It took Fayette half an hour to whip up the contents of her apron of holding into a passable meal. Passable not because she thought the quality was lacking, but rather because she hadn’t added any of her signature spice in, mindful of the children’s sensitive tongues as she was.

However, as Fayette strode back into the hall, carrying a big pot of steaming chicken stew, she was surprised by the clamor. Or rather, the lack of it. Gone were the heckling voices of children, replaced with a reverent atmosphere more fitted to a church. What’s this now?

Walking deeper into the room, she saw that Marie had miraculously gotten all of the children into order, having arranged a storytelling session of sorts. She sat at the end of the table like a [Queen] with a crown of blond hair atop her head, and a gaggle of children attended as her court. They were everywhere—floor, bench, lap… Fayette’s eyes widened at that last one, some hint of outrage at the impropriety of it and some other feeling she couldn’t quite identify.

Mireille was seated at the other end of the table, taking notes from the caretakers into a little pocketbook of hers, but Fayette only gave her a quick glance. Her feet carried her to the [Lady’s] side. What’s she telling them to have them so wrapped around her finger?

Walking closer, she finally heard the tale the [Lady] was weaving.

“—and then, as the mean [Lord] demanded that the [Lady] go away with her in marriage, a brave and dashing hero suddenly jumped out of the crowd, challenging the man to a duel!”

The crowd oohed and aahed at the picturesque tale, but Fayette only raised an eyebrow. Well, it wasn’t quite that picturesque or heroic if I remember…

“—but even with countless deadly injuries, they didn’t give in! Finally, at the last moment, they summoned a last bit of strength and struck the [Lord] down!”

Wasn’t quite that easy, a lot of blood and grit whisked off, but I suppose it’s necessary to not frighten the children… Fayette sighed, reached the table, and set the pot on it, giving Marie a meaningful look. End the tale already—release the kids and let them eat!

Marie caught Fayette’s gesture and then paused for a moment, as if debating something. She took a long intake of breath, and then stared Fayette directly in the eye as she finished her story.“—and of course, seeing the [Hero’s] brave display, the [Lady] fell in love on the spot! In fact, the hero took hold of the Lady then, and drew her into a passionate kiss!”

The [Lady] ended the story and stared. Fayette stared back. The kids were silent.

“Nice bit you invented for the end,” Fayette said, nodding. Of course, it couldn’t have happened in reality, was a [Maid] and not a [Hero].

Her words were like a mighty fist, and the [Lady] was mercilessly hammered down by sheer obliviousness. She slumped back into her chair, gravely wounded and her face pale, but the children naturally did not catch the display. They were already crowding nearer Fayette, reaching for the bowls of soup she was setting, and discussing the story.

“—ah, what a story!”

“It must be true—a real [Lady] told it after all!”

“I want to be a [Knight] like that too…”

Fayette had been setting down bowls full of soup for the children, but that last line made her pause and she felt a vein throb by her forehead. She stared malevolently in the direction she had heard the remark from, searching for the culprit. Who mentioned [Knights]? No [Knights] were mentioned in that story! Why do they always assume it’s [Knights]?

She banged her fist on the pot, and the clang froze all the children on the spot, fearful eyes rushing to her. Fayette’s voice was ice. “Who mentioned [Knights]? Raise your hand and I’ll let you off lightly…”

The menace in her voice stirred the kids, and a horde of fingers suddenly pointed at one boy in the middle of the crowd, who began shaking on her feet. Fayette’s eyes locked onto him—a boy maybe 13, so one who would be unlocking his system in a year.

“You want to be a [Knight], boy?”

The boy gulped but bravely faced the blizzard, raising his eyes up and standing as tall as he could. “Yes, miss. I want to be a mighty warrior who defeats foul monsters.”

Fayette nodded. “A fine enough goal—but you are mistaken. [Knights] waste all their time with Armor, swords, and all manner of foolishness. No, boy—if you really want to become a warrior, you should become a [Maid].”

