A Reluctant Adornment

Daphne walked through the ice door, then traversed a long corridor lined with pristine ice on both sides. Only then did she arrive at a small, square room constructed entirely of ice.

To the left of the room stood a bronze floor-to-ceiling cabinet. Its double doors were adorned with handles shaped like a pair of skull heads, each clutching a ring.

On the right side of the room, a display rack held a sequence of items: a bone dagger, a jet-black hand mirror, and a pale violet arrowhead.

These items were all equipment or tools with various effects. However, they weren’t considered high-quality—at least not when compared to the three legendary artifacts Daphne had unearthed from the stone coffin.

Yet, Arsuga had hidden these very items beneath his Ice Tomb Throne. This suggested they held immense significance for him, perhaps relics left by a dear friend or imbued with cherished memories.

Regardless, since Daphne had laid eyes on them, they were now hers.

After all, Arsuga had invited her to take things without specifying any exclusions. As a “Messenger of the Great Mother,” surely taking everything wouldn’t be amiss?

As this thought crossed her mind, Daphne felt a pang of nostalgia for her secret stash in the Salentz Religious Territory. That hidden vault was brimming with the exotic treasures she had hoarded during her “hamster” days.

If only she could return there and retrieve its contents.

While Bertram at that time wouldn’t have found them useful, they would prove immensely beneficial to the current Daphne.

However, taking all these items presented a slight challenge. The cloak’s inner pocket wasn’t particularly large; the dagger and arrowhead would be too cramped together, and the hand mirror wouldn’t fit at all. She would need to find something else to carry them.

After a moment’s contemplation, Daphne decided to investigate the contents of the floor-to-ceiling cabinet first.

She grasped the ring handle and gently pulled the doors open. A milky-white chill, like liquid, surged forth from the cabinet, cascading down and filling the entire room. An astonishingly low temperature swept over her, causing even Daphne, despite her Snow-Fluff Cloak, to shiver involuntarily.

“This is…” Daphne murmured, a hint of astonishment in her voice.

Standing before her was a lifelike ice sculpture of a young maiden. The maiden’s eyelids were gracefully lowered, her features delicate and soft, and every strand of her flowing hair was clearly discernible.

The maiden seemed to be in slumber, yet she maintained an upright, poised stance. Her hands were slightly outstretched to her sides, as if to better display the garments she wore.

If pristine ice could be colored, Daphne estimated she would have mistaken the sculpture for a living person at first glance.

“Using a pristine ice sculpture as a mannequin… this is truly extravagant,” Daphne sighed softly. Only then did she shift her gaze to the clothing draped over the ice figure. ‘Oseriel left… a dress here with Arsuga?’

The ice maiden, similar in height to Daphne, was fully dressed.

Her upper body was adorned with a simple, pale beige travel dress, its hem falling to her knees. It bore no special embellishments or intricate patterns.

A translucent white silk shawl draped like a curtain down to her lower abdomen, artfully concealing her slender, graceful waist. This created a sense of hazy beauty.

Where the shawl ended, a small leather satchel hung, its strap diagonally crossing her chest.

Beneath the dress, her legs were tightly encased in a pair of thin white silk stockings. Pure and flawless as cream, these stockings exquisitely accentuated the ice maiden’s knees and ankles.

Finally, at her feet, the ice maiden’s delicate soles rested within small, black, flat-heeled leather shoes. This lent her an air of gentle charm and cuteness.

It was an unpretentious beauty, imbued with a distinctive aura.

Yet, with just a single glance, Daphne discerned that the most unique item in the entire ensemble was the pair of white silk stockings adorning the ice sculpture’s legs. These were certainly no ordinary silk fabric; some mysterious power undoubtedly resided within them.

‘Could it be?’

[Module Section: Alluring Garments Lv1]

[The End is Also the Beginning]

[Upon the desolate, rugged, and perilous snow peaks, Oseriel, possessing a divine physique impervious to the biting cold, required attire that allowed for ease of movement. Yet, this particular pair of stockings remained something she could never part with. At the journey’s end, however, she left them behind here.]

Following her hunch, Daphne immediately opened her screen to check. The ‘Alluring Garments’ module section responded, but the information provided was still insufficient.

“Do I… have to wear them?” the half-vampire maiden mused to herself.

‘To wear them… or not?’

Daphne lifted her cloak, gazing down at her fair, smooth form. Immediately, her face flushed crimson, and she swiftly pulled the cloak back around herself.

‘I can’t just stay naked, can I? That would be utterly scandalous.’

Still, she felt conflicted.

Although many of Daphne’s avatars presented as female, her usual clothing choices leaned towards neutral styles. Encountering a dress that only reached the knees was akin to facing a monstrous flood for her, let alone delicate, sheer stockings, which were even more overtly feminine.

Dressing a female character in a game and actually putting the clothes on herself were two entirely different matters!

Forcing her to wear stockings would be tantamount to making her acknowledge herself as a genuinely feminine girl. She would rather die.

“I’ll wear the other parts first,” Daphne decided, choosing to temporarily evade the issue.

‘A short skirt is a short skirt; it’s still better than stockings,’ she thought, secretly lowering her own baseline standards. Simultaneously, she began to undress the pristine ice sculpture.

Because the ice sculpture was so incredibly lifelike, Daphne couldn’t help but blush and feel her heart pound as she removed its dress. Even though she knew it wasn’t a living being, her cheeks still felt burning hot.

After Daphne painstakingly spent some time stripping the garments one by one from the ice maiden, she uncovered a critical problem.

The ensemble, it turned out, did not include any undergarments. There was no bra, no panties.

Whether the lingerie was feminine or not was no longer her concern. Having nothing at all, going truly “commando,” would be far worse, wouldn’t it?

Daphne stared blankly at the pile of women’s clothing scattered before her. Her mind seemed to crash for a long moment.

‘It seems these stockings… I have no choice but to wear them?’

At the very least, they were pantyhose that could reach her hips and waist, offering a meager cover for the empty space beneath the skirt. This would prevent an accidental exposure of the luminous gem that chose to shine at the most opportune moments.

Daphne pressed her cool palms against her burning cheeks, attempting to cool them down. It took several deep breaths before she finally regained her composure.

“It’s just a pair of stockings,” she murmured, trying to brainwash herself. “Gwynevere and Edith wear them every day; it’s normal for girls to wear these.”

The half-vampire maiden sat down by the cabinet, her expression mortified. She picked up the delicate white silk pantyhose, her fingertips tracing its cool, smooth surface, feeling each strand distinctly. Logically, they should feel quite comfortable on her legs.

But Daphne knew she wasn’t quite like other girls.

For them, it was a gentle comfort, but for Daphne, it might prove to be an entirely different experience. Donning these stockings would not only cause internal resistance but also considerable physical torment.

Nevertheless, it was still better than an accidental exposure. For now, she absolutely had to put them on.

Daphne rolled up the stocking’s leg and opened the pantyhose. She then lifted her fair, tender foot, adorned with five small, pearl-like rounded toes, preparing to slip it inside.

She swallowed hard.

‘And in her heart… there was even a faint trace of anticipation?’