For most of his life, Kazuki Tanaka believed that the war between clean and dirty was a personal one. He never imagined it would become *political*. Or *theological*.
But then again, he never expected to invent magical cleaning brooms, revolutionize medieval hygiene, or be labeled a heretic by the Church of Healing.
It began with whispers.
At first, they were merely annoyed monks grumbling in nearby towns. "The prophet of soap undermines the will of the gods," one had muttered. Another claimed Kazuki's \[Purify Touch] was a mockery of sacred healing rites. The Church had long held a monopoly on cleanliness — or at least, on who deserved it.
To them, healing was divine *suffering*. Illness and rot were trials from the gods. To bypass them with something as "mundane" as magic soap?
Blasphemy.
It escalated quickly.
---
The first confrontation came in a quiet farming village where Kazuki had just installed his newest invention: **The Self-Rinsing Well**, enchanted to filter water and eliminate common parasites.
The villagers gathered in awe.
A clean well meant no more belly-worms. No more fevers. No more children wasting away from drinking their own bathwater.
Tears were shed. Bread was thrown in celebration.
Then the sky turned grey.
Clad in crimson robes, armored clerics rode into town on black horses bearing the Church's sigil — a silver hand over an open wound. At their front was a man whose presence made even the horses seem uncomfortable.
**Grand Inquisitor Varain.**
He dismounted slowly, his bald head gleaming like an ominous moon. Cold grey eyes swept the village square until they landed on Kazuki, who was—at that exact moment—teaching a toddler how to wipe properly.
"So you are the one they call the Clean Apostle," Varain said, voice like gravel dragged across stone.
Kazuki stood, brushing dust off his coat. "Actually, I prefer Sanitation Prophet. But sure. I'll take either."
"You use unblessed magic to interfere with divine affliction," Varain said. "You heal what the gods intend to test. You deny suffering its sacred place."
Kazuki blinked. "You're… mad that I cleaned a well?"
Varain took a single step forward. The villagers backed away like waves pulled by the tide.
"When we suffer, we become worthy of salvation. When we are purified too easily, we forget who we are. Cleanliness is not *granted*. It is *earned through trial.*"
Kazuki's jaw tensed. "So children dying of dysentery is... spiritual character development to you?"
"They are *offered struggle,*" Varain said flatly. "As were the martyrs. As was our Lord, who bled upon the mud for mankind. You remove the mud."
Kazuki clenched his fists. The broom at his side vibrated slightly with magical charge.
"I remove death by infection."
"You remove *purpose.*"
---
That night, Kazuki's forge burned.
Flames painted the sky as villagers rushed to save what they could. Magical brooms burst in midair like fireworks. Buckets exploded in sprays of enchanted soap. A sacred sigil—Varain's mark—was burned into the doorway:
> **"Let filth teach humility."**
Kazuki stood in the ashes, heart smoldering with fury. Beside him, Gerald the Rat climbed onto his shoulder, singed but alive.
"They've declared war," Kazuki muttered.
The villagers gathered around him in the smoke, soot-covered but angry. Loyal. Some held makeshift brooms like weapons. Others, bars of blessed soap like holy relics.
The Sanitation Forge would be rebuilt.
The revolution would not be stopped.
---
In the days that followed, Kazuki's reputation split the kingdom.
To some, he was a false prophet, a heretic challenging divine order.
To others, he was a saint of steam and soap, a beacon of reason in a world ruled by rot.
The **Church of Healing** issued an edict: all who used or harbored enchanted sanitation tools would be excommunicated.
Kazuki's answer?
He launched a new invention.
> **\[Disinfectant Bomb] – Level 1**
> A compact vial of purifying mist. When thrown, releases a pressurized burst of cleansing aura that sanitizes and stuns nearby enemies. Smells like lemon.
He handed one to a peasant in secret. "Tell Varain that we don't fear filth. We *defy* it."