A giggle came from the crowd, but one look from the terrifying [Maid] silenced that quickly, and soon it was only with fear and confusion that the children were looking at her. Fayette sighed. They never understand, do they? All those preconceptions and whatnot—

“Miss, I want to become a [Maid]!” A voice suddenly shouted.

Fayette’s eyes opened wide open and snapped to the boy—Hailey—who had said the words. He was standing by the table, a half-eaten bowl of stew steaming on the table by his side. Fayette gave him a measuring look. “You are serious?”

The boy nodded furiously, shaking his auburn hair with fury. “Of course! I saw how you defeated those monsters—I want to become a [Maid] too!”

Finally, someone who understands. Fayette gave the boy a sage nod of respect and began handing out new bowls of stew. “At least someone in this world has some sense. Stick to that path, boy, and one day I’m sure you will become a mighty [Maid] indeed.”

She was smiling again now, maybe the truest smile she had made in a long while. Maybe we could take him along? I’m starting to get levels, so it would be about time for me to take on an apprentice. How many levels could I get from that? I bet training a proper [Maid] would yield so much—

“But… he’s a boy. Shouldn’t he become like… a [Butler] or some such instead?” Marie said, having recovered enough to lean down on the table, listening to the conversation.

Fayette dropped her soup ladle, frozen in place.

“Oh no, not this thing again—you did not just say that!” Mireille groaned at the other side of the table, rubbing her forehead. She began to stand up, beconing the caretakers to join her. “Let’s go to the side room to continue this—it’ll be a while.”

Silently, the caretakers began to stand up and shuffle out of the room, following the grumbling [Seamstress], all the while Marie looked on with confusion. “What? What did I do? Wasn’t everyone thinking it?”

But it was too late, Fayette was vibrating now, absolutely still otherwise, repeating that dreadful word over and over again with a quiet hiss. “[Butlers].[Butlers]. [Butlers]!” She shouted the last one with such venom and hatred seeped into her voice, that all the children instinctively flinched back a step. But only one step—they were fascinated at what was to come. Fayette was staring at the ceiling now, eyes dark and malevolent, her hands twitching. She spoke, voice hollow.

“It’s always [Butlers] isn’t it? But [Butlers], what are they good for, really? Always being put in charge like they understand a thing… As if they’ve ever had to crawl in the grime, apron on their knees, dusting every surface right before the party. But of course, they don’t have to do it, they just boss everyone around as if they know a thing, have a merry chat with the [Lords], pretending to be refined people themselves, all because they’re [Butlers]. Always men. Just for that, always being put in charge…”

Suddenly, her head snapped around almost unnaturally, focusing on one child who had begun eating his stew again. The kid dropped his spoon into the soup.

“Why would a [Butler] know better than a [Maid] what needs to be done, huh? Nobody’s ever explained that to me. They never know a thing! Always giving the most foolish orders, acting above everyone, even bossing the [Head Maids] around! Sure, it was nice to see Clara get some comeuppance, but even she had done actual work back in her day, I bet that good-for-nothing [Butler] only knew how to open wine bottles and sip from them when the [Lord’s] not looking!”

“Um—Fayette, [Butlers] do generally have an education—” Marie tried, but when the [Maid’s] hollow face snapped to her, the words faded instantly.

“But a [Maid] is never given that education, is she? Just cause she is a [Maid], they think she’s no good. Because it’s a she, right? Your first thought for a boy was a [Butler], someone in charge, while with girls it’s always the [Maid] isn’t it.” She slammed a fist onto the table. “No! Let the boy be a [Maid] too! Much less useless!”

Marie was staring, mouth wide open. She blinked her eyes and tried to speak again. “…but a boy, a [Maid]?”

“Oh, there’s a problem, huh?” Fayette shouted, pointing with her ladle, and stew flew all over the table. But in her mania, even Fayette’s normal sense for cleanliness was gone, the words just flowed on in an endless tide as she pointed at a bucket at the room’s corner.

