Chapter 46: Talk
Valens felt rather disappointed to find the qualifications of the bath weren’t up to his satisfaction. It was a shower bath commonly used in olden times, back when the water pipes had to rely on limited sources than the ponds that were tended by Water Magi, fed by distilled and cleansed freshwater so that the supply remained infinite, at least in theory.
But here, it was clearly taken from a well or a storage unit; hence, both the pressure and sanitary conditions left much to be desired. There was also the time he’d spent in what seemed to be a race to see how much his body could accumulate and bear filth, which added another layer of complications to what should’ve been a fairly relaxing and soothing process.
He had to basically scrub the stains off his skin with a sponge as though sandpapering a metal off its rusted surface, and was reminded more than once during the shower that should he go over the five minute limit there would be an extra pay for each minute added.
Valens took a full thirty-minute shower and told the rough guy manning the bath to put it on the Templar’s tab. Money was one thing religious organizations never lacked, and not often you’d see they use it for the cleanest deeds. Valens was rather fond of the idea of putting it to good use for this once.
Outside the bath, wrapped in towels and a face cloth that clearly had seen fair use, he was about to take his time to ease off when he heard a grunt from beyond the little crack on the door. The aforementioned grunt carried a gruffness about it, followed by a set of frequencies higher than that of a normal Miner, mixed into a rhythm of strength beyond mere human. Steps thumped, and the wood groaned and cried, and the moment Garran barged inside, he hurled the clothes into Valens’s face.
“Here, it’s on the house,” he huffed away, banging the door shut after him, mumbling sourly as he knocked another door down the hallway.
“You want to have a good life? Lower your expectations,” Valens muttered with a shake of his head before taking an eye down the clothes. He was greeted by an old pair of trousers likely fashioned from cotton, a white shirt that was surprisingly clean, a short-sleeved undershirt, wool stockings, and white drawers. There was also a great coat that was long, heavy, and seemingly made of thick wool. A practical, if rather outdated, fit for a man who liked to have some comfort against the biting weather of the land.
Valens set the clothes aside, patted himself dry before the long window, and then stood tall to gaze at what he’d become.
A hard face glared back from the mirror. He had creases around his forehead, the work of a scowl he’d been managing against the sacred warriors throughout their bumpy ride, a stubble masking most of his features that he was once proud of, and a pair of blue eyes that seemed to have gained another layer of depth to them. He was due some haircut as well with how the tips of his long strands curled wildly.
He was considered tall in a field crowded by mostly older men and women, who had taken the duty of their servitude over their shoulders and stooped, ever-so-slowly, under the weight of it. It made him stick out like a sore thumb in their midst, a fact that the mantle of the youngest Archmage of the Empire had not helped with certainly. He was used to being hated and lauded, but learned, under Master Eldras’s long yet fruitful lessons, to bear through it.
When he donned the new clothes and took another gaze at himself, he nearly yipped at how ordinary a man he could become with the right arrangements. Whether that was a good thing or not had yet to reveal itself.
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