Amidst the falling snow that piles up, the euphoric sensation of tossing one’s body—near fainting from the heat of the steam bath—onto an immaculate, white snowfield rivals the refreshing delight of sipping on an ice-cold fruit drink during the scorching days of summer.
Is it what they call a catharsis after enduring restraint upon restraint? The feeling of one’s heated body rapidly cooling down, the sensation of one’s brain becoming clear as though it were cleansed, is a gratifying pleasure that’s truly hard to come by.
“Kwaaaah! It’s freezing!”
“Hyaah! It’s addictive!”
On the days when the steam bath would open regularly even during the winter, I’d mingle with the menfolk of the manor—now that I’ve come of age, there was no longer the worry of being thrown into the mix with the children—and sweat it out. And in the South, where snowfall was a rarity, substituting the river with the snow allowed me to indulge in a different kind of pleasure. In the Imperial Capital, though snow sometimes falls, plunging into the snow in the middle of the bathhouse courtyard was an entirely new experience for me.
You know, this isn’t half bad. Though snow can be troublesome, it feels like quite the worthwhile experience, considering this kind of bliss it offers. I now understand the sentiment Mika always expressed when she’d wax nostalgic about her hometown winters every time she visited the steam bath.
While diving into cold water or jumping into the river isn’t unpleasant either, there’s this… indescribable, gentle coldness, as if it clings to you, and that’s an entirely new sensation.
I frolic in the snow with the menfolk, returning to the carefree joy of childhood. We throw snowballs at each other, and when we get chilled, we retreat back to the steam bath. This fluctuation between the cold and the warm stimulates the autonomic nervous system and helps to balance the body—truly, taking the time to enjoy these simple pleasures is essential for good health.
After basking in the warmth of the fireplace, replenishing the water, and letting copious amounts of steam envelop me, I feel as if I’m on the verge of being boiled. Just then, I sense someone sitting beside me.
“Ah, Master Smith.”
Approaching us is Master Smith, the sole smith of the manor and of the Tunnel Dweller race. Despite being much longer-lived than Humans, he looks almost the same as I recall, except perhaps for a slightly grander beard since I last saw him. However, in this steamy room filled with moisture, his whiskers lie flat, giving him a somewhat disheartened, rain-soaked-cat-like vibe.
“Hey, Erich. The adjustments you requested? They’re finished.”
“Already? Thank you very much.”
As I thank the man who just reported on the completion of the work while beating my body with a birch branch—certainly more striking than rubbing!—it occurs to me that I had only recently asked him to adjust my armor after returning from my travels.
Though there wasn’t any severe damage, I felt some discomfort around the shoulders, likely due to growing a bit taller. So, I had it recalibrated and re-measured with the hope of a relatively quick fix, which turned out even quicker than anticipated.
Indeed, you can tell he’s a seasoned smith from one of the major cities, accustomed to servicing adventurers and mercenaries. A few years ago, during a grand commotion in the Imperial Capital, I entrusted a boiled leather armor that was damaged in the fray to the guild of artisans for repair, and the blacksmith who handled it commended my armor greatly.
Although the material itself was a common, mass-market普及品, the workmanship was exceptional. There wasn’t a single careless flaw in the piece, and the weaving in the vest was meticulously aligned, almost bordering on obsessive. The touch was so refined it was almost fabric-like.
From the shape alone, an amateur wouldn’t have noticed, but the subtle curves employed made the armor more resistant to slashes, showcasing an exceptionally high quality. In the absence of magical protection or divine blessings, it provided unmatched defensive performance.
Moreover, the design that could be adjusted to fit as I grew was admirable. While similar mechanisms were applied to other mass-market armors, none were as effortless to adjust as this, and the design was quite rare.
In the Imperial Capital, though not a particularly industrious city, there was a high demand for armor and swordsmiths, as they represented visible emblems of authority. Such armors and weapons were mainly used in the occasional grand parade of military forces sponsored by the imperial court—a competition of family rank and prestige, where actual combat was rare.
Even without practical combat use, a sturdy armor protecting its owner and a legendary sword capable of felling enemies was a testament to strength beyond its practical function.
Being recognized by a smith of such caliber—introduced by Lady Franziska, so I didn’t expect a subpar craftsman—I was genuinely astonished. Despite his humble introduction of “smith,” the quality of his work was nothing but impressive.
“Say, you’ve been through quite a lot, huh?”
“Did you notice?”
