Chapter 51: Tailor’s Demands

Chapter 51: Tailor’s Demands As Karl walked towards the door, Ossario swept in front of him like a velvet curtain, blocking his path with dramatic flair. "Ah-ah! No, no, no, mio signore! You do not get to parade around in that... that horrifying disgrace you call a robe!" Ossario declared, his synthesized voice firm. With a flourish of his bony hand, the door shut behind them — click! — like the closing of a stage curtain. In one swift motion, Ossario ripped off Karl’s tattered robe, letting it fall to the floor like a shed illusion. Karl, surprised, covered his bony pelvis with both hands. Ossario chuckled dryly. "Relax, my lord. That’s why I closed the door — so you can preserve what little modesty a skeleton has. Even bones deserve dignity. It’s all in the presentation, capisce?" With a dramatic spin, Ossario glided behind a tall cabinet, pulling it open with a flourish worthy of an opera reveal. Dozens of fabric rolls tumbled out in an organized storm of color: dusky reds, royal blues, herbal greens — all fine wool, woven tight and clean. From within, he lifted a hanger as if unveiling a holy relic. "Behold! Crafted by my very own phalanges! Navy blue — deep as the abyss. Undersleeves crisp and white like untouched parchment. A golden tie, and look!" He tapped the lapel proudly. "Our glorious Necro Corp emblem. Eleganza, prestige, subtle terror." Karl stared. "...You want me to wear this?" Karl asked. "Want? No, my lord. I insist. This is not merely fabric! This is identity! This is power! You are not some shabby scarecrow. You are the architect of our underworld empire! You must be seen!" Ossario exclaimed, thrusting a bony finger upward. "Eleganza è potere! Elegance is power, my lord!" "So basically you’re turning me into a model," Karl said, deadpan. Ossario gasped as if wounded. "Santo cucito! Of course! Why not? You should be the face of Necro Corp! You should blind the masses with style before you even speak! Paff! You walk into a room — silence falls! People stare! They don’t see a lich. They see a legend in lapels! They see someone who commands respect without uttering a single word. Your attire should speak volumes before you do." Karl reluctantly began putting on the undersleeves. His bony fingers fumbled, but Ossario was already there, helping with precise, efficient movements. "So... you worked with the artisans?" Karl asked. "Of course I did! Bellissimi pazzi, those fanatics! But their passion? Mwah! Inspiring! Everything they do — the carvings, the designs — it all screams one thing: devotion to you," Ossario said, helping him with the sleeve. "They pour their very essence into their creations, hoping to catch your eye, to earn a nod of approval. It is a beautiful thing, this dedication." Karl fidgeted slightly. "Yeah, that whole worship thing is... icky." He still wasn’t used to being seen as a deity or a figure of immense devotion. It felt... strange. "Technically, you should be worshipped," Ossario stated sternly, like a father correcting a child. "You made this place. You brought us to life. Some show it with prayers, others through duty. Me? I offer you la moda. It is my form of devotion, and my contribution to your grand design." He adjusted the collar gently. "Hierarchy is not about privilege, mio signore. It is about responsibility. They look to you. You must look the part, not just for them, but for the outside world. An empire’s leader must project its strength and sophistication." Karl didn’t answer immediately. He looked at the suit... then at Ossario, a flicker of understanding in his eyes. "I’ll consider it," he finally said, realizing the deeper implications of Ossario’s words. Ossario waved a bony hand dismissively. "Eh, basta with the consideration! We go forward, avanti! But, listen — I need more materials. Different textiles. Silk, cashmere, leather, linen, velvet — lace! We cannot build an empire of prestige with just wool, my lord! Each fabric has its own story, its own texture, its own way of speaking luxury." Karl, startled, stared at him. "That’s a bit much, isn’t it? We’re saving capital for the engine project, for expansion." Ossario leaned in, his voice dropping with dramatic intensity. "My lord, in fashion, nothing is too much! Nothing is enough! You cannot drape a king in goat’s wool and expect applause! No, no, no! If you want luxury, we must weave it into our brand, into every fiber of the Necro Corp. Think of the perception! A client sees a velvet-lined cloak, a silk scarf, a leather bag – it screams wealth, power, and attention to detail. This is an investment in our image, not just an expense." Karl sighed. "Fine. Coordinate with the manager. Draft a list. The manager can deal with sourcing... Just don’t