The Man Who Remained — His Second Life Began with a Humble Bow of Apology. - Chapter 111: The Steel Beast Without a Roar.

The Steel Beast Without a Roar.

When Cross returned from Laurent’s tent, the adventurers had already dispersed, leaving only Ellie and Sourin behind.

That, in itself, was not unusual—after all, the rowdy festivities had already run their course.

What struck Cross as odd was not their lingering presence, but the scene before him: the area where the adventurers had eaten, drunk, and made a mess was now spotless, and Ellie and Sourin were seated formally on a simple ground sheet outside the tent, shoulders drooping, looking thoroughly dejected.

“I’m back… uh, what’s going on?” Cross asked, frowning at the two.

Ellie spoke in a small, guilty voice.
“We… realized only after it was all over that while we were enjoying ourselves, we left you, our master, to make all the food alone…”

“I as well,” Sourin added, bowing his head. “No matter how skilled you are in cooking, Cross-dono, I let my complacency take over. I’m at a loss for how to apologize.”

Cross gave a short snort, then walked toward the pot still left by the fire and reignited the flame.
“Don’t worry about it. I enjoyed myself in my own way… Though, knowing you two, I guess it’s hard to just shrug it off. Hey, Ellie, Sourin—what do you think is the secret to cooking for a long time?”

“Um… I’m not sure. Honestly, I can’t even cook,” Ellie admitted, looking genuinely remorseful.

“…Perhaps it’s to keep cooking with the intent to make someone happy?” Sourin suggested.

Cross smiled gently.

“Yeah. That’s right. Being able to keep cooking for someone else is the best thing. But you know, keeping that in mind all the time is really hard. At least, I wouldn’t last like that.”

Back when he’d traveled with the Heroes, cooking had been the one job he handled consistently. Not because he was exceptionally talented, but because it was his role—his way of staying part of the group.
Even so, if he’d cooked only for the sake of others, he would have burned out halfway through. Cooking, after all, was laborious work.

“My own trick,” he continued, “for cooking without growing tired of it is…”

He lifted two large bowls—one in each hand—and showed them to the pair.

“Make what you want to eat. Recognize this?”

Ellie and Sourin immediately remembered—they had eaten this dish once in Hōrai Village.

“Wait… Ramen? I didn’t think you could make that so easily,” Sourin murmured in surprise.

Rich soy sauce and chicken broth filled the air, the bowls holding noodles topped with chashu, green onions, and egg. It was unmistakably ramen.

“It’s easier than it looks—though it still took forever. And the chashu’s actually made from grilled chicken. I had to improvise a lot. If you’re too full, leave it—this is just a trial batch, so it might not even taste that good.”

Ellie accepted her bowl with a face on the verge of tears, while Sourin’s expression stayed stoic but his grip was firm.

“I’m sorry… but thank you. Itadakimasu.“
Sourin also clasped his hands. “Itadakimasu.”

“Yeah, dig in. And I’ll join you.”

They all picked up their chopsticks, sitting shoulder to shoulder. The three slurped their noodles in unison, chewed, swallowed, then exhaled softly and nodded together.

It wasn’t the best ramen in the world… but it was ramen.

“Mm. Not bad,” Cross said with a wry smile.

If his human self had tasted it, he might have been moved to tears. Now, he merely thought it was “pretty good”—a sign his palate had grown far more refined.

“It’s more than good enough,” Ellie said, eyes closed, savoring each bite.
“Hmm. Even chicken chashu works surprisingly well,” Sourin added. “As expected of you, Cross-dono. And eating this while stargazing—like a midnight soba—has a certain elegance.”

“It’s ramen, not soba,” Cross corrected.

“While udon differs, ramen falls within the broader definition of soba,” Sourin countered.

“Seriously? I thought Hōrai was all rigid rules and exact meanings, but you’re telling me it’s that loose?”

“Indeed. Looser than you’d expect.”

Sourin took another bite and then said flatly, “Next time, please omit the green onions.”

Cross chuckled and nodded.

The next morning, after brief farewells to the adventurers, Cross set off early. Partly because the next town was far, but also because if they lingered, another night of revelry seemed inevitable. He didn’t mind company or cooking, but he still had recipes to try and practice. Besides, the adventurers had left behind enough alcohol and gold-blued bills to live lavishly until his return to the Demon Lord’s castle.

