Nothing flashy."
Beloukas, sensing the potential for a significant sale, became the picture of helpfulness. He pulled items from shelves, discussing materials, flexibility, and surprising features (hidden pockets, reinforced seams).
Meanwhile, Raphtalia and Rifana stood awkwardly, still bundled.
"Go on," I urged them gently. "Pick out what you like. Something you can fight in. Something that… fits."
They hesitated, then slowly began to look at the options. The sheer volume of normal clothes, gear not stained by misery or torn by impossible growth, seemed to offer a quiet reassurance. Raphtalia gravitated towards a practical leather tunic and trousers, dark colors that wouldn't show dirt. Rifana, practical as ever, examined a reinforced skirt and top, checking the stitching.
While they chose, Beloukas leaned in conspiratorially. "Just between us, Hero," he murmured, his eyes gleaming, "I've heard stories. Of hero companions… growing fast. But this…" he gestured vaguely at the girls, lowering his voice further, "this is unprecedented. What did you do?"
"Slave crests," I said flatly, seeing no reason to lie about the mechanic he understood all too well. "Accelerated growth linked to the Shield Hero's power. The speed… must be a side effect of the recent leveling. And maybe some external factors," I added, thinking of the God and Goddess with a fresh wave of annoyance.
Beloukas whistled softly. "Fascinating. Truly fascinating. A dangerous gamble, Hero. Binding them to you so quickly. But… effective, clearly." He didn't judge the ethics; he simply admired the efficiency of the game mechanic.
We spent a small fortune, buying complete sets of clothing and basic adventurer gear for both Raphtalia and Rifana. Practical boots, durable undergarments, sturdy outer layers. Rifana even picked out a lightweight, reinforced quiver to go with the bow she'd shown affinity for. Seeing them choose their own gear, simple as it was, felt like a small victory, a reclamation of agency after the shock of their involuntary transformation.
Beloukas offered a small, private room for them to change in. I waited outside, pacing, the shredded tent and their sudden adulthood replaying in my mind. The absurdity of it all was a shield against the deeper, darker implications – the loss of their remaining childhood, the price of the power I was forcing upon them, the sheer unnaturalness of their growth.
When they emerged, dressed in properly fitting adventurer gear, it was another jolt. They looked… capable. Ready. The fear was still there, lurking in their eyes, but it was now tempered by the solid reality of good armor and clothes that fit. Raphtalia adjusted her new jerkin, her hand resting near the dagger on her belt. Rifana settled her quiver, her posture straighter.
"Thank you, Master," Raphtalia said softly, looking down at her new clothes.
"Yeah, thank you," Rifana echoed.
"Don't thank me," I said, my voice rougher than intended. "This is… this is necessary. For you to survive."
Beloukas watched us leave, a speculative gleam in his eyes. He knew something extraordinary had happened. The rumors about the Shield Hero were about to get even wilder. 'Shield Hero kidnaps children, they reappear as adults overnight and buy gear from a slave trader.' Fantastic.
We left the town behind as the sun began to climb higher, seeking a quiet training area away from prying eyes. Now that they were dressed and somewhat recovered from the initial shock, it was time to see what their new forms, combined with the slave crests, could really do.
The training resumed. Push-ups, sit-ups, sprints. But this time, their movements weren't clumsy. Their suddenly adult bodies moved with a natural grace and power. The slave crests pulsed faintly under their new gear.
Then, combat drills. Raphtalia, no longer a child with a dagger, moved with surprising speed and strength, blocking my calculated blows, her strikes faster and more forceful than I could have anticipated.
CLANG! Her practice dagger met my shield with a solid impact. Her form was still unrefined, but the raw power was there.
"Amazing," I muttered internally. This was the 'amazing' the user wanted. The sheer, terrifying effectiveness of the slave crests.
Rifana, practicing her archery, was hitting targets with pinpoint accuracy from impressive distances. Her vision, her steady hand, her draw strength – all drastically improved.
Filo, in her humanoid form, watched with a wide, delighted smile. "Raphtalia and Rifana are so strong now!" she chirped, bouncing slightly. Her own power, even in this form, felt immense, a coiled spring ready to be unleashed.
"Alright," I said, stopping a sparring session with Raphtalia before I accidentally flattened her with a misplaced block. "Let's try some monsters."
We moved to a nearby forest clearing, where slightly tougher monsters than balloons roamed. Small goblin-like creatures, aggressive but not particularly strong.
Snarl! A goblin rushed at Raphtalia.
She moved. Not with the hesitant steps of yesterday's child, but with the fluid, confident motion of a trained fighter.
FLASH!
Her practice dagger (we'd need to upgrade soon) was a blur. A single, precise strike to the goblin's neck. It crumpled to the ground.
She stared at the fallen monster, then at her hand, her eyes wide with a mixture of shock and exhilaration. "Master! I… I did it!"
Another goblin rushed at Rifana. She drew an arrow, nocked it, and fired.
TWANG! THWACK! The arrow struck the goblin square in the eye. It dropped.
Level Up! Rifana is now Level 28!
Rifana let out a whoop of surprise and triumph.
Filo, meanwhile, decided to join in. In her humanoid form, she was a whirlwind of kicks and punches, moving with impossible speed and striking with concussive force. Monsters went flying.
"Amazing," I repeated, the word a dry understatement now. We spent the next few hours in a blur of combat, the rhythmic chime of level-ups providing a bizarre soundtrack to the slaughter. Raphtalia and Rifana rapidly honed their skills, their confidence soaring with each defeated monster and each gained level. Their fear was still there, a shadow in their eyes, but now it was the fear of losing this newfound strength, of returning to the powerlessness of yesterday.
We took a break by the stream, the silence broken only by their slightly less frequent panting and Filo humming a cheerful tune in her bird form. They cleaned their practice weapons, examined their armor, their faces alight with the simple pride of hard work yielding undeniable results.