Swiss Arms 52 (Patreon)

Swiss Arms

Chapter 52

-VB-

I did a lot of things while I waited for the response from the younger duke of Upper Bavaria and the arrival of Isabella’s cousin. One of the minor changes included upgrading my one and only armor set. There was only a beaten iron chestplate, full-face covering iron mask, and a bear fur cloak. They were… serviceable. Isabella, however, suggested that I tried to improve upon it because it could be an insult to her cousin if I showed up and just acted like, as she put it, a knight-errant. She also pointed out how I didn’t have a decent attire to meet someone of her cousin’s standing.

The difference was … if I had to use my old life’s example, then I would be the mayor of small rural town in Iowa with maybe two thousand people who would soon meet the mayor of New York City.

Of course, I knew that I was a wild card myself. My gemstone and precious metal exports, sugar trade, paper production in allied holdings, and the direct blessing of the Prince-Bishop of Chur made me a growing power.

And if that growing power didn’t greet someone of higher status and lineage properly… then that was an insult, no matter what he may have intended.

So what did I do?

I got myself a new wardrobe.

Partially.

See, as aggressively growing and slowly city-like Fluelaberg was becoming, it was still a hick town up in the mountains whose only purpose was hindering everyone’s expansion in whatever direction they wanted to. Sure, it was better than most towns out there because one of the few things that I had been insistent upon as the town formed was the laying of sturdy cobblestone roads, but it was still a rural castle town.

This also meant that the closest tailor for the nobility were far away from where we were. With only a limited time for myself to get decked out, I could not go back and forth for the clothes.

Well, technically speaking, I could. I could run faster, farther, and longer than anyone, but someone still had to make the clothes, and the ones for the nobility took months, if not years, to be done up to standard.

So I made do what I could and asked the locals to put together something for me while Isabella supervised.

The end result was … it came very close to being that weird renaissance Italy clothing. I wasn’t sure what it was called, but it came close. It was only at my insistence that I may need to work in the field if I ever encountered any trouble that the attire lost some of the fragile and downright unnecessary surface area. The modified attire was slimmer, which fit my taste just fine.

But still…

It looked very … uh … well, I’m not sure. It’s very flowy. And it came down to my knees, I had to wear a separate pants, and the only thing keeping the top part from flying away in the high winds of the Alps was a belt.

At least I didn’t have to do anything for my short hair.

“Finally, you look more like a noble that you are.”

I turned around and found myself looking at Isabella, who had forgone her usual flowing dress of red and white for … was that Periment blue?

“Where did you get that color?” I asked her in surprise.

She grinned. “You told me I could use any dye you were experimenting with.”

“... so you used the periment blue?” I thought she would try to use the striking red I had. That shade of red was the most expensive dye I had. Chemistry lab was something I was working on, though it resembled less a chemistry lab and more of a staining lab with how much everything was stained by pigments. Periment blue was a random combination of mineral and organic pigment combination I found after brute forcing through two dozen combinations. I called it periment blue because it came from a combination of a local flower called periwinkle and river rocks called talment. I was unfamiliar with either of them, so I didn’t know their future science names. I said fuck it and just called the dye by coming their two names.

“Yes!” she giggled. “I mean, look at this! This blue is so deep! It’s deeper than the color of the Mediterranean!”

She spun around and her periment blue dress’s skirt did a small twirl. She came to a stop after only one spin and grinned at me. “Thank you, by the way, for letting me use them.”

“No problem,” I smiled before spying a small caravan heading our way from the Fluela Pass. Well, saying that it was a caravan would be misnomer, because half of that caravan was comprised of well-armed and armored knights, men-at-arms, and soldiers. It was my first view of a well-organized medieval military band. Compared to what the late baron, the bishop, or any of the counts had, that was an actual band of knights.

And at the head of them all was the duke.

I couldn’t see what he looked like, only the banner and the fact that they were well-armored and armed.

“Is that your cousin?” I asked her.

Isabella turned to look and squinted. “Huh. You can see that far, Hans?”

“Yes.”

“Yes… That is the banner of my cousin, the Duke of Carinthia.”

I nodded. “Well, let’s go greet him.”