The Slime Doesn't Die from Mana Transfer-Chapter 26 : The Sword

“Ugh…”
“Mr. Slime, are you sure this outfit is okay?”
“Why do I feel like something’s… off?”
Inside the inn room.
Rozelite fidgeted nervously in front of an ice mirror Russell had conjured with water magic, her face burning with embarrassment.
She was wearing the clothes they had bought at the clothing shop earlier. They had been cheap, and at the time she hadn’t thought much of them. The fabric felt a little coarse compared to what she was used to, but nothing unbearable.
Yet…
Each piece of clothing looked plain enough on its own. So why, when worn together, did it feel strangely suggestive?
“You’re still not ready? You’ve been staring for half an hour already,” Russell sighed.
Waiting for a woman to finish changing was truly one of the greatest ordeals in this world.
“But, Mr. Slime, I can’t shake the feeling something’s wrong,” Rozelite mumbled, tugging at the black strap beneath her chest.
Russell cast a glance at her reflection in the mirror.
Her long golden hair shimmered faintly, tied back with a black ribbon. Her sapphire eyes were bright and clear. The white blouse clung gently to her figure, not hiding a single curve. A black strap ran just under her chest, tied at the back and sides, lifting her modest bust and shaping the blouse into natural folds.
Black ties bound the cuffs at her slim wrists. The blouse was tucked neatly into black shorts, and beneath them, dark-gray tights hugged her legs down to the ankles. Her dainty feet rested in short brown boots, their cuffs snug against her tights, making for a seamless transition.
The clothes themselves were ordinary.
But Russell very much wanted to say:
“Kid, your face just doesn’t look that pure. Stop overthinking it.”
“If you don’t leave soon, it’ll be time to head to the church for medicine,” Russell remarked casually.
“Ugh…”
Rozelite wrestled with her doubts for a few more minutes.
At last, under Russell’s prodding, she took tiny steps out the door.
The wind in Ato City was as biting as ever, cutting down the street like knives.
Rozelite pulled her heavy bearskin cloak tighter around herself and made her way toward the weapon shop. Each breath she exhaled turned white before vanishing into the frigid air.
“You know, Mr. Slime?”
Rozelite’s voice carried a hint of lecturing interest as she tried to distract herself from the cold.
“It’s said the demonkind live even farther north beyond the Muscovy Mountains. Their climate is harsher than here—three-quarters of the year the land is buried in snow, and the soil is so barren it can hardly be farmed.”
“That’s why they keep starting wars to seize resources,” Russell’s voice echoed directly in her mind.
At the same time, a tentacle stretched out from her back, slipping beneath her clothes along the curve of her body, climbing carefully until it peeked out at her collar with an eyeball at the tip.
His view instantly widened.
Rozelite’s cheeks flushed pink.
“Mr. Slime, could you… not move around so much? It tickles.”
“Hey, hey, what do you take me for? I’m a respectable slime!”
Russell protested.
“I-I didn’t mean it like that…” she stammered quickly.
“Eyes forward,” Russell interrupted, pointing a tentacle toward a shop ahead.
“We’re here.”
Rozelite followed his gesture. Sure enough, the weapon shop stood before them.
Though Ato was a large city, shops like weapon forges, inns, and taverns were clustered tightly around the Adventurer’s Guild, forming a fully functional “adventurer’s quarter.” Everything was conveniently close.
Above the shop door hung a weather-worn wooden sign, scorched letters branded into it: Iron-brand Weapon Shop.
The door was closed, but not bolted.
Rozelite took a steadying breath, the pink still fading from her cheeks, and knocked.
Knock, knock-knock.
No reply.
She hesitated, then pushed.
Creak—
The heavy wooden door groaned open. A wave of heat rolled out, carrying the mingled scents of metal, oil, leather, and faint charcoal ash. Compared to the knife-edged wind outside, it felt like stepping into another world.
The shop was dim, lit only by the fireplace’s glow and a few oil lamps.
Rozelite and Russell’s eyes widened at once.
The walls were lined with weapons—gleaming longswords, massive battle axes, spiked maces, longbows with full quivers. In one corner sat dust-coated shields stacked in a pile.
Behind the counter, a burly, bald man in a leather apron stood with his back to them, laboring to grind the edge of a greatsword. The harsh
shhhk
of sharpening filled the shop.
“Um… excuse me, sir?”
Rozelite’s tentative voice carried clearly in the quiet room.
The sound halted.
The blacksmith turned slowly. Firelight revealed a stubbled, heat-reddened face.
His gaze ran over Rozelite.
Young. Thin. Too pale.
Eyes clear, almost stupidly so.
Not the look of a serious customer—more like a sheltered rich girl who’d wandered in by mistake.
“Finished pieces are on the counter. Look for yourself. If you need custom work, then call me,” his rough voice said without enthusiasm.
Rozelite stepped gingerly up to the counter.
Russell shifted his tentacle at her collar to avoid the smith’s gaze.
Rozelite examined the display, then picked up a short one-handed sword to test a swing.
But almost immediately she set it down again.
It was too heavy for her.
“Sir, do you have anything… lighter?” she asked softly.
“Lighter?”
The blacksmith rolled his eyes.
“Miss, if you want a wall decoration, you came to the wrong place. My goods are for soldiers and adventurers only.”
“…”
Rozelite bit her lip.
The man sighed.
“Fine. Looks like you’ll need a custom piece. Tell me your requirements.”
Rozelite’s eyes lit up.
She rattled off a string of measurements with practiced ease. Anyone who had seriously studied swordsmanship knew the specs of the blade they favored. The smith quickly noted them down, then tore the scrap of paper and stuck it to the wall with spit.
Only then did Rozelite notice the wall was plastered with such notes.
“Three silver coins. Come back in three days.”
“Oh.”
Rozelite reached into her pocket and began counting coins—but froze.
“…That expensive?”
“First time here?”
The blacksmith sounded impatient, but explained anyway.
“Finished weapons cost one silver coin. But here in Ato, all smithies prioritize orders for the city guard. Only in spare time do we forge for adventurers. The extra two silver coins are a queue-cutting fee.”
“This…”
Rozelite hesitated.
She wasn’t well-versed in prices, but she knew enough—she didn’t have much left of what she’d borrowed from Winnie.
Lodging, food, travel, clothes… all of it cost money.
And really, she wasn’t much of a fighter anyway.
Did she truly need this sword? Wouldn’t it just be for show?
But just as she started to pull her hand back, Russell abruptly seized control of her body.
Without hesitation, he placed the coins on the counter, then bowed slightly.
“Thank you. I’ll return in three days.”