“You three wanted to call the slime mister slime too, didn’t you? Mister. Who ever said it’s a mister? Why not a miss? Is it because it’s strong and violent?” The ladle cracked in her hand, and the wood split as Fayette’s grip tightened and her voice fell.

“I can be violent too. Forget the old name, it’s—no—she’s not mister slime. We’ll call her… what should we call her? Cleanse… Nettoyer… Nettie! Right, she even stings, she’ll be called Nettie!”

Marie was starting to get confused, and her head was spinning. “What’s this all got to do with [Butlers] again?”

Fayette hissed like a cat, flinching back. Again that hateful word. “[Butlers]. It’s always [Butlers] isn’t it? But [Butlers], what are they good for, really? Always being—”

And so, the rant began anew.

—

Mireille shook her head—hearing how Fayette’s rant had begun anew, exasperated. And I had such a streak going without mentioning it… Should’ve warned the others, or maybe that would have sped things up if they became curious. I swear, she used to be fine about [Butlers], but then she read that one book…

Sighing, she turned back to the caretakers she was chatting with and began to review her notes. “So the word was that people nearer to the factories were the first ones to get sick, around the eastern part of the district? It seemed like an ordinary flu at first, and spread as such for weeks, symptoms getting mildly worse—until suddenly… It changed. All at once.”

The oldest of the caretakers, Agathe, a brown-haired woman nearing fifty, but still with determined eyes and a lively energy to her, spoke. “So it was. We all thought it was just another passing illness, had neighbors talking of it—then the next day… chaos. Dead men walking.”

Mireille nodded, tapping her pen. Matches what the people at the shipyards said, but with the addition of the factory bit… So, it definitely seems like it started from somewhere near there. Would have to interview the people from that part of the district. And this whole changing thing…

She stopped tapping her pen. It reeks of [Infected]. Someone with that much influence over the plague, how high level would they even be by now? Oh, they’re talking again.

“Sorry… Mireille was it? Can you help us? If there’s safety by the shipyard—we can’t have the children stay here!” Agathe said, reaching for her hand.

Mireille flinched back, and the older woman paused, face falling. “Ah, sorry—just… wary of touching, you understand.” Mireille tapped her mask, suddenly recalling how none of the children or civilians here had them. “Need to be sure…”

Agathe sighed. “If only we had tools like those…”

Mireille bit her lip. That’s part of the issue.

She agreed with the caretaker, she wanted to get the children out of here too. It felt like the right thing to do and would probably please that Cadeau man too. Saving orphans always made for good headlines. But… She flicked her tongue, tasting the air.

It was… alright inside here. Mireille couldn’t sense mana like the other two, but even she had felt the intensifying aura of miasma outdoors. Here—inside walls with all windows blocked—the effect was lessened. It was almost as clean as the shipyard. If we try and transport them out there—would they get infected during the passage?

Fayette had pranced around without a mask—sure, she had always been an odd one. I bet the plague would only make her stronger somehow, and give her five levels for it! But these people…

They didn’t look healthy. How long has it been since they’ve eaten properly? If we get a bit of the disease latching on, we can probably fight it off naturally, but with faces as gaunt as these…

Could they risk it?

There was still sunlight for a few hours, and Mireille felt reasonably certain they could get the children across the short distance to the tunnel along the rooftops. There wasn’t that much danger, and they could handle a few zombies if they kept on guard. But if the children got infected, would they be let inside at all?

Mireille could see a dozen ways it could go wrong, even with Olivia’s medicine. If that even had a hundred percent success rate. But still… She closed her eyes, remembering how scared the children had looked when their group had first barged in. Now of course they were lively, Fayette somehow having organized that. She is really good at the weirdest things…

She sighed. I guess we do need to get them out of here. And maybe… She tapped her pocket. Then she looked up, meeting hopeful eyes. “I might have something to help. Give me a room to focus and a bit of time.”

