Ruho stood in his entrance hall, still covered in dried blood, still exhausted, still trying to process the fact that he'd just been on divine television with over a million viewers. His body ached. His brain ached. Everything ached.
"I need a bath," he said to no one in particular. "I need to wash this blood off before it becomes a permanent part of my skin."
He looked around the massive entrance hall. Vexor had said this castle had six bathrooms. Six full bathrooms in a thirty-thousand-square-foot medieval fortress. Surely finding one couldn't be that hard.
He started with the second floor, climbing the stone staircase with legs that felt like they were made of wet noodles. The hallway stretched out in front of him, lined with heavy wooden doors. He'd been down this hallway before—had passed out here after his plank challenge—but he'd never actually explored it.
First door on the right. He grabbed the iron handle and pulled it open.
Armory. Swords, spears, shields, chain mail. The room he'd already been in.
He closed the door and moved to the next one.
Bedroom. Large four-poster bed, wardrobes, tapestries. Nice, but not what he needed.
Next door.
Another armory. This one focused on polearms, halberds, glaives, spears of various lengths all mounted on the walls.
"Okay," Ruho muttered. "That's two armories."
Next door.
Armory number three. This one was full of bows and crossbows, with shelves of arrows and bolts organized by type.
Next door.
Armory number four. Exclusively daggers and short blades. Hundreds of them, from practical fighting knives to ornate ceremonial pieces.
"HOLY FUCK, ENOUGH WITH THE ARMORIES!" Ruho screamed at the ceiling. "VEXOR! I DON'T NEED THIS MANY WEAPONS! I NEED A BATHROOM!"
Vexor's presence manifested briefly. "Every proper fortress needs comprehensive weapon storage for different tactical scenarios. Infantry weapons, ranged weapons, close-quarters combat, ceremonial—"
"I'M ONE PERSON!" Ruho shouted back. "ONE! I can't use seventeen different armories worth of weapons! I can barely use ONE weapon!"
"You never know when you might need to arm a militia," Vexor said reasonably.
"I DON'T HAVE A MILITIA!"
"Not yet."
Ruho slammed the door shut and moved to the next one, his frustration mounting with each step. Next door. Please be a bathroom. Please.
He opened it.
Armory number five. This one had... he didn't even look. Just slammed it closed immediately.
Next door.
FINALLY.
The room was enormous. Way bigger than a bathroom had any right to be. The floor was polished white marble with veins of gold running through it. And in the center of the room, taking up most of the space, was what could only be described as an indoor pool disguised as a bathtub.
It was easily twenty feet long and ten feet wide, with steps leading down into it like a Roman bath. The walls around it were decorated with intricate tilework in blues and greens, creating abstract wave patterns. There were no visible faucets or plumbing, just the massive basin waiting to be filled.
"Okay," Ruho said, staring at the absurd luxury in front of him. "This is excessive. This is way too big for one person. But I am not complaining anymore."
He walked down the steps into the empty bath, his bare feet cool against the marble. The moment his second foot touched the bottom step, water began flowing.
Not from faucets. Not from pipes. Just... appearing. Flowing from the walls themselves, from all angles, streams of crystal-clear water that converged in the basin. And it was warm. Perfectly, blissfully warm. He reached out to test the temperature—exactly body temperature, maybe slightly warmer. Around one hundred degrees Fahrenheit if he had to guess.
The water level rose rapidly, covering his ankles, then his calves, then his knees as he descended the steps. He sat down on the submerged bench that ran along the edge of the bath and let the water continue rising around him.
Within two minutes, the bath was full, the water reaching his chest as he sat. The streams from the walls had stopped, leaving the surface still and steaming gently. The dried blood on his skin began to soften, flaking off in chunks that dissolved into the water.
Ruho leaned his head back against the marble edge and closed his eyes.
This was nice. This was really, really nice. After everything, the crocodile, the blood hounds, the butchering, the divine game show, the trauma—this moment of simple, clean warmth was exactly what he needed.
The water seemed to actively clean him, gently removing the layers of grime and blood without him having to scrub. Magic bath. Of course it was a magic bath. At this point, he'd be more surprised if something in this castle wasn't magic.
His muscles relaxed. The tension in his shoulders eased. His breathing slowed. The gentle warmth surrounded him completely, supporting his weight, soothing every ache.
His eyes, which had been struggling to stay open, finally gave up the fight.
Ruho fell asleep in the bath, his head resting against the marble, his body finally getting the rest it desperately needed.
Twenty minutes later, he was jolted awake by Azirel's voice in his head.
"Ruho. RUHO. Wake up."
"Nnngh," Ruho mumbled, his eyes refusing to open. "Five more minutes."
"You don't have five more minutes," Azirel said urgently. "Wake UP."
"Go away," Ruho muttered, trying to sink deeper into the warm water. "Sleeping. Bath time. Leave me alone."
"RUHO!" Azirel's voice got louder. "This is important! Wake up RIGHT NOW!"
The tone finally penetrated Ruho's sleep-fogged brain. He forced his eyes open, blinking in the soft light of the bathroom. The water was still warm, still clean somehow despite all the blood he'd washed off.
"What?" he asked groggily, his voice rough. "What's so important that you're ruining my first decent sleep in days?"
There was a pause. Azirel's presence felt... worried. Which was never a good sign.
"I've got bad news," Azirel said slowly.
Ruho sat up straighter in the bath, water sloshing around him. "What kind of bad news?"
Another pause.
"You've got pirates on the island."