Norna shot him a venomous glare. "I'm the one 'complicating things'? You're the shameless one here!"
Roger adopted an air of wounded dignity. "Slander! I'm the soul of propriety."
"Propriety?" She arched an eyebrow with coquettish accusation. "Would a 'proper' man stare at my breasts like that?"
"Call it artistic appreciation," Roger countered loftily.
For all his teasing, Roger knew precisely where to draw the line. With practiced ease, he fastened the bra's clasp before reaching for the panties.
Norna's cheeks flared crimson. "Wait! I'll handle those myself."
Roger exhaled dramatically. "Too late—I'm already kneeling."
Ignoring her protests, he swiftly slid the panties up her hips, fingertips grazing sensitive skin as he smoothed her skirt into place.
Counter Area
Freed from the lingerie ordeal, Norna practically fled the fitting room, exhaling like a prisoner granted reprieve.
Roger watched her retreating figure with wry amusement. If I keep playing this game, I'll end up bedding someone by accident.
The thought sparked a thrill of anticipation.
As a healthy male, urges demanded satisfaction—though which woman could withstand his… enthusiasm remained an open question.
Checkout Counter
Norna regained her elegant composure at the register, retrieving a velvet coin purse. "What do I owe for these?"
At the Counter
Roger approached, reciting figures with practiced ease. "Stockings: five gold coins. Bra: ten. Panties... let's call it five. Plus a five-coin service fee. Total twenty-five."
"Twenty-five? You're charging extra for service?" Norna's almond eyes widened into saucers. "You merchants truly have no shame!"
Currency Note
The realm's monetary system operated on gold, silver, and copper coins with fixed exchange:
1 gold = 100 silver
1 silver = 100 copper
A single gold piece represented a laborer's annual wages. Twenty-five? Enough to bankrupt villages.
Though her noble house could bear the cost, Norna's pampered palms still sweated at parting with such wealth. Yet pride forbade haggling - what noblewoman barters like a fishwife?
Internal Calculus
Her rational mind intervened: these weren't mere garments but enchanted artifacts. Common magic items started at one gold minimum. By that metric, Roger's price bordered on charitable.
"Personalized service warrants compensation," Roger countered smoothly. "Few tailors would... accommodate your unique requirements."
"Fair enough," Norna snapped, dumping clinking coins onto the counter. "Deliver the Holy Light Cloak later. I'll not linger for that production."
Transaction Complete
"Your wish, my lady." Roger's gaze lingered on the gleaming pile - twenty-five years of a peasant's toil, earned in one afternoon.
The metallic clatter sang of security, ambition, and possibilities yet unspooled.
From this, it wasn't hard to see that the Magic Sexy Lingerie business was, indeed, a pretty lucrative one.
Especially now that he'd closed the deal with Norna—it meant Roger had finally found a way into the Noble circle's market.
The future looked promising.
"See you~!" Norna waved cheerfully, practically skipping away.
The young bodyguard turned back to look at Roger every few steps, his mind full of questions. What exactly did that guy do to Miss Norna to make her so happy?
Next, Roger began to focus on designing and crafting the Holy Light Cloak.
The Holy Light Cloak was a lot more complicated to make—it would take at least a day or two to finish, so he needed to start preparing in advance.
Besides, he wasn't yet very skilled in the techniques required for crafting it.
Norna wore the three pieces of underwear I made, and they gave me a total of 60% Mana Amplification. That means, right now, my combat power is roughly equivalent to a Level 4 Mage, he calculated.
I really need to make more time for meditation and training. I can't just be thinking about making money—boosting my own combat ability is the key to survival.
As Roger worked, he kept going over these thoughts in his mind.
…
A whole day passed quickly.
Night fell.
The nights in Windmill Town were chaotic—if it wasn't someone getting mugged on the street, it was gang fights breaking out, or the Garrison Command's guards chasing down criminals.
To ensure the safety of the residents, a curfew and lockdown were enforced every night.
Two drunk gang thugs stumbled out of a tavern, reeking of booze, swaying side to side as they passed by Roger's tailor shop.
One of them, a burly bearded man with broad shoulders, caught a glimpse of Roger's silhouette through the window—and instantly sobered up from shock.
