"Of course, my lord. Though I wouldn't say I'm skilled enough to impress you," Tarian replied politely.
"Show me your skill, and how well you can control the flame's temperature."
"Certainly, my lord."
Calm and composed, Tarian raised his hand. A searing fireball ignited, radiating enough heat to warm the entire room.
Octavia's eyes widened with curiosity as she stared at the fireball—watching a mage cast a spell was a rare sight.
Arthur was similarly intrigued, though he maintained his aloof expression.
"Lower the fireball's heat. Make it spread wider."
"As you wish."
With practiced grace, Tarian reduced the heat and diffused the flame until it became a thin sheet of fire.
'Hmm, not enough.'
"Lower it further."
Tarian was surprised, but immediately complied.
'What is he trying to see? Is he testing my proficiency? I heard he once had a few Grade C mages as his retainers. Is he considering making me a direct subordinate?'
A subtle smile crossed Tarian's face at the thought. Becoming Arthur's direct follower would mean no one in the barony could disobey him—not even the Baronet himself. That would finally allow him to settle old scores with the Baronet and the captain of the guard without fear of consequence.
"Hmm, that's excellent. You are as capable as they say."
Arthur nodded in approval, making Tarian feel satisfied. With a polite gesture, he extinguished the flame.
"Thank you for your praise, my lord. I won't disappoint you."
"Good. I need you for something."
Tarian quickly hid his smile and bowed respectfully, already imagining the benefits to come.
"Speak, my lord. Whatever burdens you, I will gladly shoulder."
"Octavia, take him to dry the soap. And you—listen well. Keep the temperature exactly as you just did. If I smell burning or notice even the slightest damage to my soap... I will have you executed."
Tarian's faint smile froze, and he nearly stumbled in place from the absurdity of the task. But he had no choice but to comply. With bitter reluctance, he followed Octavia to dry the soap.
After they left, Arthur called for another maid to bring him food. His excitement about soap-making had caused him to skip breakfast. Then, without delay or laziness, he drank half a vial of the Brutal Enhancement Elixir and began sword training to strengthen himself and pass the time.
Living in a world stuck in the medieval age was dull, and he tried to minimize interactions with others so they wouldn't notice anything off about his personality.
Several hours passed. As dusk fell, Octavia returned carrying the finished soap. Without showing much excitement, Arthur took one bar and ordered a basin of hot water to be brought.
With anticipation, he washed his hands. Fragrant foam burst forth, cleansing all the grime and oils from his skin. A subtle, satisfied expression crossed his face as he enjoyed the smoothness of his clean hands.
Once done, he carefully stored the soap bars like precious treasure. Suddenly, he picked one up and handed it to Octavia, who didn't dare refuse—but inside, she was overjoyed. She had seen Arthur wash his hands and smelled the delightful fragrance.
"This humble maid thanks you for your generosity, my lord."
She clutched the soap tightly, storing it as a priceless item, eager to test it later with her family.
Unbothered by her feelings, Arthur ordered preparations for a proper bath. Due to the difficulty of gathering and heating water, he had to wait a long while before Octavia returned to lead him to an empty room, where a large barrel was filled with hot water.
Sigh...
'I need to build a proper bathhouse in this backward world.'
He didn't realize his discontented expression was visible, but the servants in the room saw it and trembled in fear. Contrary to their expectations, Arthur simply ordered them to leave.
Then he undressed and entered the barrel. After soaking completely, he used the soap to wash away the sweat and dirt. He applied shampoo to his hair and waited for it to take effect—but the water around him was quickly becoming dirty and cold, which greatly annoyed him.
Normally, the maids would change the water and keep it warm, but he had ordered them away for privacy. As he silently grumbled, an idea struck him.
"Why don't I build a public bathhouse, Roman-style?"
"No, no... that would require too many workers and attract the Baronet and his son's attention. If they get suspicious, it wouldn't take long for them to realize I'm just a fraud."
"I need to get rid of them. But how? I can't simply kill them.
From what I recall, the Baronet died in three months during a brutal beast tide from the forest. His son followed two months later, slain by Arvan's revenge."
In the novel, the first disaster this village faced was a famine caused by the real Arvan seizing all the fertile farmland. The hunger killed many peasants or drove them to flee, reducing tax income. To raise money, Arvan started arresting children and young adults to sell as slaves to a neighboring barony.
All of this further weakened the already feeble barony, leading to near-total destruction during a beast tide that killed Baronet Edgar. Had the story's hero not intervened, the entire village would've perished.
The remaining villagers and soldiers turned on Arvan under Duncan's leadership, but Arvan escaped with Tarian's help. Two months later, he returned with a thousand-strong army and slaughtered everyone, killing Duncan in the most horrific way.
This world was truly savage—and Arthur now understood that.
After finishing his bath, he returned to his room with a heavy heart.
Despite his resolve to act decisively, he still felt utterly powerless.
…
Meanwhile, Octavia had rushed home, unable to contain her excitement.
Her house resembled the rest of the village—simple, made of stone and wood, and only one floor.
As she entered, she was greeted by the faint light of the hearth and the unpleasant smell of the candles.
In the dim home, near the fire, sat a frail, unkempt woman in her forties who looked far older, cooking a strange soup.
Octavia hurried toward her mother, Golda.
"Mother! Look what I got!"
She pulled out the soap and showed it to her with enthusiasm.
With a hoarse, rasping voice, Golda asked, "What is this?"
"It's soap—but not just any soap. Let me show you."
She quickly brought a bowl of water, gently took her mother's hand, and began to wash it.
Golda's eyes widened as she felt the softness and saw the thick foam.
After rinsing, she held her mother's hand near the firelight.
The dirt had vanished, and the skin regained a bit of its softness and shine.
In shock, Golda muttered, "What magic is this? My hands feel like a child's..."
A worried look crossed Golda's face.
"Where did you get this? You didn't steal it from the castle, did you?"
"Don't worry, Mother. It's a reward—Lord Arvan gave it to me.
By the way, where's Cole? Didn't I tell him not to go out at night?"
Golda's eyes widened in fear at the mention of Arvan's name, stepping back.
"What did that monster do to you?"
"Calm down. I just helped him make the soap, and he gave me a piece as a reward."
Despite Octavia's explanation, her mother still couldn't accept it, prompting a long conversation.
Eventually, Octavia tried to convince her that maybe—just maybe—Arvan wasn't the evil devil they had heard about.