Being All-Purpose Has Its Limits (2)
It felt distinctly different from mana depletion. “Ughhh……” His eyes were open, but his body refused to move. Every muscle in his body was screaming, loudly protesting the abuse it had suffered from overworking a wizard’s frail frame.
“This useless lump of a body……!”
The owner of the potato field he was supposed to help today was Maksim. With his pregnant wife unable to work the fields, they were short on hands. Which also meant the pay would have been quite generous. ‘He mentioned making good money lately, too!’
Patrick had even heard that fishing had been bountiful recently, leaving Maksim’s pockets comfortably full. If his benefactor showed up to help in a pinch, Maksim would surely pay the daily wage without complaint—and probably add a bonus on top.
“No matter what, I’m going……! Aack……!”
But life rarely went according to plan. Even the simple act of getting out of bed was impossible, so the potato-field wages had already sailed far out of reach.
“I’m seriously starting to exercise tomorrow.”
After several more failed attempts, Patrick finally accepted reality and made a promise he had no intention of keeping. The one silver lining was that his bed and bedding were so comfortable that lying down for hours didn’t make his back ache.
‘Best purchase I ever made.’
When he’d bought the bed, no one had understood his bold decision, leaving him feeling rather lonely. But right now, his entire body was proving just how rational that expense had been.
“If lying down hurt while my body already felt this wrecked, I’d probably have caught something by now.”
Exactly. Absolutely.
‘But what’s that smell that’s been bothering me since earlier?’
After lying there all morning and finally feeling a little better, a sharp, unpleasant odor began to irritate his nose.
‘Did the kids snack and just toss the wrappers anywhere?’
He was the worst kind of teacher, suspecting his disciples first, but after thinking it over, he dismissed the idea.
‘They’ve been eating outside lately, so it can’t be that.’
The smell wasn’t coming from outside at all—it was inside the house. And very close.
‘Musty, damp, and kind of funky…… Huh?’
On a sudden suspicion, Patrick tugged at the clothes he was wearing and took a sniff.
“Ugh!”
He recoiled in shock.
“……I’ve been walking around wearing this?”
Thinking about it, it wasn’t really surprising. Laundry took an enormous amount of effort. It was no wonder behavioral economics claimed that once washing machines became common in households, women’s participation in the workforce increased.
Soaking the clothes, scrubbing stains with cheap soap, pounding them endlessly with a club as thick as an arm, rinsing them repeatedly in cold water, hanging them to dry, then ironing and folding them into the wardrobe—the whole process was simply too much for Patrick, who already struggled to find time for three meals a day.
— Teacher, that’s not how you do laundry.
— Exactly. What are you going to do when it gets hot and everything starts smelling?
— I’ll deal with it when the time comes!
That was why the children had all looked worried when they saw Patrick simply soaking his laundry, stomping on it a few times, and hanging it up to dry. And now their fears had come true.
It was the kind of day when just sitting still made sweat pour down. On top of that, he’d been sweating buckets while testing new magic and helping with chores. Of course his clothes were protesting.
“……Do clothes actually rot?”
Otherwise, there was no way they’d smell this bad.
“Aigoo, my arms and legs……”
After much groaning, Patrick finally dragged himself out of bed, changed into fresh clothes, and headed outside. Not to fetch water from the spring for laundry, though.
‘There’s something I need to do first.’
It was a cold, rational decision. ‘I can’t spend hours on laundry. I’ve got far too much to do!’
If he couldn’t invest massive amounts of time in washing, then he needed something that would reduce the time required.
“I was planning to make it anyway.”
Patrick hauled a barrel of waste oil out of the storage shed. When in a fantasy world, one simply had to try making soap at least once, right?
Soap wasn’t nonexistent in this world. Not every household had it, but wealthier families kept a bar or two on hand for special occasions—to wash themselves or launder clothes properly.
‘Still, it’s not exactly common.’
Aside from the difficulty of obtaining ingredients, hygiene wasn’t a high priority in this world. Most people thought, “For that price, I might as well buy a chunk of meat,” so soap always fell to the bottom of the priority list. At most, maybe five households on Dunbrook Island even owned soap—and the village chief’s wife had hinted that the quality wasn’t great either.
So Patrick, who also bought pointless things whenever he had money, naturally didn’t have any soap either.
‘This is why I used to follow Mom around. Yep.’
Unlike usual, Patrick felt confident. His mother’s hobby had been making all kinds of handmade cosmetics, and he still remembered being dragged along on weekends for forced labor.
“I wonder if my lye is still good.”
In one corner of the backyard stood a large oak barrel. He’d gotten it from Ben’s brewery, and instead of wine, it now held aging lye.
‘So that’s why he used the hearth so much.’
Every time Patrick used the hearth, he’d deliberately added dry weed stalks once the firewood was nearly burned out, making charcoal from the stems. He’d fill the oak barrel halfway with clean spring water, drop in the charred stalks, and let it age for about a week. The under-burned charcoal floated to the top while the well-burned pieces sank.
