Chapter 21: The Scent of Water and Regret

The weight I had lost so drastically was slowly starting to return. Since my appetite remained small, the change wasn’t striking, but I had at least escaped the skeletal, ghastly appearance I’d had when I first woke up.

Monday was the day of the regular Knights’ General Assembly. Under the command of the Knight Commander, Claire, everyone from the 1st to the 12th Knights gathered in one place to review the week and conduct joint training.

Claire had apparently rushed to me straight from the shower after the assembly ended; his hair was still damp. His deep reddish-brown locks looked even darker soaked with water.

“Ian, the weather is quite lovely today.”

Claire spoke while drawing the curtains. I must have fallen asleep after lunch, as the servants had closed them earlier.

Having spent the entire day lying down, the back of my hair was a messy nest of cowlicks. Claire helped me sit up and smoothed my hair down with his hands.

“Ah, I’ve been lying down for too long.”

“Haha, no. You look cute, Ian.”

His warm eyes crinkled into a gentle smile. His thick arm, supporting my back, vibrated slightly with his low laughter. Feeling the sincerity in his voice, I felt a flush of embarrassment.

“I wish… ahem… I wish I could take a bath.”

I cleared my throat, which was still raspy from sleep. The Goddess’s blessing was truly convenient; since it was a blessing practically overflowing with divinity, I stayed clean even without washing, and if I wished, I could even regulate my basic bodily functions.

Even after receiving the blessing, I had habitually washed my body because it made me feel refreshed. Everyone had been wiping me down with towels, but I couldn’t help wanting a proper bath.

During the war, soaking in hot water was an unthinkable luxury. Back then, I had to be grateful just to rinse off. Even after returning to the Imperial Palace, I had only been wiped down with damp towels; I hadn’t once submerged myself in hot water. People said I had been submerged in holy water for a year, but I had no memory of it—and besides, that water was cold, not hot.

“Do you want to take a bath?”

Claire asked, having caught my quiet mumble.

“Not necessarily, but…”

The words had slipped out, but once said, the idea became incredibly appealing. My denial naturally trailed off with a hint of longing.

“A bath should be fine. Your condition has improved a lot,” Claire said in a sweet, persuasive tone. As I wavered, he drove the point home. “I will have the bathwater prepared.”

Once Claire gave the word, the preparations moved with startling speed. Watching everything get ready so quickly so we could finish before dinner made me feel a bit hollow.

In the past, even if I wanted to bathe, I’d have to haul the hot water myself, so I usually didn’t bother. Today, I just had to lie there while everything was done for me.

Besides, there was no reason to be shy around Claire. We had tended to each other’s wounds on the battlefield and bathed together countless times.

Claire changed me into a robe and led me to the bathroom attached to the room. The actual “cleaning” part wasn’t necessary—Claire knew that—but I just wanted to soak. Like Mitchell, when a certain amount of divinity dwells in the body, purity is maintained. Divinity is convenient like that; it purifies waste from within.

Claire sat me on a chair in the bathroom and turned his back to remove his outer coat. As he unfastened his cuffs and rolled up his sleeves, his shirt pulled taut across his back, showing the sheer breadth of his frame. Like the Empire’s greatest knight, his back was as solid and broad as a bull’s.

He washed his hands in running water, checked the tub’s temperature, and approached me again.

“The temperature is just right. Please, excuse me.”

Lifting me lightly, Claire moved to the tub and removed my robe. Feeling a sudden prickle of embarrassment, I pulled my legs together; noticing this, he draped a towel over me. He sat on a low stool and settled me on his lap.

The water was warm. I shivered slightly at the long-forgotten sensation of water against skin. Claire didn’t stop, supporting me firmly with one arm while pouring water over me with the other, starting with my hands and feet.

“Claire, your clothes are getting soaked.”

His large hands scooped up palmfuls of water, pouring them over my body. The hot water cooled slightly against his skin before transferring to mine.

The water running off me drenched Claire’s chest. His sleeves were already heavy with water dripping from his forearms. The wet white shirt clung to him, revealing the silhouette of his muscles. I unconsciously traced the wet patterns with my hand.

“Is the temperature okay?”

As I flinched, Claire remained indifferent to his ruined clothes, brushing my hair back and checking on my comfort. The water was warm, fragrant, and perfect.

