Within the tightly closed administrative codebooks of the nobility, which are not disclosed to the common folk, there are detailed records of the facilities and equipment that must be prepared according to the size of urban areas.
For settlements with over five hundred inhabitants, sewage systems and public restrooms are mandatory. If the population exceeds a thousand, then water supply systems and large-scale waste collection sites are required. Among these, there is, of course, the imperial culture that the empire proudly showcases to the world—a public bathhouse so obsessively clean that foreign countries sometimes mock it.
The Justus Grant Bathhouse is one such public facility, built under this premise. Constructed to commemorate the defeat of Justus, a powerful local lord and the leader of the anti-empire movement in the region of Endeerde, it stands as an emblem of the imperial bureaucracy’s penchant for provocative gestures against former adversaries. And yet, today, it remains… surprisingly underutilized.
Part of the reason is the hour—it’s still early in the day—but more significantly, due to the limits of the regional administration, this granted bathhouse, quite unusually, charges an entrance fee. When people have food to eat and a roof over their heads, but their wallets are thin, baths tend to get postponed—an irrefutable truth. Many who live in makeshift tents or cramped quarters like those resembling octopus rooms begrudge parting with five as for a bath.
Even so, a man with golden hair led his group here, ostensibly to rinse off the sweat from their training sessions. Although they had originally planned to drink when they returned, they all eventually trudged along together. The blond paid generously for the group’s entry fee, and the party separated by gender to head to the respective changing rooms. Even within this group, there were a few women who had dedicated themselves to the sword.
“Wow, this place has a certain charm, doesn’t it?”
“Right? Look at that—statue of the Fifth Earl of Marsheim, who displayed his conquest by displaying the head of the man whose name this bath honors. It’s almost too much, isn’t it?”
“Indeed! It’s got such character that it might be torched if a rebellion starts. But it’s that charm I’ve grown to like.”
As these two were sharing fairly edgy banter and laughed, the accompanying adventurers looked on with perplexed expressions, wondering what exactly they were talking about. The blond man himself had formerly worked in the imperial capital and was known for his sophisticated discourse, but adding a learned sorcerer into the mix only made their conversations even more challenging to follow.
That said, thanks to that same scholar’s knowledge, everyone managed to thrive without becoming prey. Hence, there was little room for complaint.
Meanwhile, Yorgos, slightly left out as the two companions chatted and walked shoulder to shoulder, and with no close acquaintances around, noticed someone tapping him on the shoulder.
“Yo, newbie, you know how to use the lockers, right?”
“Huh? Oh, sort of…”
It was a muscular man of the ox race, who had already handed over weapons and drinks to Erich. He opened his locker with a token key to demonstrate and proceeded to undress while casually explaining.
“Alright, let’s get along, I’m Etan.”
“Ah, nice to meet you. I’m Yorgos.”
“Sorry the whole group might have glared at you earlier, but don’t take it to heart. We all started out somewhat the same way…”
“Is this shorty really the Golden Hair!?”
“Man, you’re telling me!”
“Ahhh! Cut it out, Matthieu! You owe me a beating in the courtyard later!”
A broad-shouldered man of the wolf race, who knew all too well the ox-man’s past transgressions, laughed as he gripped the giant ogre’s shoulder knowingly. Swinging a fist upward, he hollered at the laughing wolf man, who dared to question the leader’s stature.
Each member of the group had once gathered to see the face of the famed bard, only to initially react similarly to how Yorgos had.
Thinking back, Yorgos sighed deeply. Looking closely, there was something of a gentleman about his manner—reliable but with a hint of the lower town in his tone. However, his regal posture made casual clothing seem somewhat out of place. Without a sword, it might have taken a while to recognize his true strength.
“But you, watch this!”
When Yorgos turned to Etan’s gesture, he found the golden-haired man handling the hem of his oversized coat. The impressive outerwear was shed, and the giant ogre—Yorgos—felt his breath catch.
A magnificently honed physique was revealed.
The interwoven sinews glistened with practiced flexibility, poised for rapid motion. The sculpted silhouette seemed to radiate an aesthetic of sheer functionality, as if carved to perfection, framing sinewy lines that defied any fragility despite the man’s stature. Steel ropes twisted tight could not rival the muscular definition that delicately traced the contours of his body. Just looking conveyed an impression of immense power, overshadowing any notion of smallness.
A frame like this could certainly endure the mightiest of blades, an assumption that arose naturally due to the absence of any signs of overtraining. The form of the warrior, like a finely polished blade, was reminiscent of a masterwork sword.