“The stuff floating on top is supposed to be fertilizer for the garden, so I’ll set that aside for now. Hup.”
After a week of aging, the lye was less toxic, but still harsh. Carefully skimming off the floating debris so it wouldn’t touch his eyes or skin, Patrick began filtering the lye through the multi-layered sieve he’d made himself.
‘If I were giving it away, I could be sloppy, but since it’s for me……’
People usually pictured lye as murky black water. But properly aged and filtered lye was actually a clear greenish-yellow.
“Turned out better than I expected. Don’t tell me I have a talent for this?”
For the first time since arriving on the island, something was going smoothly. Even his muscle pain faded as he focused.
“Oil, oil.”
He retrieved the oil he’d strained through a fine sieve after frying, making sure it was as free of impurities as possible, then carefully mixed it into the lye.
‘Now I just have to stir until my arms fall off, right?’
Stir and stir until the mixture thickened, then grew stiff. That was when it was time to pour it into molds.
“No matter what, there’s no escaping labor.”
He’d thought retirement and becoming a nature-loving hermit would mean endless leisure—thirty minutes tending the garden in the morning, fishing at the beach when bored, grilling meat in the yard when friends visited, and enjoying records on rainy days. That kind of idyllic life!
“How was I supposed to know the movie was fantasy? Damn it.”
That was why dreaming after watching movies or dramas was a bad idea. Grumbling to himself, Patrick kept his arms and legs moving until the soap-making was finally done.
Now all that remained was waiting.
‘It’ll take a few days to harden completely, but in four or five hours it should be firm enough to use even if it’s still a bit soft.’
So he’d eat lunch, take a nap, and then do the laundry.
“I’ll finally get a good night’s sleep tonight. Hehe.”
Imagining clean, grease-free hair and face and clothes that didn’t smell, Patrick’s expression suddenly froze.
‘In the end, I’m still going to spend the whole day doing laundry……?’
An inexplicable sense of self-loathing wrapped around him.
“Sniff. Still, it was worth it.”
Patrick wasn’t the type to hold grudges. Last night he’d added more vegetables and cheese to the leftover stew, whipped up a quick scramble, and eaten until he was full. A full stomach always brought sleep—that was an unchanging law of the universe. After patting his belly and napping on the porch for a couple of hours, he woke to find the soap had hardened nicely.
He broke off a piece, worked up a lather, and nodded in satisfaction.
“What’s wrong with making a fuss about doing laundry all day? I’m just trying to live like a proper human being!”
When he vigorously scrubbed the sour-smelling clothes with the fresh soap, the embedded dirt came right off.
“Eugh—filthy water! ……Is there anything else that needs washing?”
Watching filthy laundry regain its color gave him a strange sense of satisfaction. Patrick went back inside and came out with another armful—curtains, dishcloths, towels, and underwear.
“Teacher! What are you doing right now?”
Just then, Ben appeared with a spirit perched on his shoulder.
“Oh—hey, you’re here.”
“You didn’t come to the potato field!”
“Ah, right. I should’ve said something. Did Maksim wait long?”
“No? Halmae said you probably wouldn’t make it today. She figured you’d be laid up and wouldn’t be able to work the fields until the day after tomorrow at the earliest.”
“……”
No wonder no one had come looking even though he’d missed his promise. Even the kids hadn’t shown up.
“Hey, is that soap?”
“Yeah. I made a ton this morning. Once they’re all done, I’ll give you one to take home.”
“Whoa! Can I see?”
Ben examined the piece of soap Patrick handed him with curious eyes, then quickly lost interest and set it down.
“What? Why that reaction?”
“Huh?”
“You’re supposed to say something like, ‘Teacher, that’s amazing! You’re incredible!’”
“Why?”
“Because making soap so easily is impressive, isn’t it?”
“Well, I guess so……”
Annoyed by Ben’s lukewarm response, Patrick grabbed the dirtiest piece of laundry and started scrubbing furiously.
“Look. See?”
The clothes turned clean in an instant. Ben’s reaction remained indifferent.
“……Wow……”
“If you don’t want to react, don’t force it.”
“Is that okay?”
“No, seriously, isn’t it amazing?”
“It is, but we have soap at home too. Mom just doesn’t use it much.”
“……Ah, right.”
To Ben, soap wasn’t anything special. From his mother’s reaction, it seemed expensive and useful, but that was to be expected.
‘Well, yeah. Showing detergent to kids and expecting them to be impressed is asking too much.’
Ben acted so mature that Patrick kept forgetting, but he was still just a kid.
“So, uh, if I sold these, there probably wouldn’t be many buyers, right? I’m not planning to charge much.”
“Hmm, I don’t know. There might be people who need it, but…… I don’t think there’d be that many.”
“……Tch.”
He’d thought making soap might put him on easy street, but it had all been a dream. Patrick’s face visibly drooped.
“But what’s this one?”
Ben, who had been looking around, pointed at one of the bars in the pile of soap.