Blood soaked into clothes or fabric should be washed with cold water. Pouring hot water on it without thinking will only make the blood coagulate.
But should the same principle apply to skin or hair?
Bare skin isn't fabric — wouldn't warm water be okay? Besides, the air is already biting cold. Rubbing with cold water on top of that feels…
If it were just a nosebleed or a small scratch, maybe. But this is the first time I've faced a situation where someone looks like they've been dunked in a bathtub full of blood.
While I hesitated for a moment, unsure of how to handle this unfamiliar scenario, Leonardo gently took my wrist and guided me toward the bathtub.
"You have to rinse with cold water first. After that, you can use lukewarm water."
Ah. So the cleaning process doesn't end in one go.
Leonardo looked like he was used to handling this kind of thing.
Well, now that I think about it, there was a scene in the
[You little monster, go wash up. People are running away because you're walking around looking like a blood-soaked mess.]
The
'What part of him looks like a monster? He's so gentle like this.'
He peeled off his heavy, soaked coat, tossing it into the bucket. His hands, stained and blotchy from the water, moved with practiced ease as he stripped down to his light underclothes and stepped into the tub.
Splash.
The water sloshed over the edge, spilling onto the floor, leaving it drenched. Not surprising, considering how thick and solid his frame was.
'Pig.'
Leonardo seemed to relax, the icy water not bothering him as much as expected. I could see goosebumps rising on his skin from the cold, but he looked content nonetheless.
'Hippo.'
He looked like a hippo enjoying the water. Seriously, what part of him is supposed to be monstrous?
I let out a small chuckle, rolling up my sleeves to my elbows. He tilted his head curiously, as if wondering why I wasn't getting in.
"Not joining me?"
"Yeah, I was going to… but I'm thinking of trying something different today."
Today wasn't a situation that could be handled with a quick rinse in the tub. The water would turn murky in no time.
"I'll treat you like a young master today. Close your eyes."
He didn't resist, obediently shutting his eyes. I scooped up cold water with a ladle and gently poured it over Leonardo. The water trickled down, washing away the grime. After repeating this a few times, his hair gradually returned to its original colour.
It felt like giving a giant dog a bath.
Once his hair was rinsed clean, it was time for his body. While Leonardo washed his face, I shifted behind him, reaching the spots that were hard for him to clean on his own. The dried, stubborn flecks of blood didn't come off easily with just water — I had to rub them away with a damp cloth.
His wet skin glistened, slick and smooth. Watching the way the water clung to his body made me wonder —
'Would Leovald's real body look like this too?'
After all, the body in front of me wasn't truly his. It was someone else's form, borrowed for the time being.
Just then, Leonardo tilted his head slightly and, without a word, took my hand. He guided it to his side, sliding it along his ribs.
"My real body has a small scar here."
My fingertips followed the faint, slanted line. He spread his fingers apart, roughly the width of a knuckle, indicating where the old wound was — a scar he said he got as a child.
It felt strange, realizing there were still parts of him I didn't know. My gaze lingered on him, drawn in.
"And?"
"There's a small scar on my forearm too. Got it when a wild dog bit me."
He said it had mostly healed, but if you looked closely, a faint trace remained.
"Any more?"
"Hmm… near my shoulder blade."
Leonardo paused for a while, sifting through his memories, slowly piecing together a description. Most of his scars, it turned out, were from his childhood.
It made sense — after Leovald rose to fame as a hero, the church began supporting him. Any injuries he sustained after that were likely healed quickly with holy water.
But old scars couldn't be erased, even by holy water.
His voice washed over me as I listened, my hand absentmindedly tracing over his smooth skin, imagining where those scars used to be.
Like constellations woven with myth, I pictured his scars as markers of Leovald's life — each one a story carved into his body. I traced them with my fingertips, committing their shape and position to memory, as though trying to ensure those stories wouldn't be forgotten.
Leonardo's voice, which had been quietly narrating his old wounds, gradually faded, slowing to a stop.
"Leo?"
A droplet of water fell from his damp hair, rippling the surface of the bath in soft, concentric circles.
Leonardo's expression looked a little… off. A flicker of confusion crossed his face.
"What's wrong?"
"…It's, uh… ticklish?"
Ticklish — but he said it like a question.
"You're not ticklish, though."
If anything, Leonardo was usually the one teasing me with playful tickles, not the other way around.
His cheeks were faintly flushed. It made me wonder if he was running a fever. I reached out, pressing my hand to his forehead to check — but my fingers were still cold from the water, numbing my sense of touch. His skin felt warm, but I couldn't tell if that was from a fever or just the temperature difference.
'Could he be catching a cold?'
"This won't do. We're done rinsing — I'll get some hot water."
Leonardo shook his head, insisting he was fine. He didn't look fine. His voice sounded like he was trying to convince himself more than me.
I decided to stop overthinking and focus on finishing up quickly. Getting out of the water was probably the best thing for both of us. I worked in silence, concentrating on washing the remaining grime away.
By the time we stepped out of the bath, we were both clean — and, thankfully, he didn't seem feverish after all.
