Modern Weapons Cheat in Fantasy World-Chapter 7: Buying Clothes

Marcus left his unit and was now back on the road with his active combat suit. It was really attracting the attention of the people nearby, looking at him inquisitively as if he was a crazy person.

"I really should get some new clothes. But where do I buy one?" he asked himself.

There was a man walking past him carrying a wooden crate on his shoulder. He wore a simple brown tunic and wool trousers, sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

Marcus stepped slightly into his path.

"Excuse me," he said.

The man froze.

Up close, Marcus could see his eyes flick to the rifle slung across his chest, then to the strange fabric of his uniform, then to the helmet clipped at his side.

The man shifted his grip on the crate.

"Yes... sir?" he said carefully.

"I’m looking for a place that sells clothes," Marcus said. "Something... normal."

The man blinked.

"You wish to purchase garments?"

"Yes."

"There is a tailor two streets down from the square. Turn right at the bakery with the blue shutters. Walk until you see a sign with a needle and thread painted on it. That is Master Helmut’s shop."

"A tailor?" Marcus asked.

"Yes. He sells ready-made clothing and can adjust sizes."

"Good. That’s exactly what I need. Thank you, kind sir."

With that direction, he proceeded toward the square.

The cobblestone street was busy even in the late morning. Vendors arranged produce on wooden stalls. A butcher hacked through a slab of meat with steady blows. Children ran between adults, nearly colliding with him before swerving away at the last second.

It’s literally people living the world, no smartphones or anything. It’s like a breath of fresh air.

He followed the smell of fresh bread until he spotted the bakery with blue shutters. The paint was chipped at the edges, but the color was still distinct. A wooden sign above the door displayed a loaf carved in relief.

He turned right.

A few more steps and he saw it.

A wooden sign swinging gently from an iron bracket. Painted on it was a needle and thread looping in a simple pattern.

Master Helmut.

He reached up and removed the helmet clipped to his vest, holding it under his arm instead. Then he pushed the door open.

A small brass bell rang overhead.

Inside, the smell changed from bread and livestock to fabric and dye. Bolts of cloth were stacked neatly along the walls—linen, wool, darker heavy materials folded on shelves. A long wooden counter separated the entrance from the work area.

Behind it stood an older man with gray hair and thin spectacles perched low on his nose. He held a measuring tape draped around his neck.

The tailor looked up.

His eyes stopped at Marcus’s boots.

Then moved upward slowly.

He blinked once.

"Are you... lost?" the man asked carefully.

Marcus closed the door behind him.

"No. I was told this is where I can buy clothes."

The tailor set down the garment he had been stitching.

"Yes. That is correct."

His gaze lingered on the vest.

"Oh my...what kind of fabric is that?"

"It’s my personal armor but it has a problem of standing out," Marcus said.

"I see, may I touch it?" he inquired.

Well, this might be similar encounter to Sir Ivan, where a merchant would inspect an otherworldly goods, thinking of getting it themselves and selling it. Well, it’s not like he’d give his combat suit, he still needed it. But there’s no danger by letting a man touch his clothes.

"Sure thing," Marcus said.

The tailor stepped closer, slow at first, as if approaching a caged animal. He reached out with careful fingers and pressed against the plate carrier.

His brows knit together.

"This is not linen. Not wool. Not boiled leather either." He tapped the surface lightly with his knuckles. "What is this?"

"I don’t know the specifics either, but they are very strong fibers. Now can I get the clothes now? I need to blend in with the locals," Marcus said.

The tailor withdrew his hand and cleared his throat.

"Yes. Of course. Stand straight."

Marcus did.

The old man walked around him once, eyes measuring without tools. He tugged lightly at the sleeve of the combat suit, then shook his head.

"You are broad in the shoulders. Taller than most men in Berm. Ready-made may not sit perfectly, but I can adjust."

He moved toward a rack and pulled out a dark wool tunic. Plain. No crest. No embroidery. Then he selected a pair of brown trousers and set them on the counter.

"Traveler’s cut. Durable. Neutral color. No house will take offense."

"Good," Marcus replied.

"Remove that outer armor first. It will interfere with fitting."

Marcus unclipped the vest and set it carefully on the counter. The rifle he leaned against the wall within reach.

The tailor glanced at it, then chose not to comment.

"Arms up."

Marcus lifted his arms.

The tailor wrapped the measuring tape around his chest, then waist, then shoulder width.

"Hmm."

He scribbled numbers onto a small scrap of parchment.

"You will use the changing space behind that curtain."

Marcus gathered the clothes and stepped behind the curtain. The space was narrow. A stool. A cracked mirror nailed to the wall.

He removed the combat suit top and pulled on the wool tunic. The fabric felt heavier. Less flexible. He rolled his shoulders once. It restricted movement slightly but not enough to matter.

He stepped into the trousers and fastened them.

When he came out, the tailor looked him over.

"Turn."

Marcus turned.

"Bend your arms."

He did.

The tailor adjusted the hem slightly, pinching the fabric and marking it with chalk.

"I will shorten the sleeves by a finger’s width. The trousers are acceptable."

"How long?" Marcus asked.

"For the adjustment? Half a bell."

"That’s fine."

After a few minutes, the tailor handed the tunic back.

"Done."

Marcus put it on again. The fit was cleaner.

"How much?" he asked.

"Three silver for the garments. Adjustment included."

Marcus reached into the pouch Vance had given him and counted out three silver coins onto the counter.

The tailor swept them into a drawer.

"Your armor," the old man said, glancing at the vest.

Marcus picked it up. He hesitated for a second, then accessed his inventory.

With a brief thought, the vest disappeared from his hands.

"Oh, you can use storage magic directly, not a magic item? You must be a strong individual."

He purposely did that to get a reaction. He wanted to know how they’ll react when he accesses his system inventory. It’s normal, he won’t have a problem explaining where he got his weapons from.

"Yeah, something like that. Thank you for your service. I’ll be on...wait," he paused. "Where is the adventurer’s guild from here?"

The tailor’s brows rose slightly, but he did not look alarmed.

"If you seek the guild, return to the main square," he said. "Face the fountain with the knight statue. The guild hall stands on the northern side. You will know it when you see it."

"How?" Marcus asked.

"It is the only building with a sword and shield carved above the doors. And it is usually loud."

Marcus gave a short nod.

"Understood."

He then stowed his active combat uniform and his weapons in the inventory, and left.

His next destination, the most common establishment in the isekai fantasy world, an adventurer’s guild.