Chapter 45: Skirts and Secrets in Nazarick!!

Mare and the accompanying elf maid walked through Nazarick's ninth floor, the "Royal Suite," a divine realm of opulent splendor. Mare had been here countless times, but for the elf maid, it was a first. Like a wildling from the mountains seeing a stone city, she gawked at every detail.

Before long, a group of male servants approached from the corridor's far end. Spotting Mare, they lined up respectfully along the wall. As a Floor Guardian, Mare commanded their unwavering reverence.

"Good timing," Mare said. "Um, I have a request."

"Anything you command," a servant replied.

"Do you have clothes for an adult man?"

"Yes, sir," the servant said. "As it happens, we were sorting our uniforms, and one set was spare. Will this do?"

"Wow, thank you!" Mare beamed.

By chance, a servant carried a spare uniform. Mare's daily kindness ensured things went smoothly.

The elf maid took the clothes. Mission accomplished—almost too easily.

Mare bowed slightly, making the servants flustered, and turned to head back to the sixth floor. But he paused, eyeing the clothes and the servants' uniforms. They were identical: black tailcoats with long, swallow-like tails, similar to Sebas's attire, with minor differences. Stylish enough, fairly cool, and definitely men's clothing, but to Mare, they seemed… plain. Black jacket, slacks, shirt, with a white tie and silver cufflinks and buttons—lacking the vibrant flair of Peroroncino's colorful designs.

"Are these… cool?" Mare asked.

"!?"

A shock, as if hit by a magically enhanced Chain Dragon Lightning with maxed resistance difficulty, struck the servants.

They'd been prepped by Ainz's secret order to provide men's clothes for Mare. How naive they'd been.

They knew who the clothes were for—the man who'd given a grand speech in Nazarick. Some had seen him: a striking human, a fine figure. Why was he here? To attend Ainz's expedition ceremony, of course. As a Nazarick servant, it was an honor.

But to dress him in their uniforms for such a stage? Not terrible, but he wasn't just a servant like them—he was under Albedo's direct command. Clothing him in their attire would tarnish Albedo's honor and Ainz's glory—a sin worthy of death.

Thankfully, Mare's words revealed Ainz's true intent, giving them a chance to recover.

"Our apologies," a servant said, gently reclaiming the uniform.

"Uh?" Mare blinked.

"If you'll permit, we'd like to reconsider the attire," the servant said.

"Um…?" Mare hesitated.

(Don't ask me, Mare-sama! the elf maid thought. I'd say anything but that dress! But I can't say that! Ainz-sama, what do I do? Play it safe?)

"How about picking something together?" she suggested, forcing a smile. "He'd be thrilled, Mare-sama."

Mare nodded. All but one servant hurried off at a brisk yet discreet pace to consult Sebas and Demiurge about borrowing finer clothes or accessories. For Ainz's honor and Albedo's subordinate, they'd secure a worthy outfit.

Mare's morning passed in this flurry.

Meanwhile, tension gripped those left on the sixth floor.

"Didn't you hear? I said stand," the brown-haired elf maid snapped.

"Or is there a reason you can't?" the blonde added.

Both maids, barely hiding their irritation, glared at the man still seated. They'd already guessed why he wouldn't stand.

Mare, seated beside him, hadn't noticed. Even when seeing Mare off, the man stayed seated, likely unnoticed.

But the elf maids, ever watchful, had seen it.

His hand slipped under the tablecloth, wiping it with a napkin. During tea, his left hand lingered beneath. From behind, they saw it moving suspiciously.

They understood.

He'd been fidgeting!

Wearing Mare's clothes, chatting with Mare, and fidgeting.

He couldn't stand because he was standing.

What a pervert. For Mare-sama's sake, they should end him here. But their combat skills were pitiful. They had to issue a stern warning.

"You sure you want me to stand?" the man said. "It might cause a scene."

"W-What…?" the blonde maid stammered, stepping back.

Her hair, slightly longer than her colleague's, was the straightest of the three. The man, new to elves beyond the dark elf twins, couldn't distinguish them beyond hairstyles. Elves were said to be beautiful, and they were—refined, if a bit generic. Still, their emotions were clear: blatant hostility, mixed with something sleazy or base.

Among Nazarick's often pure-hearted denizens, their expressive depth stood out.

"I said stand!" the brown-haired maid pressed, undaunted.

"…Fine," the man said.

He rose smoothly, facing them.

The maids gasped.

His upper half was fine—a pervert in Mare's blouse, bolero, and short slip, but fine.

The lower half was the issue: a long, flared skirt, billowing out. One part bulged unnaturally, as if hiding a thick rod.

"What is that!?" the brown-haired maid shrieked.

"Nothing's in there," he said.

"Liar! It can't be that big!" she retorted.

It wasn't unthinkable—they'd guessed—but unbelievable. As former slaves, they'd endured sexual violence, knowing men's anatomy. But what they knew was modest, thumb-sized. This was unimaginable.

"Then what should I do?" he asked.