Indeed, the beauty of the embellished sword. Upon closer inspection, the pristine skin betrayed no traces of the usual scars that accompany the adventurer’s profession. Even the often toughened and brown-stained joints maintained a polished marble-like hue. It was hard to believe such a state could arise without any practice—merely refining the self to “this” point seemed dubious.
“That’s impressive, huh?”
“Yeah… Incredible muscles, and not a single scar… Like a girl’s skin.”
“Right? We think we’re pretty tough, but check this out.”
When the ox-man extended his right hand for inspection, it was clear that one phalanx of his ring finger was missing, and the pinky bore a significant slash mark. These injuries were remnants of imperfect defense against an enemy’s blade, a common hazard for those who toil for long years in rough work.
“The pinky was saved by Kaya’s medication—barely. Her thumb got chopped, and another guy’s scar on the abdomen was almost fatal. Luckily, Erich stitched him up before the guts could spill out. But look at the guy…”
By contrast, the exposed bodies of the adventurers displayed various scars—some earned in the line of duty, others from everyday mishaps. Yorgos’s frame, too, bore several worm-like healed marks of old wounds, and compared to the golden-haired man, his figure resembled a worn rag next to a silk handkerchief.
“Therefore, we quietly refer to him as ‘Unscathed Erich’.”
“You only realize this during joint baths.”
“Besides, it’s unfair, you know—that guy wears those baggy clothes just to get licked, claiming it makes it easier to lull them into complacency…”
As the adventurers aired their opinions, the subject of their comments obliviously entertained his friend by flexing his arm muscles.
“See? It bulges even more this way!”
“Wow, man, even your abs are ripped…”
“Hey! Stop it, it tickles!”
The pair’s behavior was so familiar, bordering on flirtation. The adventurers couldn’t help but feel some twinges of suspicion: why did the man never indulge in women despite his wealth? Were the rumors true? If not for the ever-present companion who clearly shared a deep bond, the suspicion might have solidified significantly.
This was compounded by the man’s occasional envious looks towards the well-built figures of his subordinates, seemingly admiring their height and muscularity.
“But…”
“Hmm?”
The subordinate, who had observed them quietly with an indescribable gaze, now turned towards Yorgos as he whispered softly, directing his eyes towards the still-clothed sorcerer.
“The professor’s quite impressive too.”
Though busy playing around with his friend, the sorcerer eventually removed his robe, prompting the surrounding men to audibly swallow.
Despite evident male characteristics like shoulder width, neck, waist, and knee shapes, the revealed physique was undeniably alluring. Smooth, white skin with a subtle musculature hinted at masculinity but was wrapped in an invitingly soft allure. Particularly striking was the hypnotizing expanse of his back—a charm so magnetic that it could captivate regardless of gender.
Among these men, none could recall having encountered a woman whose touch could rival the desire evoked by this back.
The outskirts of Marsheim were notorious for their seedy red-light district, with working women readily available, licensed or otherwise. Yet, they were essentially rural girls collected en masse, lacking the sophistication expected for higher clientele.
Even when splurging, the most they could expect were somewhat average faces and figures, with none refined enough to warrant attention.
Thus, for these men accustomed to such mundane sights, the sorcerer’s grace was almost unsettling.
Even the mundane acts of unbuttoning, removing sleeves, and folding garments exuded a feminine elegance. Each motion was akin to an art form, accentuating a fascinating complexity that intoxicated them.
“You wouldn’t believe how surprised I was… assisting with bathing during the camp, under the faint glow of the bonfire, I nearly mistook him for a woman walking into the wrong tent.”
Even during field expeditions where makeshift bathing setups involving basins of water and buckets of hot water sufficed, Yorgos had witnessed the same mesmerizing spectacle.
However, that encounter happened after sunset, under the dim glow of moonlight and stars. The shadowy lighting only heightened the figure’s allure, making it impossible to discern if it was truly male or female at the time.
“So when I was asked if I could scrub his back, well…”
“You, you’re something else…”
It began after this, with Yorgos instinctively serving the sorcerer as if attending to a woman. The giant ogre, despite his species, harbored a soft spot for women and somehow felt the need to treat this sorcerer similarly.
“What are you all doing? Get in already! Your sweat-soaked body will get colder if you don’t hurry.”
As everyone contemplated the peculiarities of these individuals, the golden-haired man tilted his head in genuine confusion and urged them to get in quickly. As he often preached, cleanliness was a priority.
“Taking a bath after training is exceptional, but it has other merits too.”