“Hell, if I didn’t. Slice wounds, bruise marks, arrows grazing by… the armor practically screams of battle. And there’s even traces of magic damage. Where have you been, my boy?”
“Uh… embarrassing to admit, really.”
I felt my cheeks flush, not from the steam this time but from the shame of my own inadequacy for having to rely on armor in dire situations.
Looking back, I really took a lot of risks. Starting with the battle against the ogre in the mansion, then skirmishes with mercenary bandits, the maze of the magic sword—stop with the psychic broadcasts already!—the grand escapade in the Imperial Capital, and escorting Lady Agrippina.
In all these instances, the armor protected me from blows I couldn’t block or evade, saving my life countless times. No matter how battered it became, it always shielded me from fatal blows.
If there’s an exception, it would be the gentleman wearing a mask I fought in the large underground reservoir of the Imperial Capital—but let’s call that a very rare exception… even stacked gold-plated plate armor couldn’t guarantee protection from his attacks.
Originally built for light movement and agility, with dodging and deflecting as my primary strategy, the armor that unexpectedly saved me at the last second is something I deeply appreciate. If I hadn’t been wearing it, considering the amount of surprise attacks during the escort, the situations would have been dire.
Indeed, I shivered countless times from stealthy assassins, multi-legged creatures trying to stab me from blind spots…
“Oi, by the way…”
Suddenly, my shoulder was gripped with strength. As I turned to see what it was, Master Smith was scrutinizing my muscles with a glare as sharp as a legendary blade, as if inspecting his own work.
“There’s nothing wrong with your muscle development, but… aren’t there too few scars?”
“Huh?”
He examined me with genuine curiosity, observing the muscles, tracing them with his fingers as if recalling something.
“For example, this place, where the vest should have torn completely from a stab wound, but I don’t see even a single scar. Given the condition of your shoulder armor, this side should have taken a serious bruising, probably leaving some permanent stiffness. And what about that left arm area where it was apparently dislocated once?”
Indeed impressive, Master. You fixed it so cleanly that only you could tell what had happened.
“No stitching at all, and normally even with magical medicine, there should still be signs of ‘connecting’ wounds. So, why is your skin so flawless, as if you’re a woman?”
“Well, I guess I just had access to some good potions.”
Yes, those overprotective… or rather, hobbyist medicinals that were constantly shoved at me. Thanks to them, my body became scar-less. Now I can almost say I miss the old wounds.
As it stands, I can’t perform one of my favorite roles—sitting by the fire or in bed, casually recounting heroic tales of “this scar? That one’s from…”. And in those intimate moments, I can’t show my masculinity either!!
I’ve always admired the seasoned role, with all those scars. It was heartwarming when the GM remembered my old wounds and referenced them during the game. As it stands, I look like an average, health-conscious person. Sure, I’ve gained some muscles, but they aren’t bulging enough.
If I could, I’d like to be massive like those guys from another planet, swinging saw-attached rifles against cave dwellers.
“Ah, is this about your adventures!?”
Our conversation didn’t escape the ears of my elder brother, who has a keen interest in adventures. He arrived, covered in snow.
Thinking about it, my brother has shaped a pretty impressive body too. The family is rather affluent, allowing for a balanced diet of carbohydrates and proteins. Furthermore, my sister-in-law, much like my mother, insists on well-rounded meals with plenty of vegetables.
On top of that, with unceasing hard work in farming and daily chores, every day becomes a natural form of training. As a result, the men are all in good shape. The self-defense group members, in particular, have impressive warrior physiques, complete with battle stories written on their scars.
Especially Mr. Lambert. Even now, as he sits calmly on a nearby bench with his eyes closed, sweating softly, his presence is overwhelming. No matter how well you know his gentle nature, sitting next to him would feel a bit intimidating due to the sheer presence that radiates strength from his posture.
A rock-solid chest, shoulders wide like beams, legs majestic like supports of great architecture. Ancient scars, stitches, traces of arrow wounds, burns—just sitting silently, he exudes power and strength.
How could a boy—I’m generously ignoring the exact age here—not be inspired by such a figure!!
So cool, I wish I could look like one of those moving Nio statues too…
As I narrate my tales to satiate my brother’s longing for adventure and answer Master Smith’s curiosity about the armor’s battle scars, I can’t help but glance at Lambert’s physique from the corner of my eye…
While I vaguely receive the silent plea “Please stay as you are!”
[Tip: When regenerating or reattaching severed limbs through magic or miracles, a connection mark often remains, but there are also methods that leave no scars.