Even if called a liar, it was his body—embarrassingly, he was erect.

Not from cross-dressing arousal. The panties—child-sized, Mare's—were tight. Nazarick's enchanted clothes fit perfectly, cruelly so. With no room for his anatomy, they constricted, stimulating him oddly.

After eating, relaxing, he recalled earlier—surrounded by sultry Vampire Brides, going all the way. No seductive figures here, but the sweet scent of the maids tickled his senses, prompting a reaction. He'd adjusted himself under the tablecloth, leading to their misunderstanding—not entirely wrong.

"It's that? No way!" "You check!" "Me?" "I'm a Ranger, you're a Druid. If something happens, I'll run for help." "I'll scream for Zaryusu!" "Fine, I'll do it." "What, you want to see?" "No! Do you?"

Eavesdropping, he learned the brown-haired maid was a Ranger, the blonde a Druid. Both were curious. He considered lifting the skirt, but even for a man who'd abandoned Vampire Brides, it was a bold move.

After deliberation, the brown-haired maid stepped forward, her droopy eyes narrowed.

"Hands up," she said. "If you try anything, she'll scream for help."

He raised both hands, palms out.

(For Mare-sama, for Mare-sama. We have to stop this man, or he'll ruin our Mare-sama!)

She crouched, peered under the skirt, and leapt back, hands over her mouth, shaking her head.

"What'd you see?" the blonde asked.

No answer.

The blonde, with sharp eyes that could've been alluring if not narrowed, crouched next. A sudden freedom hit his lower half. What was she doing? She lingered, heat building under the skirt, a ticklish warmth like breath on his skin.

She emerged, cheeks faintly flushed.

"What were you doing?" the brown-haired maid demanded. "Nothing," the blonde said. "Then why so long?" "I was thinking." "About what?" "We have to deal with that, or he'll defile Mare-sama." "Why!?" "You okay with that?" "Ugh, I don't want to, but I've done it before. Fine." "What, you want to?" "No! For Mare-sama. I'll handle him; you watch."

With her colleague as lookout, the blonde maid crouched again, diving under the skirt.

The skirt's sheer fabric let light reveal silhouettes—sexy on Mare, not him. She swallowed hard, looking up.

Above wrinkled, soft skin, his erection stood, pushing the skirt upward.

She wasn't ignorant of men's bodies, taught through unwanted slave experiences. She'd wept through disgust and despair, fearing men ever since. Even now, their leering gazes chilled her.

But this man was different.

A pervert aroused by a beautiful boy in a dress wouldn't lust after her. Safe from danger, curiosity won. Commanding a handsome man gave a perverse thrill. And desire stirred.

She'd never found satisfaction, but her body knew men. Serving her adorable masters was fulfilling, but not without urges, sated in secret.

This wasn't just for Mare-sama's virtue or the man's lust.

It was for her—revenge against human men, reclaiming her dignity by mocking his shame.

(…Hot.)

Gripping the base, it overflowed the ring of her thumb and pinky.

She turned it toward her face, parted her thin lips, as the brown-haired maid's head joined under the skirt.

"Why're you here? What about lookout?" the blonde whispered.

"I was worried," the brown-haired maid replied. "He can't do anything."

"…"

"…"

"Let's do it."

"…Yeah."

Lowering his raised hands, he shook them lightly. Below, two heads bulged the skirt. He wanted to pat them but feared a scream.

Their muffled voices were hard to hear, but they'd reached an agreement. Something warm and soft enveloped him—likely lips from both sides, tongues gliding with a slick sensation. They teased, sucked the tip, not rushing but exploring with gentle curiosity.

Despite their hostility, why this? His Nazarick experiences offered a clue.

Excluding Albedo's predatory hunger, Shalltear sought him for lust, Solution for appetite, Lupusregina for heat relief. The Vampire Brides, all stunning virgins, had gone all the way.

Nazarick lacked men. Sebas and Demiurge were unattainable for maids. Since they cared for his needs, easing their frustrations wasn't out of the question.

Earlier, he'd been interrupted post-act with the Brides. This was perfect timing.

"Yes? Who's this?" he said.

The maids froze under the skirt.

"A message from Mare-sama? Yes, I see. An honor. I'm grateful. Of course, I'll wait. Understood."

During his Message spell conversation, the maids slipped out, covering their mouths with handkerchiefs, glaring sharply.

"Mare-sama says choosing my outfit will take time," he said. "He'll return by noon, so I should wait here."

It was just past breakfast—hours until noon.

The maids exchanged glances. The blonde, narrowing her sharp eyes, spoke.

"…Finishing this man with our mouths will take too long."

"Some guy finished in three strokes, but this guy's weird," the brown-haired maid said.

"I'm normal—" he started.

"Shut up!" they snapped in unison.

What now? What now? Mare-sama's delayed, so we handle him. I've got an idea, but I'm not saying you do it—I will. What's that mean?

The blonde, face flushed but stern, leaned to her colleague's long ear and whispered.

"I'll use my pussy."