Northern Technology is Insane! (For Real)
Every time the clothes soaked in goblin blood and sweat hit the floor, I felt that sticky grime peeling away bit by bit. I hadn't even gotten a drop of water on me yet, but that's how it felt. My plan was to wash the clothes first, give myself a rough rinse, then slip into the bath.
This place was frontline life compressed to brutal extremes. Sure, knights and squires—the weapons of war—got treated like royalty by comparison, but when it came to soldiers' conditions, you could feel it right down to your bones.
The Valenvalt family placed special emphasis on 'human resources,' so even direct heirs like me had to learn the soldiers' way of life hands-on from childhood. Ending up in this dingy bathhouse? All thanks to that damn family education policy.
Why's this world so dead serious about stuff like this?
A sloppy romance fantasy that skimps on everything else, yet somehow clings to this harsh setup with ironclad rigor. shoving kids off cliffs and making them claw their way back up—the family's training method was stingy as hell.
Swallowing a lament for the world, I started scrubbing my sweat-drenched clothes when Ron sidled up with a friendly grin.
"Want me to handle that? You look beat—leave the laundry to me and hop in the bath first."
I hesitated over Ron's sweaty offer of help. This was training, after all, so doing my own chores felt like the right call. That faint prick of conscience from being a Valenvalt direct heir prodded me.
But soon enough, the weak, scheming voice inside me started whispering sweet temptations.
Eh, one day won't kill you, right? Take him up on it when he's offering. How long have you even been a noble—feeling 'responsible' already?
Tempting words always sink in deeper than the straight truth. The Valenvalt teachings blared warning lights in my head, but the raw fatigue of scrubbing goblin-blood rags crushed them flat.
Yeah, accepting a favor now and then? Solid survival tactic.
Pretending reluctance, I gently piled the heavy bundle onto Ron's outstretched hands.
Now I finally got why history's kings fell so easily for flatterers' honeyed words. Hell, maybe even grand betrayals selling out kingdoms start from these petty comforts. Watching my family pride waver over mere laundry, I gained deep insight into my hopeless nature—no sage king material here.
"Alright... thanks, Ron."
In the end, I beheaded the 'loyal retainer' in me and clasped the 'flatterer's' hand. Dragging in kings' woes to justify my weakness, but whatever. Right now, national security took a backseat to melting in that bath.
"You got it, young master! Just leave it to me!"
Ron beamed ear-to-ear as he took my damp, goblin-smeared clothes. Staring at that pure, unclouded smile stung my conscience a bit, but my hands were already blissfully free.
Sorry, Ron. But you offered.
A quick apology in my head, and I wolfed down his kindness. Was this how kings felt, seduced by sycophants? Guilt was fleeting; the thrill of escaping the washboard was electric.
I was deep in that pathetic, sweet self-rationalization when someone entered the bathhouse with a sharp tsk-tsk of the tongue.
Ron and I whipped our heads toward the entrance together.
Parting the steam-mist like fog came Hans, striding in with his own bundle of clothes and towel.
"Oh! Hans, you made it?"
Ron greeted him warmly, but Hans shot back gruffly.
"Why the big welcome? We were just rolling in the dirt together."
Hans dropped casual speech on Ron—unlike the formal tone he used with me. Made sense. They were longtime comrades from the same unit, sharing life-and-death struggles.
Me? A full noble, and we'd only known each other a week or so. I couldn't squeeze into that thick camaraderie flowing between them—it was natural, nothing to sulk over.
"Young master, handle your own chores."
Hans lobbed a fastball straight at me.
"No, it's... just for today. And Ron offered first!"
The vibe turned awkward somehow. Here I was, a noble, getting lectured—no, practically scolded—by a soldier.
Hans's skeptical gaze shifted to Ron at my desperate excuse, silently pressing if he'd really volunteered.
"Eh, one day's no big deal, right? Young master's still just a kid."
