The Trouble with Human Rules and Dirty Clothes

Sovenia fell silent, her perked ears flattening against her head.

Wawalde couldn’t help but feel a pang of curiosity. Sovenia’s expression remained perpetually blank, as if even the mountains of heads piled high by the First Heavenly King couldn’t stir a single ripple of emotion within her.

Perhaps her emotions were tied to her ears; did flattening them signify dejection?

“Actually, if you insist on linking heads to gold, there is a way.”

“What?”

“Adventurers.”

“How does that work?”

“First,” Wawalde took a deep breath, striving to explain, “the Adventurer’s Guild has a ranking system. You need to register as an adventurer, find a Silver-ranked master to teach you. They’ll assess your skill, assign you a rank, and give you appropriate quests.”

Sovenia listened, completely bewildered. “But what about heads? Don’t they collect heads?”

“They do!” Wawalde affirmed. “But only specific heads required by specific quests! For instance, if the Guild posts a quest to hunt Goblins, your master will assign it to you. After you kill the Goblins, you can bring back their ears or heads as proof.”

“And how much gold does that earn?”

“Usually sixty percent.”

“Only sixty percent?”

“Sixty percent goes to your master.”

“Then why couldn’t I just cut off the master’s head and exchange it for gold directly?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Why not?” Sovenia frowned. “If the master is weak, wouldn’t cutting off their head prove I’m stronger than them?”

“That would be a crime!” Wawalde patiently explained. “You’d be arrested, thrown in prison, or even executed.”

“Oh,” Sovenia said. “So the human world doesn’t really value strength; it values rules more.”

“Precisely.” Wawalde sighed in relief. “We have laws, order, morals… unlike demons.”

‘So that’s why the front lines are being pushed back into human territory.’

Sovenia asked, “Tell me more about adventurers who exchange heads for gold.”

They continued walking and talking. Wawalde spoke at length about the Adventurer’s Guild, covering its ranking system, training, intelligence gathering, and quest assignments.

Sovenia, however, found it utterly uninteresting. It went in one ear and out the other.

After Wawalde had talked himself hoarse, Sovenia interrupted him.

“What if I want to challenge a very strong human? Can I kill them and inherit their warband and wealth?”

“No!”

“Why?”

“Because that’s murder!” Wawalde exclaimed. “Lady Sovenia, you’ve been in the Demon Realm for too long. In the human world, you can’t just kill people indiscriminately!”

“Then how can I prove I’m stronger than them?”

“You can duel them!” Wawalde suggested. “In an arena or a dueling ground, you can fight non-lethally to determine a victor.”

“No killing?”

“Correct.”

“Can I inherit their warband and wealth then?” Sovenia asked. “If I defeat them?”

“No,” Wawalde replied. “And what’s a ‘warband’? The Adventurer’s Guild doesn’t have warbands.”

“Didn’t you say earlier that a Silver-ranked master can form multiple small teams? Isn’t that a warband?”

“It’s different. It’s not like the bandit gangs of the Demon Realm.”

“So, a bandit gang with rules?”

Wawalde paused for a few seconds before saying, “At least they follow the rules.”

Sovenia felt she had discovered the reason why the Human Alliance forces were constantly retreating. The demons’ simple way of greeting each other—everyone just hacked at each other; whoever killed their opponent inherited their warband.

Killing to their heart’s content, receiving blessings, weeding out the weak, and avoiding tedious processes like eating—it all boiled down to humans and elves being too frail, didn’t it?

“How troublesome,” Sovenia commented.

“But this is human society,” Wawalde said. “If you want to live here, you must abide by these rules. I hear the Silvermoon Forest has even more.”

Sovenia remained silent, walking along the dirt road, gazing at the bright, green, unfamiliar world. She recalled the multitude of rules Wawalde had just explained.

A headache began to throb. Her understanding of the human world was still far too shallow. She was only skilled at commanding troops, maneuvering to crush and slaughter one human army after another, severing their heads, burning their banners, and offering them to the Four Gods.

She needed Wawalde, at least until she fully grasped the rules of this world. She needed this foolish dog to lead her.

‘Perhaps he’ll even let me have his home directly, so I can train at a base and occasionally go out to cut off heads—human heads, according to human world rules, of course.’

As she pondered this, Sovenia’s scalp began to itch incessantly. Unable to bear it any longer, she raised a hand to scratch, her fingertips brushing against greasy strands. A strong wave of revulsion immediately washed over her.