The big guy rubbed his eyes in disbelief. "What the hell… I swear I beat that little bastard to death with my own two hands yesterday. How the hell is he still alive?!"
"What? Haunted? Where's the ghost?" the other man, a scrawny drunk, slurred as he squinted into the darkness.
"There. In that shop," the big man pointed at the tailor shop.
But the scrawny guy was too far gone to see anything clearly.
The big guy didn't bother explaining. With an aggressive snort, he stormed into the tailor shop.
SMACK!
He slammed a hand down hard on Roger's shoulder, his face twisted into a menacing, beast-like grin.
As a Level 4 Warrior, he'd been running with gangs for years. His talent might've been mediocre, but he was bold and ruthless in a fight.
To him, even if Roger was a ghost, he wasn't afraid.
"You—are you human or a ghost?" the big guy asked coldly.
Roger slapped his hand away and frowned. "What, here to shake me down for protection money again?"
The bearded man sneered. "Heh. Ghost or not, you still gotta pay up. And if you don't—I've got no problem killing you again."
Hearing that, a flicker of killing intent appeared in Roger's eyes. He casually pulled out a Gold Coin and waved it in front of the man.
Protection fees usually started at one Silver Coin a month.
The moment the thug saw Roger pull out a Gold Coin, his eyes lit up, filled with greedy excitement. "Well, well, look at you pulling out a Gold Coin. Since you're being so generous, I guess I'll let you off the hook this time."
He grinned as he reached out to grab the coin.
But in the next second…
SMACK!
Without saying a word, Roger suddenly slapped the big guy hard across the face. The force sent him stumbling back five or six steps before he landed squarely on his butt.
He hit him so hard that the Gold Coin got embedded deep into the guy's cheek.
The bearded thug sat on the ground, dizzy and dazed, his ears ringing. He stared blankly, unable to react right away.
"You've got a death wish!" the scrawny man yelled when he saw his buddy get hit. He let out a wild howl and lunged toward Roger, ready to teach him a lesson.
But he was so drunk his limbs weren't even working properly.
Before he could get his hands up, Roger struck first—he grabbed a stool nearby and smashed it straight over the guy's head.
CRACK!
The stool shattered on impact, splinters flying everywhere. The scrawny man collapsed face-first onto the floor, instantly knocked out cold.
In just a few seconds, Roger had taken down both gang thugs.
Only then did the bearded man finally snap out of his daze and try to scramble up to fight back—only to be caught off guard by another one of Roger's attacks.
"Guys like this are nothing but street scum. You can't show mercy when dealing with them," Roger thought.
He grabbed one of the broken stool legs and swung it down hard onto the thug's face.
To be fair, the big guy was a Level 4 Warrior. He'd been brawling in the underworld for years, so when it came to direct confrontation, his reflexes weren't half bad.
He quickly raised his left arm and managed to block the incoming blow.
BANG!
But what he didn't see coming… was Roger's dirty trick.
As the thug raised his arm to block, Roger followed through with a perfectly timed low kick—right between the legs.
A direct hit.
A wave of searing, soul-splitting pain shot up from his groin. The thug froze in place, every muscle tensed, eyes wide, mouth hanging open in silent agony.
The commotion was loud enough to draw attention. Curious neighbors peeked out of their homes, and soon a small crowd had gathered.
When they saw Roger taking on two gang thugs single-handedly—and winning—they were completely stunned.
"Heh, and you thought you could take me on with those weak moves?" Roger sneered.
The big guy was now writhing on the floor, clutching himself, tears streaming down his face.
Truthfully, his strength should've been enough to beat Roger. What he didn't anticipate… was the low blow to his crown jewels.
And let's be honest—even a stronger Warrior wouldn't stand a chance against Roger's—
Deadly Family-Jewels-Crusher Kick.
"Get the hell out of here! Don't you dare dirty up my shop," Roger barked.
Still holding the stool leg, he kicked and beat the two of them out of the store.
"Oh my God! Roger, are you insane? You actually hit gang members!" a nearby woman gasped in horror.
Roger gave a faint smile. "So what? I hit them. Not much else to say."
Then he turned around and calmly walked back into his shop.