Which was perfect.

His mother, Anna, had gone out earlier to handle errands in another part of the market district while Victor remained trapped inside Hollen’s forge until evening.

Meaning for once, Ernest finally had the entire house to himself.

The moment he closed the wooden door behind him, he immediately placed the sacks down near the kitchen area and let out a slow breath.

Finally.

He had been waiting for this.

Ever since his first miserable bath in this world, the thought of making soap never truly left his mind.

Back then, he remembered standing inside that cramped bathing area pouring freezing water over himself while soot and grime stubbornly clung to his skin no matter how much he scrubbed.

It felt disgusting.

Not just physically.

Mentally too.

Back on Earth, cleanliness was automatic.

Soap.

Shampoo.

Toothpaste.

Hot showers.

People barely even thought about them.

Meanwhile here?

People smelled like sweat, smoke, mud, and livestock almost constantly because proper hygiene barely existed for ordinary commoners.

And the worst part was that everyone treated it as normal.

Ernest untied the sack of hardwood ash and immediately a dusty smoky smell escaped into the air.

Good.

This would work.

He looked around the kitchen carefully.

Primitive.

Everything here felt primitive.

A stone stove blackened by years of soot.

Iron pots hanging near the wall.

Rough wooden counters scarred from constant use.

A pile of firewood stacked beside the stove.

No thermometers.

No measuring tools.

No laboratory equipment.

Back in the 21st century, soap factories used stainless steel tanks, pressure-controlled mixers, chemical purity testing, and automated systems.

Now?

He was about to recreate industrial chemistry inside a medieval kitchen using ash and pig fat.

Honestly, the thought almost made him laugh.

Ernest rolled up his sleeves and got to work.

First came the lye extraction.

He grabbed one of the larger clay bowls and slowly poured hardwood ash inside. Fine gray powder spilled across the container while tiny black charcoal fragments mixed throughout it.

The ash smelled dry and burnt, like the inside of an old furnace.

Then he carefully poured water over it.

Immediately the surface darkened into muddy sludge.

Ernest grabbed the wooden stirring rod and slowly mixed it.

The texture looked filthy.

Like dirty rainwater mixed with soot.

But chemically?

This was the important part.

Wood ash contained potassium compounds left behind after combustion. Once mixed with water, some of those compounds dissolved into alkaline solution.

Primitive lye.

Not nearly as pure as modern sodium hydroxide.

But enough.

Enough to make soap.

As he stirred the mixture, his mind instinctively drifted back toward his engineering classes from his previous life.

Chemical reactions.

Industrial processes.

Material behavior.

Back then, all those concepts existed only inside classrooms, textbooks, and laboratories. 𝒻𝘳ℯℯ𝑤ℯ𝒷𝘯ℴ𝓋ℯ𝘭.𝑐ℴ𝑚

Now those same principles might literally change his life here.

After letting the ash mixture settle slightly, Ernest carefully filtered the murky liquid into another clay container.

The resulting fluid looked brownish and cloudy.

Ugly.

But usable.

Next came the pig fat.

The moment he opened the clay container, a heavy greasy smell immediately spread through the room.

God.

It smelled terrible.

Rendered animal fat without modern processing smelled nothing like clean cooking oil back on Earth.

Still, Ernest forced himself to continue.

He scooped portions into an iron pot before placing it over the stove fire.

Soon the fat slowly melted into shimmering liquid while grease crackled softly under the heat.

The kitchen became hotter by the minute.

The smell worsened too.

Burned fat mixed with wet ash created an aroma so strange Ernest nearly coughed.

"No wonder soapmakers needed separate workshops," he muttered.

Then came the dangerous part.

Mixing.

Ernest carefully grabbed the clay container holding the crude lye solution and slowly poured small amounts into the melted fat while stirring continuously.

Immediately the liquid reacted.

The oily surface shifted texture slightly.

Thicker.

Cloudier.

Interesting.

He kept stirring.

Slow circles.

Careful movements.

The mixture gradually changed from separated greasy liquid into something denser and more uniform.

The reaction was working.

And seeing it happen in real time honestly excited him more than it should have.

The heat from the stove made sweat drip down his neck while his arms slowly started aching from constant stirring.

The mixture thickened further.

Its color shifted into pale brown paste with greasy bubbles occasionally surfacing.

The smell changed too.

Less rotten fat.

More... earthy.

Ernest’s eyes slowly widened.

"It’s actually working..."

For several moments, he just stared at the pot while stirring.

He continued stirring for nearly another half hour until the mixture became thick enough to hold shape.

Ernest quickly poured portions into shallow clay molds before setting them aside carefully near the counter.

Now came the waiting.

The bars needed time to cool and harden properly.

He leaned back against the chair afterward while wiping sweat from his forehead.

The kitchen looked like a disaster now.

Ash stains.

Grease splatters.

Clay bowls everywhere.

The air itself smelled like burned oil and smoke.

Then suddenly.

Knock knock.

Ernest froze.

His eyes immediately widened toward the door.

"...Already?"

Anna’s voice came from outside.

"Ernest? I’m home."

His gaze instantly darted toward the kitchen again.

The stove still smoked lightly.

The pot smelled strongly of melted animal fat.

And several suspicious brown soap bars sat openly on the counter.

"...Oh crap."