—

Mireille sat in an empty room that had once been used for needlework. An ornate loom stood at one edge, creaky from disuse. She hadn’t used one of those in a while.

Sighing, she sat down, took out a scarf of white fabric, and then opened her pouch onto the table. A bevy of dim-green monster cores rolled to the table.

Some had gone dim as she had prodded them, while others had gone right, eventually losing energy completely. But for a few ones… Mireille took one specific bit in hand—a core that she had worked on in the last minutes before this mission.

Then she took off her mask, laid it on the table, and put her own gem by its side—for comparison. They looked near identical. They worked near identical.

She had confirmed it with Marie. The effect had been at least half as good.

Yes—she didn’t really know what all the arcane symbols and carvings etched into it meant, but with a steady arm and a sharp needle… She could make a good enough copy. She bit down the growing excitement she felt in her belly. I really did it. Proper artificing. At least this one bit…

She only needed 10% more experience for a level-up, and she could almost feel it. The class she had been waiting for—almost here.

But it was only one gemstone, and there were many, many children. Still, she had an idea. Carefully, she unwrapped the long scarf onto the table, then reached again into her bag. She took out a box, carefully padded to not shake too much, opened it, and let her spider friend out onto the table.

Char dropped from the box with the nimbleness of a cat and began stretching her legs just like one too. The spider wiggled a bit in place as Mireille gave its furry core a good scratch. You have done well, good girl. She gave the spider a subtle push with her beast-taming skill, and it began to pad over to the scarf, understanding her intent.

The scarf which was made wholly from its thread—one of four she had made so far.

Char had begun maturing. She was still only the size of her fist—but she was producing a lot of thread now. And so—Mireille bent over her work, needle in hand, and let Char study the point for the thread to be looped through.

Mireille gave it another nudge of intent, and the spider once again understood. It skittered over to the modified monster core which Mireille had set upon the scarf’s edge, then began weaving a thread to keep it in place there. The [Seamstress] watched as slowly, bindings of white were wound around the gem, hiding it from sight—but she could still follow the power emanating from it.

Then, Char stuck out one different bit of thread—one that fused directly into the gemstone, rather than just on top. Mireille had been fascinated to discover the spider could do that, and now was the time to see whether her theory was correct.

She brought her needle low to the spider, and let it spin the thread into a longer bit, eventually helping loop it onto the needle. This thread felt different to her. It was… energetic. The magic of the gemstone did not just dissipate along its surface, it traveled through it. Her breath caught. Is this how magical robes are made?

Then, Mireille started to sew.

A lifeline through the whole of the long scarf, to carry the magic along its whole length, not just the bit with the embedded gemstone. On and on she went, a spider ahead of her hand steadily creating more thread for her to use.

All the way to the very end of the scarf.

She took her hand off it, feeling that the magic had weakened significantly along the way. Would it be enough?

Was one scarf enough to ward off the plague miasma for many children at once? And was this craft enough… for the thing she was truly seeking. Mireille held her breath, not moving her needle one bit, waiting. The spider stared at her, and she almost imagined it cheering her on.

Until it came.

[Brilliant Seamwork with your assistant!]

[Level up: You have reached Seamstress level 16! Congratulations!]

[New Class option Available!]

[2 Skill points gained!]

[Progress towards next level: 10%]

Mireille collapsed onto the table.

It had taken her so, so long compared to the others. But that was what leveling an under tiered class was like. Her hand shaking, Mireille felt for that new option that had become available. Would it all be more waste? Would she have to try yet again? What did you give me?

She couldn’t see that illusory moon like Fayette and Marie could, but she almost felt like she was strumming on an invisible string, as a harmonious chord suddenly filled her mind.

[Hunter-Gatherer Seamstress: A Seamstress not satisfied with using what is on sale, you can now strive to perfect every step of the process! A class for Seamstresses who want to handle every step by themselves, a Hunter-Gatherer Seamstress will raise her work to new heights. Unlock Self-made Materials domain.]

This.