Considering how unpredictable things had been lately, the last thing we needed was someone falling sick on top of everything else. It was a relief that, at least for now, we avoided that.
By the time we finished bathing and changed into clean clothes, the hunting squad had already returned and was moving around busily.
Raul dropped something heavy and soggy onto the ground with a thud—a burlap sack, damp at the bottom, leaving a small puddle on the floor.
"We're back!"
Raul stretched and called out energetically. He wasn't quite on Leonardo's level, but it was impressive how he still looked so refreshed despite clearly having just come from a fierce battle.
Vittorio eyed the wet sack for a moment, then asked for it to be moved further away from the cooking pot. Honestly, we might be the only ones here who actually care about hygiene.
"Everyone except the sentries, rest and handle maintenance."
"Yes, sir!"
At Leonardo's short command, the squad nodded briskly and scattered in an orderly rush. They seemed even more obedient than before — or maybe they just moved faster now.
Raul wiped the sweat and blood off his face with a dry cloth Vittorio handed him, mumbling under his breath.
"Looks like this place is turning into a field army too."
So this was why Leovald could lead the First Field Army at such a young age? His unmatched martial prowess?
'Well… I guess his character and leadership probably had something to do with it too.'
I shrugged, about to tell Raul he did a good job too — but then a lantern flickered from the watchtower above the camp, signalling us.
Leonardo read the signal, and his brow furrowed.
"What is it?"
"…The king's calling for us. Looks like he's summoned the nobles to discuss the state of the defensive battle."
Come to think of it, there was a scene in the scenario where Godric spoke before the nobles. It wasn't really about the subjugation itself — the main focus was likely on how to handle the burial of the casualties.
I nudged Leonardo from below.
'He didn't call just you, right?'
Godric had decided, on his own, to lump me into the "nobles" category too.
Leonardo looked even more displeased but gave a slow nod.
Well, no helping it. We have to go. I was never the type to sit back and watch from a distance anyway.
Today made that clearer than ever — when Leonardo disappeared beyond the barricades, and I couldn't see past the snowy ridge…
Not knowing what was happening to him felt suffocating.
I almost considered using
'Even if it's more like a prayer than anything practical, sending him off with a wish for safe return… it really did help, didn't it?'
I couldn't say it had any real effect, but it definitely helped calm my nerves. Maybe from now on, I should do it regularly — not for Leonardo's sake, but for my own.
I'd only just realized that a send-off isn't just for the one leaving — it's for the one left behind, too.
Leonardo, still looking reluctant, took my hand.
In the end, we had no choice but to go see Godric.
The king's command post was built beneath the first of the ten peaks. A map of the Vernis mountain range was spread across the centre of the room, and Godric paced slowly around it. As the nobles arrived one by one, Godric raised his head. There was a drop of blood on his cheek — not his own.
Unlike Leonardo, who had returned from the battlefield and washed up quickly like a war machine resetting itself, the king looked like he had just gotten back. His hair, usually left to fall smoothly around his face, was tied back simply with a cord.
"Ah, I see a few familiar faces missing."
His voice was calm, but weighty.
"Given the unpredictable nature of this siege, I expected as much. Still… it's a shame."
Compared to the first expedition, the empty spots left by the wounded were now painfully noticeable.
"Some of our knights, too, have made the ultimate sacrifice."
His tone didn't falter — steady and composed — but the room felt heavier for it.
Godric shook his head slowly, his expression tinged with regret. He glanced around the room, his voice taking on a subtle, almost murmured tone.
"If only none of this had needed to happen in the first place… that would have been best."
His gaze landed on me, lingering. It felt less like a look and more like a silent nudge, urging me to think carefully about his words. Not that I needed to think at all to figure out what he meant.
'If I had just handed over Leovald's body and the original script like he wanted, this whole mess could've been avoided — no unnecessary casualties.'
Pointless nonsense. Not worth reconsidering.
I turned away, ignoring his stare. Godric's eyes narrowed slightly before he smoothly shifted the topic.
The rest of his speech followed what I'd already seen in the scenario notes: the monsters might react to fire, so cremations were to be delayed. For now, the dead would be buried. Crews were already assigned to deal with the beast corpses, so we shouldn't worry too much.
The discussion circled back to the ongoing subjugation efforts — battle formations, supply routes, reinforcement plans. This was Leonardo's area more than mine, so I kept to the sidelines, listening quietly.
Then, without warning, Godric smiled.
"Now then — I intend to assign additional forces to this sector. What's your opinion, Sir Isaac?"
His voice was light, but the room seemed to sharpen around the question. The sudden shift felt deliberate — like he wanted to drag me into the spotlight.
'…?'
"I heard you've shown impressive results this time as well — just like during the last expedition. With such remarkable skill, it seems wise to seek your counsel."
A hushed murmur spread among the nobles.
"Is he the one who earned five gold plaques last time…?"
"That new noble — is he the author?"
…Ha.
[Sub-writer 1: I even gave you a title, but you seemed too shy to step forward.]
I didn't expect my unwanted rise to fame to be dragged into the open like this.