The bath oil made the water feel slippery. Having nowhere to put my hands, I gripped the front of Claire’s shirt, but he gently moved my hands away. When I looked up at him in confusion, he gave a troubled smile.

“…?”

“Shall we get into the water?”

Standing up slowly, Claire lowered me into the tub. Even standing awkwardly while holding me, he was steady. Perhaps because he was the comrade I trusted most on the battlefield, Claire handled my body with ease.

“It’s warm.”

The towel on my waist bobbed to the surface as I sank into the water. Claire helped me lean against the wall of the tub and tidied the towel. The feeling of the water-soaked wooden tub against my back felt muffled and distant.

Damp hair fell over my eyes; seeing this, Claire wet his hand and pushed it back. I squinted at the stinging sensation.

Having been hunched over his large frame, Claire let out a low groan of stiffness as he straightened up. He shook his head slightly as if dizzy from standing too fast. Then, for some reason, he looked down at me with eyes that seemed moist.

“Shall I give you some privacy?”

His slightly crooked smile was tinged with a strange dampness.

Ian sat leaning against the tub with his eyes closed, his face flushed red from the heat. His fingers, which had grabbed Claire’s shirt hem to ask him to stay, were soft and limp from the warm water. It was the first time in a long time Claire had seen color in his face.

Ian exhaled deeply, looking satisfied. In the center of his chest, rising and falling with his breath, was a vivid scar. Ian didn’t seem to care, but the scar etched onto his pale, translucent body looked incredibly alien.

Dark red blood. Darkness, and the light piercing through it. The viscous screams flowing down a black river.

Claire’s mind sank into a daze. He shook his head sharply. He tried not to look at that terrible scar—the place where a hole had been punched through and flesh had grown back. Controlling his ragged breathing, Claire stood and swallowed his tears. If he stayed like this, he feared he would show an unsightly side of himself. Fortunately—or unfortunately—Ian asked him to stay.

Ian probably hadn’t noticed, but everyone was being careful around that scar even while holding him. Not only did it look horribly painful, but it was also the spot where the foul demonic energy that had sickened him was most concentrated. Claire poured water gently, avoiding the scar so as not to startle Ian’s body.

When Felix first pulled Ian out of the holy water, he had been nothing but bones. Now, thankfully, some flesh had returned. Of course, he was still thin enough that his spine and ribs were prominent. His wrists and ankles had only just escaped the state where they looked like they might snap if held wrong.

Claire rubbed Ian’s body with a soft cloth. He dipped the cloth in water and ran it carefully up Ian’s skin. Steam rose from the droplets rolling down Ian’s pale skin.

Through the cloth, Claire felt Ian’s solid frame. He wasn’t born with a massive build, but he had the hardness found only in those who trained in martial arts and mana. Though the muscle was gone, the traces of bones that had been broken and mended hundreds of times remained. No matter how deep the illness, the Hero was still the Hero.

It had been a long time since a bath with water. Ian, who still couldn’t steady himself properly, couldn’t possibly wash alone in the tub. Claire knelt by the tub and washed him slowly. It looked as solemn as a religious rite.

Since Ian’s pain receptors seemed broken—often complaining of sharp pain at even a passing breeze—Claire used as little strength as possible. His power, capable of bending iron, could easily hurt Ian if he wasn’t careful.

After wiping him down, Claire silently scooped water and poured it over Ian’s body. Every time the water hit, Ian’s shoulders flinched and trembled.

Brushing the wet hair away from Ian’s forehead, Claire slowly massaged the pressure points from behind the ears down to the collarbone. He had to worry about whether mana was leaking out or if he was applying too much pressure; soon, beads of sweat formed on Claire’s forehead.

“Nngh…”

With every press of the pressure points, a low moan escaped Ian’s lips along with a heated breath. As Ian’s face grew redder, the veins in Claire’s forearms bulged.

The water felt thicker under his hands. His own thick, tanned hands moving across that white body felt like the hands of a human lusting after a god—sensual in a way he couldn’t describe.

“…Claire.”

Ian turned to look at him, tiny droplets of water clinging to his eyelashes like dew. He blinked slowly. His eyes, deep enough to be transparent, were beautiful, and the skin beneath them was slightly flushed.

“…”

Those dawn-colored eyes whispered something. Claire thought that perhaps, in the final moment, even the Hero might have wanted to live.