"I get you can't say no to kids, but come on—he's a proper noble."
Hans scolded Ron with a stern face, but Ron just burst into his usual hearty laugh and waved it off.
"Aw, Hans, you're such a stickler. Cut him some slack for one day."
"Yeah, yeah! I've been grinding hard with all that family training!"
I jumped right onto Ron's side, chiming in. With a solid ally, my voice gained some backbone.
Suddenly facing two 'irresponsible punks,' Hans's brow furrowed deep.
"I'll report to the superiors..."
The words 'superiors' and 'report' slipping from Hans's lips hit me with instant crisis mode. Linger here, and I'd crack under the nagging, scrubbing my own rags.
I snatched a bucket of hot water and dumped it straight over my head.
Splash! A lightning rinse—sort of—and I bolted full-tilt for the bath.
"Young master! We're not done talking...!"
Hans's exasperated call chased me from behind, but I played stone deaf. Right now, that hot bath's peace trumped his terrifying lecture.
I hurled myself in, plunging deep.
Splash!
Hot water locked around me with a racket. "Ughhh..." An uncle-level groan escaped unbidden.
The north's skin-flaying chill and goblin stench vaporized in an instant. Family honor, superior reports—all that headache faded into the distant steam.
I sank deep against the bath wall, quietly taking in Ron and Hans through the haze.
A cramped, humid bathhouse, but watching their grumbles mix with dumb jokes somehow soothed my soul.
Hadn't I dreamed of a proper romance-fantasy protag life too? Monopolizing all the love, getting endless 'aww's in a cuddly 'pet-me' routine, coasting fluffily without a care.
But mine? Biting northern winds and goblin guts. No flower path—just thorns. Maybe that's why I craved filling the gap with this rough warmth.
Ron's nosy offer to do my laundry and Hans's nitpicky nagging felt more human, more heartfelt, than fancy ballroom applause.
Am I getting attached?
A mere week was short, but backs together on the battlefield could forge bonds deeper than years. Especially for me. Since possessing this stranger world, not one soul to chat casually with—'nuff said.
Lost in such idle thoughts, blankly staring at the steam, I spotted Hans and Ron finishing the wash. They deftly hung the soggy clothes on the dryer magic tool tucked in the corner.
The North was weirdly advanced in magic tools. Desperate flailing to tame the harsh land, meshed with lucky-rich mineral deposits.
Normally pricey even for nobles, they circulated way cheaper here. Still out of commoners' reach, but a family like Valenvalt? No issue.
Power to outfit even soldiers' spots—low-priority compared to squires and knights—with bath and dryer tools. No wonder northern warriors yearned for Valenvalt belonging, bursting with pride.
Owning most mines, pouring that wealth boundless into soldier welfare—explains it all.
Survival tech fused with overwhelming resources.
Letting us enjoy 'magic dryers'—civilizational perks—even mid-battlefield.
A wave of self-pity hit. In a rofan world, getting smug over a 'magic dryer'? Am I nuts? Nah, nonstop goblin-slaying for a week fried my brain.
Normal transmigrator protags in webtoons or novels pride on spirit chats or flashy magic wipes. Me? Touched by dwarf grease and mage sweat in a laundromat.
Goddamn rofan brainwashing me.
"Haa..."
"What's got you sighing like the earth's caving in?"
Hans, back after loading the dryer, eyed my mopey state.
Couldn't spill my exact thoughts, so as I fished for a dodge—
Knock knock.
"Young master, are you inside?"
Kalia's voice—polite but icy—drifted in. From the wall, not the door.
Puzzled, I opened my mouth to reply—
The frozen-dirt bath wall went crumble-crunch, collapsing powerlessly.
"......!"
Northern's biting gale roared through the crumbling dirt. The cozy steam enveloping me scattered without a scream, icy chill mercilessly scraping my wet cheeks.
Mouth agape from my half-started reply, I just gawked. Frozen in stunned silence at the ruined wall.