The Man Who Remained — His Second Life Began with a Humble Bow of Apology. - Chapter 112: The Steel Beast Without a Roar.

The Steel Beast Without a Roar.

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

Given that the revelry had long since ended, that in itself wasn’t unusual.

What was strange, however, was that the area—where the adventurers had eaten, drunk, and made a mess—had been cleaned to perfection, and Ellie and Sourin were sitting in formal seiza posture on a simple groundsheet outside the tent, looking utterly dejected.

“I’m back… Huh? What’s wrong?”

Cross asked with a puzzled expression, looking at the two. Ellie spoke in a small voice.

“We… only thought about enjoying ourselves, and left our master, Cross, to make all the food alone… We only realized it after everything was over…”

“I too,” Sourin added, “even if Cross-dono is skilled at cooking, we let it go to our heads. I don’t know how I can possibly apologize…”

Cross gave a small snort of laughter at their guilty expressions and walked over to the pot that remained, setting it over the fire.

“Don’t worry about it. I had my own fun. Still… knowing you two, it’s not easy to just let it go, is it? Hey, Ellie, Sourin—what do you think is the secret to cooking for a long time without giving up?”

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

“To keep cooking… perhaps it’s to always think about making someone happy?” Sourin suggested.

Cross smiled gently at that.

“Yeah, that’s right. Being able to keep cooking for someone’s sake—that’s the best. But constantly holding onto that mindset… it’s actually really hard. At least, I wouldn’t last.”

Back when he traveled with the heroes, Cross had been the main cook, even if he could do little else. Not because of exceptional skill or talent—simply because cooking was his job, his way of being part of the team.

Even so, had he tried to cook only for the sake of others, he probably would have grown to hate it. Cooking, after all, was a tedious and exhausting task.

“This is just my way,” Cross continued, holding up two large bowls, one in each hand for them to see, “but the secret to cooking for a long time, without getting tired of it, is… to make what you want to eat. Recognize this?”

Ellie and Sourin realized at once—it was a dish they had eaten back in Hourai Village.

“What… You made ramen? I didn’t think it was something that could be made so easily…” Sourin said in astonishment.

A rich, soy sauce–based chicken broth; noodles; slices of chicken chashu, green onions, and boiled egg—it was unmistakably ramen.

“It’s easier than you’d think—though it did take forever. The chashu’s actually made from roast chicken, so I had to improvise here and there. Anyway… if you get full, don’t hesitate to leave some. It’s just a trial run—it might not even taste that good.”

Ellie accepted her bowl with an expression on the verge of tears, while Sourin’s usually impassive face was shadowed with a touch of sternness as he took his.

“Sorry… I guess this is where we say it—itadakimasu.”

Nodding at Ellie’s words, Sourin pressed his hands together. “Itadakimasu.”

“Alright, dig in. I’ll have some too,” Cross said, and all three took their chopsticks and began eating side by side.

At the exact same moment, they slurped the noodles, chewed, swallowed, and exhaled softly in unison—then gave small nods.

It wasn’t the most delicious thing they’d ever eaten. But it was ramen, unmistakably so.

“Yeah… not bad,” Cross murmured.
Once, as a human, he might have cried from joy at this taste. Now, it was simply “good.” His palate had become much more refined, he thought with a wry smile.

“It’s more than good. Honestly, I’m a little surprised,” Ellie replied, eyes closed as she ate with a blissful expression.

“Mm. Even chicken chashu pairs well. As expected of Cross-dono. And to have yonaki-soba under the stars—most elegant,” Sourin remarked.

“It’s ramen, not soba.”

“Well, though udon is a separate matter, ramen does fall under the broad category of soba.”

“…Really? I thought Hourai customs and terminology were ridiculously precise—but you’re surprisingly lax about some things.”

“Indeed. We’re quite lax, in fact,” Sourin said, before slurping more noodles and adding, “Next time… no green onions, if you please.”

Cross stifled a chuckle and nodded.

The next day, they bade farewell to the surrounding adventurers and quickly got moving again. Partly because the next town was far, but also because Cross suspected that if they lingered, another night of raucous partying would break out.

Not that he disliked such gatherings or cooking for them—far from it. He still had countless recipes from his books to try and many dishes he wanted to practice. And thanks to the leftovers from the adventurers—alcohol, Gold Blued notes, and more—they had more than enough to live in luxury until returning to the Demon Lord’s castle.

Still, Cross wanted to move on. Of the women in last night’s revelry, only Ellie and Heine stood out—Ellie, who would remain with him regardless, and who had firmly rejected any romantic notions; and Heine, who needed no discussion at all.

In short—he was hoping for new sights, pleasant company, and perhaps some charming conversation with cute girls. And besides, Aura might be worried if he stayed away too long. So early in the morning, he climbed into the carriage and set out for the next town.

