The Man Who Remained — His Second Life Began with a Humble Bow of Apology.

A Glimpse of Everyday Life (Part One).

When I was still human, I could never have imagined the Demon Kingdom to be such a peaceful land.

Its public order is excellent, its culture refined, and its people enjoy enough prosperity that even the common classes can afford works of art.

It was the complete opposite of the life Cross had once imagined monsters to lead.

No one could truthfully call it perfect, but it was far more wonderful—and closer to an ideal—than he had ever dared expect. Compared to the human world, the people here seemed to live lives five… no, perhaps even ten times happier.

Especially when it came to food—once you learned what they had here, once you came to take it for granted, you could never go back to the human realm. Now that Cross had tasted the meals of the Demon Kingdom—and not just any, but the meals served to the Demon King himself—if he were to return to the human world, it would feel like stepping into hell.

That said… as he had to remind himself, while the monsters’ realm might be close to an ideal, it was no utopia and far from flawless.
Travel far enough, and you were bound to meet bandits, like now—

“Alright, you lot! Hand over your gold and your food—ughghh—!”

Before the gang of five oni could even finish their threat, Cross had already drawn his shortsword, knocking them all unconscious in an instant.

For all his so-called “jack of all trades” limitations and the long road ahead, Cross had fought alongside the heroes until the very end in the Demon King’s subjugation. There was no way he could lose to the likes of common brigands.
In fact, if anyone truly meant to take on Cross—the former companion of the Hero—along with Ellie, the Demon King’s former knight, and Sourin, the former guardian of Hourai Village, they would need numbers fit to call an army, or a fortress’s worth of preparation.

“Hm? These guys are carrying blades… even though we’re dozens of kilometers from Hourai Village. …Ah, no—must be they fled from the village and ended up here—”

As Cross murmured to himself, piecing something together, a sudden volley of arrows came at him.

A dozen or so shafts flew in at high speed from his rear flank. Without even turning, Cross coolly plucked the few that were on course to hit him straight out of the air, then in a single bound closed the distance and knocked out the oni archers hiding there.

“I’ve left them alive for now, but… Ellie, what do you think we should do?”

Ellie pulled out a map, pointed to coordinates near a nearby town, and showed him.

“Let’s drop them off there. We could just tie them up and leave them, but it’s not far. In fact, we could even spend the night there.”

“Alright, let’s do that.”

With that, Cross began binding the bandits tightly with deft rope work.

Every time Sourin saw Cross like this, he felt a deep, almost tear-inducing respect.

He knew well—perhaps too well—that the world was full of those who had power but left too many openings, whether because that power had made them arrogant or because their talent had kept them from experiencing enough failure.

Having been head of his clan for so long and trained so many disciples, Sourin understood all too painfully that if such people ever learned to overcome their vulnerabilities, they could become truly formidable—and that in such a case, he might have been able to step down as head much sooner. But he also knew: had the world been full of such people, he’d likely be a corpse by now.

Cross, however, was the opposite: for his level of skill, he left far too few openings.

It wasn’t that his abilities were low—far from it. In Hourai Village, he could have easily served as captain of the gate guard.

But that was his ceiling. Compared to the guardians who defended the village’s last lines or the races at the pinnacle, he still lacked many things.

Yet when facing an opponent of roughly equal ability, Cross would surely win. His movement, his follow-through, his composure—so refined that even Sourin, a veteran, felt he was dealing with someone above him.

Just how much hell had this man endured? How many times had he pushed himself past his limits, for someone of no special birth to reach such mastery? Sourin found the depth of Cross’s hard-won life terrifying.

And that wasn’t his only strength.

When he first came to Hourai, Cross had, without hesitation, prepared dishes so exquisite that even Sourin’s refined palate—accustomed to the finest restaurants—was moved. Such instant mastery was, frankly, abnormal.

Now, as Cross hummed while tying up the oni—work that itself took considerable skill—he easily hauled around bodies that must have weighed over 150 kilograms each, binding them with knots so complex they looked like the work of a master craftsman, all while maintaining that cheerful air.

It was enough to inspire genuine awe.

Indeed, from the view of those at the very top, Cross’s combat ability might be “outdated.” But that was only if one judged him on battle alone. Once you factored in everything else, even Sourin couldn’t see the bottom of his capabilities.

Cross was simply too versatile.

And perhaps that was why, to Sourin, there was something quietly sorrowful about him.
Because to have lived solely in pursuit of mastering just one thing… was to live a life far less grueling than the one Cross had endured.

“Sourin, is something the matter?” Ellie asked.

He shook his head.

“No, I was simply thinking what a shame it is that at an inn, we wouldn’t be able to enjoy your cooking, Cross.”

A deflection, but not a lie.

Ellie’s eyes widened.

“Ah… you’re right…”

Cross had, after lunch, mused aloud that they should go all-out for dinner, and both Ellie and Sourin had been looking forward to it ever since.

“…Well, we can just look forward to tomorrow instead.”

“Sure, but the longer we wait, the lower the quality will be.”

“Why’s that!?”

Ellie practically lunged at him, prompting Cross to raise his hands and shake his head.

“It’s just that fresh ingredients spoil, so I’ll have fewer options. Hourai cuisine relies on freshness. Sorry, I still only really know how to cook that style.”

Still bristling, Ellie could only mutter a frustrated “Mmm…”

“Don’t ‘mmm’ at me like that…”

“…Hmph. Sourin, don’t you have an opinion!?”