She sniffed her clothes again.

They reeked.

The stench of sweat, blood, and sulfur mingled, like rags salvaged from a garbage heap.

“Is there any water nearby?” she asked.

“Yes,” Wawalde nodded. “There’s a river close by. Do you want a drink?”

“I want to bathe,” Sovenia stated. “I smell terrible.”

“If we keep moving, we can reach a small town with bathhouses,” Wawalde offered.

“How long will that take?”

“We’ll definitely arrive tomorrow.”

“I want to wash now.”

“Alright, Lady Sovenia.”

They continued their journey. Sovenia felt the sun growing stronger, scorching the top of her head. She began to sweat, the moisture tracing paths down her neck, dampening her collar, leaving her feeling sticky and uncomfortable all over.

The bright blue sky was becoming increasingly irritating. Couldn’t that sun just be blocked somehow?

After about an hour of walking, they finally reached the river.

The water was crystal clear and flowed gently. The banks were lush with green grass and wildflowers. Sunlight danced on the surface, shimmering like scattered gold dust.

Upon seeing the water, Sovenia’s golden eyes gleamed. Without a word, she sprinted towards the river, shedding her sticky clothes as she ran.

Her cloak fell, her cincher was undone, and she bent to pull off her top, letting it drop onto the grass.

“Wait!” Wawalde’s voice called from behind her. “Lady Sovenia! You—”

Sovenia ignored him. Her slender, pale back glowed in the sunlight. Her silver hair, unbound, cascaded down to her waist. Her movements swayed gently from side to side as her fingers reached for her bra.

Wawalde could only turn his head, looking away.

*Plop.*

Sovenia plunged into the river.

The cool water enveloped her body. She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath, feeling as if her entire being had come alive. The layer of grime on her skin was truly disgusting.

She began to scrub herself thoroughly, meticulously cleaning her arms, breasts, waist, and long, slender thighs. The more she scrubbed, the better her mood became; this elven body was truly a delight to behold.

Finally, it was time for her hair.

Sovenia tilted her head back, letting her silver hair spread out like a waterfall across the water’s surface. She skillfully rinsed her strands again and again, using her fingertips to carefully rub her scalp until her silver hair shone like moonlight-spun silk.

The river’s surface gradually calmed, reflecting her image.

She gazed at herself in the water.

The elf maiden’s face was as exquisite as a work of art, her golden eyes gently rippling in the water. Long lashes caught droplets, and her skin was a cool white. Her collarbones were delicate and graceful, her chest rising and falling.

Sovenia stared at this face, forced to admit that despite its frailty, this body was undeniably beautiful. It was delicate, soft, and utterly captivating—everything about it was lovely, save for one thing.

Once Sovenia no longer felt any grime on her skin, she climbed onto the bank. A breeze swept over her, leaving her feeling refreshed and much more comfortable. She walked over to the grass and gathered her clothes into a pile.

But these clothes looked like they belonged in a garbage heap.

The emerald leather armor was crumpled, its edges stained with blood. Her gray top had several holes, and the fabric was foul-smelling and sticky. Her emerald-gold patterned underwear and bra were piled together, and when she sniffed them, the scent was beyond compliment.

Sovenia stared at the pile of clothes, her brows furrowing deeper and deeper.

She simply could not bring herself to put those clothes back on, not after being so clean.

‘As Jimi the Cruel, the First Heavenly King,’ a voice echoed in her mind, ‘I wouldn’t be so delicate. Dirty is dirty, stinky is stinky, as long as it doesn’t hinder combat.’

Sovenia picked up her top with two fingers. The sticky sensation made her undergo a fierce internal struggle. She took a deep breath, only to be assailed by a foul stench.

‘I can’t do it.’

She let go, turned her head, and took several deep breaths of fresh air. ‘This must be the fault of this elven body. Yes, it must be.’

‘This frail body is corrupting my will, making me delicate, sensitive, unable to tolerate even the slightest bit of grime. So, should I overcome this ‘cleanliness corruption’? Of course not. I cannot waste my energy on such trivial matters. I must focus my energy on more important things, to fight against corruption. This isn’t the ‘main enemy,’ but a disturbance, a cleanliness disturbance. Yes. This is a tactical compromise, a farsighted tactical choice. It’s not that I’ve become delicate, but merely that the general reserve force remains unmoving, conserving energy for more crucial matters.’