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

“Hmm… On foot, about a week. At this pace, we’ll get there late tonight, or tomorrow morning if we spend the night in the carriage.”

“I see… Thank you.” Sourin lowered his gaze again, cradling his sword.

The small carriage swayed gently—one horse, a humanoid driver of unknown race, and only the three of them as passengers.

Suddenly, Cross recalled something.

“Oh, right—Sourin.”

“Yes? What is it?”

“Aren’t you curious about your own race?”

“My… race? Well, yes, I suppose I am… But why bring it up now?”

Sourin bore no traits from his parents, had no special abilities in human form, and the only power he had trained into existence was the manifestation of his own desire—his blade.

Compared to a human, his stamina and healing ability were higher, and the sword he could produce from his own body was large enough to be called an Oodachi—and poisonous.

Distinct traits, yes—but not enough to determine his species.

“Well, Ellie could probably figure it out. Right?”

Ellie nodded. “Yes. Not with absolute certainty, but from the flow of magic, I can probably identify at least part of the mix.”

“…I see. That is tempting. Would you mind?”

Ellie placed a hand on Sourin’s shoulder and closed her eyes.

“…Ah—yes, it’s quite a jumble in there. I can see traces of twenty, maybe thirty different races. A typical ‘mixed strain.’ But the strongest… Ah, there it is—Saber-toothed tiger.”

“Saberu… taiga?” Sourin frowned at the unfamiliar term.

“In Hourai, you’d call it a kenpitori, wouldn’t you?” Cross suggested.

“Ah—yes, I know the name. Though it’s said to be a creature of legend…”

“If Ellie says so, I’d believe it.”

“…Now that you mention it, it makes sense. This irrepressible beastly nature of mine… yes, it may indeed be that of a tiger. Which means… if that trait were stronger, my appearance might be closer to that of a saber-toothed tiger?”

At that, Cross and Ellie both burst out laughing.

Sourin was a distinguished-looking middle-aged man with greying hair pulled back—handsome in a rugged, mature way.
But their image of a tiger was a large cat.

So, inevitably, they imagined this dignified uncle with cat ears, long fangs, and a tail—nuzzling affectionately. The mental picture was absurdly destructive in its own way.

“Yeah… Sourin, you’re fine just as you are. Trust me,” Cross said, patting his shoulder to shake off the mental image.

“…If you say so, Cross-dono, then so it must be,” Sourin replied, tilting his head slightly at their strange expressions.

About four or five hours into the ride, Sourin suddenly raised his head and fixed his gaze behind them.

“Cross-dono… someone is pursuing us.”

Cross and Ellie instantly took a combat stance.

“Bandits?”

“No—the presence is alone. But… it’s terrifyingly strong, and approaching at an abnormal speed…”

“…Ellie?”

“I can’t get a clear read—the speed is too fast, and their magic is too dense. But… I’d say nine times out of ten, they’re not an enemy.”

“How so?”

“I’m not certain enough to lower my guard… but I think it’s someone you know.”

“Someone I know?”

Cross turned to watch the road behind them. Soon, the pursuer came into view.

At a glance, it looked like a carriage—but something was missing.

The horse.

Instead, the carriage was being pulled by a non-living, steel construct—a machine.

It was a “bike,” hauling the carriage body at frightening speed.
And the rider was indeed someone Cross knew well—just as Ellie had suspected.

“Sourin, they’re not an enemy. Relax. Driver, stop here—an acquaintance of mine has caught up.”

The driver pulled over, surprised.

Moments later, the bike and its attached carriage came to a halt beside them, and the rider dismounted—a strikingly beautiful woman with long silver hair and a cool, composed face.

She ran a hand through her windswept hair, straightened it, and looked at Cross.

“It’s been a while, Master. Have you been well?”

It was Mercurius—Cross’s former, or perhaps still current, maid.

“Yeah, it’s been a while. I’ve been alright. You?”

“I have. Hmph… seems you’ve picked up another one. No matter. I’ll explain later—just get on for now, Master. Driver, sorry to take your job, but this is by order of the Demon Lord.”

The driver waved his hands rapidly. “Oh, not at all! Please, don’t worry!”

“Good. Then all three of you, get in the back.”

Mercurius mounted the bike again.

“What’s wrong, Mercurius? You look more irritated than in a hurry.”

“…I don’t like riding this knock-off,” she said, rapping the bike with her knuckles.

“Not the one you usually use?”

“No. I wouldn’t make her pull something like this. But… as much as I hate it, this thing does have the pulling power.” She tapped the carriage body—it looked wooden on the outside, but was apparently built almost entirely of metal, like a tank.

“Sorry we’re the cause of that.”

“If you really are, then make it up to me by coming for a drive next time. I need to hear her roar again.”

“If it’s me you want, gladly,” Cross said with a grin.

At that, Mercurius finally smiled her usual mix of coolness and provocation.