Now, this... it felt right. Not like any of the others before had felt. Because it was… broad. There were so many things she could gather, and if they could all be boosted beyond….

[Class Upgrade Chosen: Hunter-Gatherer Seamstress!]

[You have unlocked the Self-made Materials domain!]

[You have gained a new skill: By Mine Hand!]

[By Mine Hand– The quality of items you create wholly from materials you’ve gathered yourself will be raised! Working with your own materials will be easier. Working with materials not your own will be more difficult.]

Mireille smiled. Sure—it had a drawback, but not really one she cared too much about. Because looking down at the table…

The gemstone on the scarf had begun to shine brighter. Feeling the lifeline thread going through it all—she sensed the thrum of magic passing much deeper. Excitement bubbling within, Mireille reached into her bag and took out the second of her scarves, and brought it near the start of the first.

Laying it down near the gemstone, she began sewing it on. How long of a scarf can one of these monster cores cover?

It didn’t need to be a perfect effect; the children would only be out on the streets for a bit. Mireille peeked through a boarded-up window and nodded at the sun, still high in the sky. She had plenty of time. And plenty more monster cores to work with….

Sitting down, she got back to sewing.

—

The sun was setting by the time she was done. Done with the first part—mind you.

Two long scarves were set on the table, both with an engraved monster core at their center. Mireille felt quite a bit of pride at managing the second one in the time, but the step to come still made her nervous.

She shared a glance with her spider companion who was nestled comfortably in the fabrics, then brushed it off with her hand. “Char, you don’t want to be there for this next bit.”

The spider scuttled off to the plain wooden table beside and crouched down to observe her work. Mireille just spent a good while stroking the fabrics of the cloths, feeling at the magic now seeping into them. She wasn’t a [Mage]—but with her new class… she had a better feel of it.

And it was time to use the second of her monster core modification techniques.

Taking out her sturdiest needle, she braced herself, then poked the core of her first scarf hard, in a very specific spot. She saw the glow brighten, but the lines of engravings stay intact and breathed a sigh of relief. This should work…

Again, she felt at the fabric with her hand, feeling the magic pass along that lifeline thread. The glow of the core was brightening. So was the flow of the magic—and how it was seeping into the fabric itself.

Brighter and brighter it grew until Mireille had to shield her eyes—until the core finally burst completely—all the remaining energy dissipating. She cursed. A bit too soon, It should’ve managed ten more seconds!

In a hurry, she again felt at the fabric and calmed. The magic was settled into the fabric—for a little while at least. Her last and only experiment had seen it work for about an hour. Well enough time to get the children out.

Yes, using one cumbersome scarf to shield over a dozen children and two adults each would have made navigating outside a nightmare, but if she invested that magic into the fabric and then cut it up into little pieces—just enough to cover the mouth…

Maybe they would all manage.

She repeated the process for the other scarf, then cut up all the remnants into bits just perfectly sized, then took a step back.

[Creative problem-solving!]

[Progress towards next level: 60%]

Mireille smiled brighter than she had in a while. Finally, I’m getting some real experience again.

Gathering all her face coverings and putting Char back into her protection box, she closed the door to the workshop and made her way downstairs to the main hall. A kid had been sent over to check on her every now and then—so they should be expecting her.

I hope they’ve gotten everyone settled and ready to travel… I don’t know how long these will last.

She rounded the last bend, jogging into the room, and— “Fayette, Marie, I’m finished wait whaa—”

Mireille slowly let her steps slow, goggling at the sight. Yes, things seemed pretty fine. The kids were all standing up and ready, corralled into a neat line by Marie and the Caretakers, who had armed themselves with rudimentary sticks and knives.

Only one was still not fit for travel.

Fayette was slumped down at the table, staring into the pot, mumbling to herself in a hoarse voice. “[Butlers]. Those damned [Butlers]. The stew's gotten all cold. I bet that was their fault too.”

Mireille threw one of her face-coverings right at her face. “Get over it already!”