Still, he wanted to move on. Among yesterday’s merrymakers, only Ellie and Heine were women—and Ellie had already made it abundantly clear she had no romantic interest in him. As for Heine… no comment.
So, in short—he was after new encounters, pleasant conversations with cute girls, and also mindful that Aura would be inconvenienced if he stayed away too long.

“Cross-dono, how far is the next town?” Sourin asked.

Cross checked his map. “On foot, maybe a week. At this pace… late tonight or by tomorrow morning if we ride through.”

Sourin nodded, lowering his gaze over the sword in his arms. The small carriage rocked gently, drawn by a single horse and driven by a humanoid of unknown race, with only the three of them as passengers.

Then Cross suddenly spoke. “Hey, Sourin—you ever wonder what your race actually is?”

“My… race?” Sourin frowned. “Well, yes, I do wonder. But why bring it up now?”

He had inherited none of his parents’ traits, possessed no particular talent, and the only ability he’d gained from his grueling training was the power to manifest a blade—born of pure desire—directly from his body. While stronger and more resilient than humans, and capable of producing a giant, poisonous sword, nothing about these traits clearly identified his species.

“Ellie could probably figure it out, right?” Cross said.

Ellie nodded. “Not with certainty, but I can detect traces of the species mixed into someone’s mana flow.”

Sourin agreed, and Ellie placed a hand on his shoulder, closing her eyes.

“Wow… it’s a real jumble. Twenty, maybe thirty different races mixed in here. You’re the classic ‘mixed-blood’ type. The strongest trace… ah, there it is—saber-toothed tiger.”

“Saber… toothed tiger?” Sourin repeated, puzzled.

“In Hōrai, they call it ‘sword-fanged tiger,’” Cross clarified.

“Ah, I’ve heard the name—though its existence is questionable…”

“If Ellie says it, I’d believe it,” Cross said.

“Hmm… in that case, my untamed beastly nature might indeed be that of a tiger. If that trait were stronger, I’d resemble one physically, wouldn’t I?”

That mental image made Cross and Ellie stifle laughter. Sourin, a distinguished middle-aged man with swept-back, graying hair, reimagined with cat ears, long fangs, and a tail, purring affectionately—it was… potent, in its own way.

“Yeah, Sourin, you’re fine just the way you are,” Cross said, patting his shoulder to banish the mental image.

“If you say so, then I’ll trust that,” Sourin replied, tilting his head at their strange amusement.

Four or five hours later, Sourin suddenly looked up. “Cross-dono—someone is following us.”

“Bandits?”

“No… alone, but incredibly strong, and approaching at abnormal speed.”

“Ellie?” Cross prompted.

“Too fast, too much mana to read clearly… but I’m fairly sure it’s someone you know,” she replied.

Cross kept watching the road behind them. Soon, a strange vehicle came into view—like a carriage, but with no horses. Instead, it was pulled by a roaring, metallic construct: a motorcycle.

Riding it was, indeed, someone he recognized.

“Sourin, not an enemy. Driver, pull over—we’ve got company.”

The motorcycle skidded to a halt beside them, and its rider dismounted: a striking woman with long silver hair and a cool, sharp beauty. With a sweep of her hand, she smoothed her hair back and fixed her gaze on Cross.

“Been a while, Master. Still in one piece?” said Mercurius—once, or perhaps still, his maid.

“Yeah, been a while. I’m doing fine. You?”

“Well enough. Hmph… I see you’ve gained another companion. Never mind. I’ll explain later—just get on, Master. Driver, sorry to steal your job, but this is by the Demon Lord’s order.”

The driver waved frantically. “No, no, please, go ahead!”

“Good. All three of you, get in the back,” Mercurius ordered, straddling the bike.

Cross tilted his head. “You seem… irritated.”

“Riding this imitation machine annoys me,” she replied, tapping the bike with a knuckle.

“Not your usual ride?”

“No. I’d never make her pull something like this. But this thing has the strength for it, infuriating as that is.” She tapped the carriage-like compartment—wooden in appearance, but clearly metal-armored beneath.

“Sorry if it’s because of us.”

“If you mean that, take me for a real drive next time. I need to hear her roar to feel alive.”

“With pleasure,” Cross said, smiling as her usual, slyly provocative grin returned.