bankrupt us. And make sure the manager understands the budget constraints, even with this ’investment’ in mind." Ossario clapped his hands, triumphant. "Perfetto! This is why I adore you, my lord! You understand vision, even if it takes a little... persuasion. Now — one more thing!" Karl squinted, a sense of weary resignation settling over him. "...There’s more?" "Of course!" Ossario replied, nodding eagerly, his face almost vibrating with excitement. "Dyes! I am nearly out! If I have to make one more tunic in white, I’ll scream. It’ll look like we’re dressing everyone for afterlife hospice! Imagine, my lord, an entire market filled with pale, ghostly figures! We need colors — wildflower reds, canyon bloom blues, river-mud blacks! Colors that speak of life, of vibrancy, of power! Colors that will draw the eye and capture the imagination!" Karl rubbed his forehead with a bony hand. "Alright, fine. Add that to the list too. Anything else, maestro? Please tell me there isn’t anything else." Ossario’s finger raised again, a final, dramatic flourish. "Si, sì! One last thing! I request dried leather. Me and the artisans — we plan a colossal collaboration. Dresses, gowns, suits — even bags, like Gucci! We shall unveil the first Necro Fashion Showcase! A grand event that will shake the very foundations of regional commerce!" Karl groaned as he adjusted the jacket, feeling the fine fabric. "We don’t even have a stage for a ’colossal collaboration’ or a ’fashion showcase.’ We’re a dungeon, Ossario, not a theater!" "But we have ambition! And space!" Ossario countered, his voice rising in pitch. "The manager approved it — says it’ll help market all products, not just clothes. Imagine it! Models walking in tailored suits, holding iron-forged accessories and sitting on a luxury furniture set! Fashion and industry, together! It will be a spectacle, my lord, a testament to the Necro Market’s unparalleled offerings. It will draw crowds, create buzz, and establish our brand as the pinnacle of both style and substance!" Karl sighed again, a sound of utter resignation. "Alright, alright. Just... keep it tame. No firework gowns or bone wings or anything that might scare away the customers or set the dungeon on fire." He knew arguing further was pointless. If the manager, ever the pragmatist, had approved it, there was a sound business reason. "Tame?" Ossario sounded genuinely offended. "My lord, please! I am an artist, not a lunatic! My designs are sophisticated, not crude spectacles. They inspire awe, not fear!" With a final touch, Ossario buttoned the suit, stepped back, and with a flourish, conjured a mirror from the wall. It shimmered into existence, revealing Karl’s full, skeletal form. Karl stared. Navy. Gold. Crisp collar. The Necro Corp emblem gleamed. His skeletal figure, once hidden in rags, was transformed into something regal — not terrifying, but inspiring. He looked like a king, a true sovereign of his domain. "Even without skin, my lord... you shine," Ossario said with pride, his voice soft with genuine admiration. Karl tested his range of motion, moving his arms and feeling the fabric. He twisted, bent, and stretched. "Huh. Not itchy. Kinda... breathable. I like it." He was genuinely surprised. His past experiences with suits had been uncomfortable, hot, and restrictive. "You see? No skin, no sweat! Just elegance and death — in harmony," Ossario said, bowing slightly, a triumphant gleam in his masked eyes. Karl looked at himself, striking a few poses, feeling surprisingly comfortable and even a little powerful. "Do you have a standard black-and-white one? Something more casual for daily wear, not just for grand entrances?" Ossario was already pulling it from the cabinet. "But of course! One for the galas, one for the grinds! Every lord needs his casual elegance." He presented a perfectly tailored black suit and tie. Karl smiled. "That’s good." He reached for it. "Also, my lord, before you go," Ossario said, his voice suddenly serious, stopping Karl. Karl paused, listening, a faint sense of dread returning. "What now?" "We must fix how you walk," Ossario continued, sighing dramatically. "You walk like a teenager late for detention. Shoulders slouched. Feet lazy. It simply will not do for the sovereign of Necro Corp. Every stride must speak of purpose, of power, of undeniable authority." Karl grumbled, his earlier good mood deflating. "I was this close to liking you, Ossario. You had me with the breathable fabric. And you blew it all away with that." Ossario smirked, a subtle shift in his masked face. "Like me, hate me — as long as you wear my suits and walk like a god. Now—Let us begin your education in true elegance." He gestured grandly to the full-length mirror, ready to begin his next lesson.