After thinking for a moment, Sourin suggested quietly:

“Then how about we camp near the town, and use up the more perishable ingredients? It would be a burden on you, Cross, to cook for us again, but…”

“Doesn’t bother me. I want the practice. But tomorrow, let’s stock up on longer-lasting stuff, and tonight, we’ll make it lavish.”

At that, Ellie fell silent, clasping her hands before her chest and smiling gently, almost in prayer.

“I’m truly glad I became your knight, Cross.”

“I’d have preferred you say that at another time… but I’m happy you’re enjoying yourself.”

Even as he chuckled wryly, seeing such a beautiful girl delight in his efforts filled Cross with a quiet, indescribable joy.

After handing over the bandit-like oni to the nearest town and receiving a small sum of coin as thanks, Cross and his companions began their planned tent life on the outskirts.

Ellie, despite agreeing to the idea, couldn’t help but think it odd to camp outside when there were perfectly good inns available.

Yet, to her surprise, there were far more people living in tents near the town than she had expected—at least ten within view.

“…I see a few other tents here and there. Why is that?”

As Ellie posed the question, Cross answered while preparing their meal.

“Probably because they couldn’t get a room. Sourin, could you give the fire a little more heat?”

He pointed to the flames under the pot, and Sourin nodded, tossing in a few small branches.

“But it didn’t look like the inns were fully booked.”

“It’s not that all the inns are full—it’s that the cheap ones get taken first. When a small wave of visitors comes, the budget inns fill up. Adventurers and merchants who planned to stay in those places get left out.”

“? Why not just stay at a regular inn?”

“Because if the cost outweighs the gain, it’s pointless.”

“Ah… so it’s an economic decision. That does make sense.”

“Take that big tent over there, for example—that’s probably a caravan. They’ve either got too many people to get rooms or planned to camp from the start. And that small tent in the far back? You can tell they never planned to stay in an inn.”

“How can you tell?”

“Because the quality of that tent is ridiculous. Ours may be called a ‘cheap’ one, but that’s only an insult in comparison—it’s still high-end. That one over there, though, is leagues above. Well-used, perfectly pitched, and in a prime spot. I don’t know if they’re adventurers or something else, but they’re definitely no ordinary bunch.”

“Fascinating. So many different kinds of people camping out here…”

“Yep. …Anyway, I’m gonna go check something out.”

Cross said it as casually as if he were just stepping out to use the restroom.

“…Wait, what? Cross, what exactly—”

“Ever heard the saying about chance encounters? I want to get friendly with anyone who seems capable… or who might have work to offer. Sourin, can I leave the cooking to you?”

He handed the ladle to Sourin, who accepted it without a word.

“Understood completely.”

“I should be back before it’s ready to eat, but if I’m not, just help yourselves.”

With that, Cross waved and dashed off.

Ellie had plenty she wanted to say—plenty she could say—but the first thing she needed to ask wasn’t about Cross.

“Um… Sourin, can you actually cook?”

Stirring the pot with the same dead-serious, almost murderous glare as always, Sourin replied,

“I am shamefully inept to the point where I could never admit competence in front of Cross-dono. But if it’s only a matter of letting something simmer, I can manage.”

“…I see. Right.”

Ellie felt a strange sense of defeat and quietly set the table for the three of them.

Cross’s first stop was the massive caravan formed by three enormous tents.
He was turned away almost instantly.

At least, he had managed to meet what appeared to be the caravan leader—a striking woman with long black hair and an exotic allure, dressed in a way that resembled little more than a swimsuit.

A sight for sore eyes, he admitted to himself.

She took a slow drag from her long pipe, exhaling a thin wisp of smoke before dismissing him with a cold smile.

“I’m sorry. I don’t have the rare hobby of enjoying idle chatter with the weeds that grow along the roadside.”

Realizing there was no way forward, Cross quietly retreated.

…Though he kept to himself the fact that there was something thrilling in the way she had looked down on him.

Next, Cross made his way toward his second target—the owner of the luxurious tent.

“Excuse meee!” he called out loudly.

The tent reacted immediately. A young, slender man emerged, dressed in little more than a token set of leather armor, a sword at his waist and his hand resting on the hilt, ready to draw at any moment.

“Yes? Can I help you?”

His tone was calm, yet his sharp gaze carried an unmistakable edge.

Cross bowed lightly.

“No, nothing urgent. I’m just camped nearby and thought I’d come introduce myself.”

“I see. My apologies, but things are a bit crowded inside at the moment—”

“Don’t be like that. He went out of his way to greet us. Let him in. I’d like to speak with him as well.”

The voice of a woman came from within the tent.

The man’s face twisted ever so slightly, but he stepped aside and held the entrance flap open.

“In that case, please, come in.”

Cross nodded and stepped inside.

Three things struck him immediately.

First: The man’s leather armor—common among town-based adventurers—was pristine, brand-new, and worn as though he were not used to it. Despite his commanding presence, he carried none of the ease of a seasoned adventurer.

Second: Adventurers, in Cross’s experience, were often little better than thugs—nine out of ten in the human world were useless scoundrels. Even in the monster world they were only marginally better. But it was still a profession built on connections and communication. No true adventurer would keep a hand on his weapon, subtly threatening a first-time visitor.

Third: The man’s killing intent. It was sharp, fierce, and protective—like a mother beast shielding her young.

This was no adventurer. This was a man in disguise, guarding something—or someone—precious.

It screamed trouble.

And yet, the thought of turning back never crossed Cross’s mind.

He wanted to live freely now—reckless, unrestrained, unbound by caution.

So, following his curiosity, he opened the inner flap and stepped inside.

There, he found a young woman whose long white hair flowed all the way past her waist.
She met his gaze and smiled warmly.