In cases of transferring wounds or erasing injuries as if they never occurred, the body is treated as if the wound was never received.]
For some reason, the word Kanda River popped into my mind, though I can’t quite recall what it meant. It probably had something to do with a past life, but recently, those memories have started to fade.
Oddly enough, technical knowledge remains sharp, returning unexpectedly, but it seems the trivial and miscellaneous information isn’t as relevant.
“Is something the matter?”
“No, it’s nothing.”
As I drape her coat and pick up Margit who tilts her head inquisitively, I couldn’t help admire the subtle allure she emanated. Her hair usually tied up, now dampened with the afterglow post-bath exuded a surprising magnetism. Wrapping her head in a large cloth like a hood, protecting her from the cold air enhanced this charm. Somehow, the strands of hair peeking out of the hood tickled a sensitive nerve within me. Is this what they call ‘tease’?
The women took their turn in the bath after the men had finished. I was tasked by Margit to fetch her, as the steam bath near the river was on higher ground, making her movement as a spider-person difficult.
Despite the snow not being waist-deep and given the spider-person’s ability to distribute weight, moving carefully could prevent sinking. Indeed, she managed well during this snowy season as a hunter.
However, as beings derived from arthropods, they are susceptible to the cold. Particularly after a good soak, the damp hair would lead to catching a cold if left to air-dry.
Hence, they preferred being escorted home, minimizing exposure to the chilling snow and ensuring a quick return to dry and warm surroundings. Margit, too, sought the use of my two legs to get her home promptly.
Being a childhood friend, I readily obliged without hesitation, as even Margit’s maternal figure was earlier accompanied home by her father, with a mysterious comment about spending the night at the hunter’s lodge.
“Ah, yes, Erich is really warm, isn’t he?”
“The Human species is generally warmer compared to spider-people. Plus, we use heaters.”
As she clung to my neck, wrapped in not just her own, but also my coat, she sighed contentedly. She carried a heated stone wrapped in fine cotton for warmth. Though a primitive heating method, it was highly effective with several stones.
I could, of course, use a protective barrier to ward off the cold, but I preferred to savor the moment rather than spend magic power unnecessarily.
“Really? Erich’s warmth is the best. I feel like taking him home!”
“Aren’t I already delivering you home? So, you might as well have my warmth until then.”
“Ah, that’s true…”
I continued trudging through the snow with her giggling in my arms toward her home. After this, we would ignite the fireplace, gently dry her hair with cloths, heating them by the fire as we repeat the process until all traces of moisture are gone. Perhaps I could employ an enhancement with the magic “Purification” to quickly dry her hair, but it felt better not to take shortcuts.
After all, being entrusted with the drying of a lady’s hair is a duty one cannot decline, isn’t it? Such tasks should be cherished, not seen as mere chores. It’s about the ambiance.
“Hmm, once the snow melts and we set out on our adventures, I might not be able to enjoy such a peaceful bath anymore.”
“Don’t worry. Marsheim has proper public baths.”
“Aww, I’m not worried about that! I just get a little anxious as a young lady, thinking about the long journeys ahead.”
Treading through the snow and talking about the times after the snow melts, it wouldn’t be long before the holiday of the God of Fertility ends.
Then, we will set off for the borderlands. Margit has surprisingly swiftly persuaded her mother to leave her estate to her younger sister, and her mother, despite Margit being the eldest daughter, seems to have no qualms in seeing us off.
Even so, leaving behind the familiar sights of the manor feels sorrowful.
I, who have just returned, already feel the reluctance to leave.
For now, I want to linger in these familiar scenes, relishing every detail of the manor’s landscape before departing…
Slowly, serenely…
Just as the time it takes to dry one’s hair…
[Tip: In the Threefold Empire, entrusting one’s hair to someone of the opposite gender signifies deep trust and affection.]
A bit late, but here’s the update.
Thanks to everyone’s support, a second volume of Henderson’s Gospel is set to release!
Set for release on August 25th, it’s already available for pre-order at stores like Gamers.
Although Volume 1 had an unfortunate launch amid the pandemic, and Volume 2 won’t escape it either, I hope for your continued support.
The illustrations of the heretic and the scary fairies turned out spectacular, and I’ve added around 70,000 new words to the mix!
Even if you’ve read the web version, I worked hard to make this print edition satisfying, so I hope you’ll give it a try. It might feel like treating yourself to a nice bowl of ramen!
Go ahead and pre-order! It will help boost the numbers!
