Chapter 225: The Emperor's New Clothes
Emma woke up to a package being dropped on her head. Her hand flew up, swatting the offending object away and against the wall with a dull thud; all while Emma reached for her sword, before realising she was still in her homunculus. A note fluttered down from the ceiling, one she just barely caught before it reached the floor; a torn piece of scrap paper covered with a messy, barely legible scrawl she knew all too well.
âGot you something better than that battered old space suit, from the first run from our new production line.â
The package itself wasnât too eye-catching, being a standard cardboard box, every gap covered thanks to heavy application of brown tape. Trying to tear it off proved an exercise in futility, and after a few moments she switched to her armoured form, using the sharp tips of her gauntlets to rip the box open instead.
[Itâs about time you got some proper clothes.]
Switching seamlessly back to the homunculus, Emma left the space suit in storage this time, as she tried Felixâs surprise gift on for size. Sheâd never worn a tunic before, but it was close enough in size and function to a dress, so she managed to pull it on after a bit of experimenting; the long purple garment going from her shoulders down all the way, coming to a stop just above her ankles. The accompanying sandals were more familiar, being little different to those sheâd worn on previous holidays; the sole difference being a slight heel that added a bit of lift while stopping short of being unwieldy. She could already see a few issues with fighting in such clothes, mostly to do with the limited mobility for her legs, but the homunculus was never intended to be the main body for that, making the point largely moot.
âNot bad,â Emma admitted. âNot what I would have picked, given the choice, but there was always something more important to do than go scavenging for clothes. I wonder what Felix meant about a production line?â
[Heâs been busy expanding his dungeon to accommodate the increasing number of survivors to find their way inside. The main focus is still on the colosseum and the associated games, but not everyone is willing or capable of fighting at the required standard, so heâs been finding other ways for them to contribute. Not the most glamorous of roles, admittedly, but still much better than being eaten by demons.]
âThatâs a pretty low bar,â Emma pointed out. âIs this a regular thing in the Empire? I know thereâs craftsmen and such, but I always thought that was just for magical items, and anything mundane would just be conjured up somehow, rather than needing a production line.â
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[Youâd think so, but having magic by itself doesnât change the underlying reality of labour; nobody wants to do it unless thereâs a genuine incentive or need. Take that tunic as an example; I could conjure it in seconds, while most Masters would be able to do something similar by brute force, basically burning enough magic to directly manifest it in reality. Magi could achieve the same result within a few days of study to dust up on their spell models, as could Practitioners skilled in the relevant area of magic.
Of course, none of us have done anything like that in centuries, because itâs generally much less effort to just buy one, as has been the case since industrialisation really kicked off in the mid-eighteenth century. In modern times, the rank and file of Empire society shopped on Amazon, while the more important ones might send their servants over to Harrods or Fortnum and Marson, you get the picture. With the recent, massive reduction in population, the Empire is getting directly involved in the supply chain again, but thatâs very much a work in progress.]
âCouldnât you automate the process with magic instead? Set up an ongoing spell to make X amount of shoes every hour, like the replicators in Star Trek?â
[Thatâs been done before, mostly during wartime to quickly replenish supplies of consumables and ammunition. It works well to begin with, but the problem with magic is that it has a will of its own, to an extent, one that gets more and more leeway the longer a spell is kept active. Thatâs not an issue if thereâs a trained Practitioner monitoring the situation the entire time, but that runs into the same issue of dignity mentioned prior. Leave the spell to its own devices, on the other hand, and you end up with an entire townâs worth of people being reprocessed and turned into salt pork. Admittedly, both magical and scientific understanding have come a long way since the 1400s, so maybe a renewed attempt at automation would work better in the present day, but thereâs never been much appetite to test it out; and on that lovely note, itâs time for dinner.]
âYou timed that on purpose to gross me out,â Emma accused, her appetite not particularly impressed by the thought of long pork; though it wasnât enough to keep her in the bedroom as opposed to heading outside.
The moment Emma opened the door, the sharp scent of onions and garlic filled the air, undercut with a blend of herbs and spices that she quite couldnât put a name to. Heading into the kitchen, she found Noah hard at work at the hob, a large pot of green curry simmering gently as he stirred, adding a handful of lentils at regular intervals.
âYouâre cooking today?â Emma asked, looking around for Elizabeth but finding no sign of her.
âI was supposed to attend a meeting of regional mayors, but Liz volunteered to go instead; no complaints here, thatâs for sure. I much prefer cooking to governing, and I still donât know why anybody thought I was the right choice for the jobâ¦â
[Most of them were directly appointed by the Empire, so theyâre part of the old crowd Elizabeth is already familiar with.]
âSay, can you chop the vegetables while I prepare the chicken? Save us all a bit of time.â
Emma hummed in acknowledgement, heading over to the counters where potatoes, carrots and mushrooms all awaited their turn under the knife. She was far from the best cook, but chopping things up was well within her wheelhouse these days.