At the wash area, Gold invited Yorgos to sit beside him, dipping the soap into a bucket of water as he began his discourse.
The ‘Sword Friends Association’ had a few stringent rules set by Gold, one of which was the insistence on proper hygiene.
After all, though adventurers are given an appealing title, their reality is that of wanderers without fixed abodes or professions. Most, if not all, lack proper education, are financially strained, and often carry a poor reputation. Their hygiene, especially in rural areas, is nothing to applaud.
“However, such a reputation does not serve us well, nor does it elevate our name.”
Thus, lower-tier adventurers are often disregarded. Without an impression of dignity, no one would respect them or assign significant tasks. Even for minor errands that don’t even warrant a full copper coin, a grubby completionist would only reduce their reputation.
“In a pile of muddy stones, a single polished one stands out. It may even get picked up and polished further.”
The man’s own history attested to the veracity of his words, imbuing them with gravity.
A cleaner outfit, a washed face, slightly more refined language—all these seemingly minor gestures can drastically change impressions. Clients expecting coarse and less promising individuals would be surprised and pleased.
“Matthieu, didn’t you get a free lunch during your last assignment?”
“Yeah, it was just a boring cargo transport, but the stew they gave me wasn’t half bad.”
Other anecdotes revealed benefits like cool drinks, tea, or tips from familiar clients. The three-a-day bathing routine, accompanied by a mere five as fee and some soap, was thus highly rewarding.
“Yorgos, if you want to earn quickly, get into the habit of bathing before assignments and keeping your clothes clean. Once you have some spare money, consider buying some incense pouches too.”
“Hmm, understood… Oh, uhh…”
Realizing he could use more casual titles, Yorgos opted to follow the others’ lead, addressing him as “Sir.”
“Sir, may I ask, what are you doing?”
“Isn’t it obvious?”
No, that’s precisely why he was asking, as the collective thought bubbled up.
The golden-haired man was having his head washed by the sorcerer. This, in itself, was unremarkable—washing one’s hair with soapy water to combat urban pests and dirt is common. What was unusual was that Gold was allowing someone else to do it, and the sorcerer appeared completely nonchalant about the task, even kicking his legs playfully in apparent contentment.
“Is something wrong?”
“Not at all, my friend. Oh, a little more on the left, please. Using the magic <Purify>, although delightful, is no match for a good soapy wash.”
Squinting eyes and a blissful smile akin to a cat basking in the sun, the sorcerer even dared to give instructions to a borderland hero as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Yet, the obedient “Understood” from Gold indicated the depth of their camaraderie.
For the onlookers, this was an odd scene, though to these two, it was a norm established during their capital days. Erich, in fact, might suggest everyone assist each other with their backs during bathing.
“But my friend, it seems you’ve done some workouts too!”
“A bit. For emergencies, I delved into stick fighting, but compared to you, my efforts are pitiful.”
“Regardless, you’ve maintained a good physique. Impressive.”
With care and attention, each curl of hair was meticulously washed, followed by a gentle rinse with clean water from the bucket. The naturally lustrous strands gleamed brighter, forming a radiant halo under the afternoon sunlight filtering through the skylight.
This thorough cleansing, repeated diligently, brought immense satisfaction to Gold, who now settled beside his companion and began to undo his long tresses. The two braids that had previously held the hair high were undone, revealing a cascade of hair that reached the waist.
The guardians of escort missions, despite their nomadic lifestyles, managed to keep this mane so immaculately beautiful, it was no surprise that tales spoke of mystical blessings and noblewomen yearning for such adornments.
Creating silk cords from this hair would surely make an exquisite bracelet.
“So now, it’s my turn.”
“Indeed, it’s yours.”
The adventurers gawked at their straightforward exchange. Those long acquainted with him from the Sword Friends Guild were astonished to see him relinquish control of his long, symbolic hair to another. They had presumed the laborious maintenance must have been solitary.
The sorcerer stood behind the swordsman, handling his hair with a reverence befitting a masterpiece. His fingers danced across the hair gently, and unseen by the crowd, his lips touched the strands softly, a tender kiss that expressed a deep care…
[Tips] Bathhouses granted by imperial decree are to be free for the promotion of urban hygiene. However, in regions with limited funds, entrance fees may be charged.
*Before entering the hot tubs, individuals use towels to cover their waists.
Why does this person keep focusing on the nudity of the men rather than the women? (Confused)
Editor’s Note: The third-person viewpoint will switch after the protagonist’s section concludes.
