A very sternly dressed woman walked toward Paintbrush in the corner.
Hill couldn't help blinking.
Unlike most girls, who preferred something sexy, cute, or ethereal, this woman wore an utterly orthodox mage's robe... the old-fashioned sort with billowing sleeves and a draft around the feet, which Hill had discarded early on in favor of happily embracing the Undead's wardrobe.
Just as Telashir's mages were abandoning that traditional style, an Undead had actually chosen to wear it! They had learned it from elven mages, and noble mages had popularized it, forever hoping to distinguish themselves from ordinary people but finding no better way than wasting fabric.
Of course, the Undead certainly didn't care how difficult all those layers were to put on. They could simply equip clothes in their virtual wardrobes... though many girls actually preferred the feeling of putting them on one piece at a time.
But there were also certain boys and girls with particular preferences to consider. They only wanted to see how beautiful another version of themselves could be, not enter another world and change who they were inside.
So inconvenience wasn't the real issue. Ugliness was.
After all, that dreadful style, which only turned into two sacks if you added a belt, had always made Hill feel that studying at home was perfectly fine.
Honestly, many of Telashir's mages deeply resented those wretched robes... but the God of Nobles had been truly annoying, always insisting on those inexplicable, idiotic traditions.
Otherwise, so many mages wouldn't have been unable to resist cursing him.
Later, Hill had also guessed part of the reason the God of Nobles had clung so firmly to those old styles... his precarious will had only held on through his efforts to protect the human race.
Although the nobles' filthy schemes had brought him