Sovenia’s conscience was appeased. She needed clean clothes, but she had no change of attire.

She then called out towards Wawalde’s faintly visible figure in the small grove on the bank.

“Wawalde!”

Wawalde stiffly turned half his body, his eyes fixed firmly on the ground. When he saw Sovenia’s slender calves, then his gaze traveled upward to her smooth, full thighs, he abruptly stopped himself and asked, “What is it?”

“Come over here! It’s important.”

“Lady Sovenia, please put on your clothes first,” Wawalde said. “This is human morality. Otherwise, I would be offending you.”

“I forgive you.”

“No. It’s too rude. Please put on your clothes first.”

“I cannot,” Sovenia said coldly. “I need your help.”

“Help with what?”

“Washing clothes.”

“What?!”

“My clothes are too dirty,” Sovenia said, pointing at the worn pile at her feet. “So I don’t want to wear them.”

“Then put them on for now. We can buy new ones when we reach the city tomorrow.”

“No,” Sovenia interrupted him. “These dirty clothes are corrupting my energy.”

“Corrupting?” Wawalde asked. “How are they corrupting?”

“Trust me,” Sovenia said calmly. “No one in the world understands demons better than I do.”

Sovenia believed she was speaking the truth. No one understood demons better than she, the First Heavenly King. Secondly, what was corrupting her great demonic soul was this frail elven body. And she was merely making a subtle, discerning tactical choice.

Wawalde fell silent for a few seconds before sighing. “Bear with it. Wear these clothes, and I’ll carry you. We should reach the small town by nightfall.”

“No, you will be corrupted.”

“Thank you for your concern, but how would I know if I don’t try?”

Sovenia said, “I suspect it’s a demonic corruption curse.”

“What?”

She said gravely, “These clothes are tainted with a demonic curse. If I continue to wear them, the curse will slowly erode my soul. Think about it, how long have we been in the Demon King’s Palace, such a highly corrosive area?”

Wawalde’s face changed. “Really? I thought you, as… I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to bring that up.”

“I forgive you,” Sovenia nodded. “So, they must be washed clean.”

Wawalde hesitated, then said, “Then wash them yourself. I can teach you how. I just saw some soapwort nearby…”

“No,” Sovenia interrupted him again. “I don’t know how to wash clothes. I’ve never done it.”

“Then…”

“Furthermore,” Sovenia added, “my hands are too delicate. What if the demonic corruption curse on the clothes infects me when I wash them? Then you’d have to take care of me.”

Wawalde believed her. He stood rooted, his face flushed as if it might bleed, agonizing for a long time before finally compromising:

“Alright, I’ll wash them for you, but can you please put something on?”

Sovenia looked down at her wet, pale body. “There’s nothing good to wear, and the sun is so bright, it’ll dry me just fine.”

Wawalde took a deep breath, as if steeling himself. He turned around, walked to the river’s edge, squatted down with his back to Sovenia, and reached for the pile of dirty clothes.

Sovenia watched as his face glowed red, almost burning, and the tips of his ears were crimson.

Sovenia stood behind him, observing his stiff back, a surge of triumph welling up within her. Her lying skills were truly improving. Even a Demon King appointed by the gods had fallen for her elaborate scheme, forced to humble himself and wash clothes.

She said, “I’m going to sleep now. Let me know when you’re done washing.”

As Sovenia spoke, she walked barefoot across the grass, droplets of water falling from the tips of her silver hair onto the blades. Soon after, a sigh and the sound of scrubbing echoed from behind her.

Sovenia’s pointed ears stood erect. She picked up her sword, found a clean patch of grass in the small grove, and hung her damp blue hair tie on a low-hanging branch.

She then sat on the grass, carefully spreading her waist-length silver hair out before slowly lying down. With her hands folded over her chest, she closed her eyes, and amidst the sounds of scrubbing, peacefully drifted into slumber.

The dream was soft and gentle, like falling into cotton. In her hazy sleep, Sovenia seemed to see a golden-haired woman with long, pointed ears. The woman sang a melody, strange and unfamiliar, yet Sovenia found herself humming the next line.

A faint sound, like a young beast’s whimper, escaped her throat, carrying a longing she didn’t understand. The woman’s song continued, and Sovenia felt herself growing smaller, lighter, until she completely melted into that gentle voice, needing to think of nothing, do nothing, just listen quietly, listen.