The Man Who Remained — His Second Life Began with a Humble Bow of Apology. - Chapter 3: A man more worthy of the title 'Sage' than any Sage.

A man more worthy of the title ‘Sage’ than any Sage.

It was a radiant memory from a bygone day.

A cherished recollection, vivid even now.

No matter how much time passes, it never fades—a treasured page in Cross’s life.

And precisely because of that… Cross understood that what he was seeing must be a dream.

At twilight, beneath a sky painted red by the setting sun, Cross watched a single girl.

Her name was Mary Nepi Adol.

Though she appeared to be just a young girl, she was in fact a legitimate member of the hero’s party. Her age remained a mystery.

She often pretended to be childish, but in truth, her mental maturity likely surpassed that of everyone else. Cross had never once had the chance to know her true age.

Petite, charming, and always wearing a cheerful smile, she truly did seem like a child.

But now, as she gazed lovingly at the sky, her expression was far from childish.

It was full of compassion, gentle and fragile—and yet there was an unmistakable trace of allure behind it.

It was that unusual expression, so different from her usual demeanor, that made Cross’s heart race.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?”

Mary spoke softly, and Cross nodded without a word.

Indeed, the sky was beautiful—but he couldn’t help being more captivated by Mary herself.

She was beautiful.

And with the rest of the hero’s party possessing impeccable appearances, it was only natural to think so.

But Cross also knew all too well that such feelings weren’t ideal.

His fiancée, Sophia, of course—but even Medil and Mary were close to Claude, the Hero.

Their relationships had been shaped that way from the beginning, molded by the circumstances surrounding them.

For the good of the nation—and for their own sakes—it was most practical for the four of them to stay together, both publicly and privately.

Cross had no intention of interfering with that, nor did he plan to pursue someone already involved.

Had he truly loved Mary, perhaps he would’ve acted.

But when asked whether he loved her that deeply—as a woman—he had no choice but to deny it.

His feelings were faint, more like admiration than affection, and in hindsight, he suspected it was closer to a longing than romantic love.

Still… he couldn’t help but feel just a little jealous of Claude.

He truly thought of Claude as a friend and wholeheartedly supported his relationship with Mary.

Yet even so, the part of himself that envied Claude made Cross feel disappointed in himself.

“…Hmmm. What are you thinking about?”

Before he realized it, Mary was no longer gazing at the crimson sky—she was now staring directly at him.

She looked up at Cross playfully, standing so close he could feel her presence.

Her expression was mischievous, like a teasing child.

“Ah… it’s nothing,” Cross replied, shaking his head with a small smile.

He couldn’t possibly say he had been admiring her… or that he was feeling jealous.

“Ehh, that can’t be true. Come on, tell your big sister what you were thinking about.”

“You say that, but just the other day you called yourself the little sister so you could get an extra side dish. Which is it, really?”

“Hmm… Which one do you prefer?”

The way she smiled made it obvious she was teasing him knowingly.

“Whichever. Doesn’t matter to me.”

“Well then, I’ll be both… so, what were you thinking about?”

With that, she smoothly brought the conversation back and leaned in even closer.

Close enough to gaze directly into each other’s eyes—so close he felt his cheeks grow warm despite himself.

And then—

“Hey! What’re you two doing?”

A voice rang out from a distance.

It was Claude’s.

“Oh, looks like it’s time to head out,” Cross said, stepping back from Mary and turning to wave toward Claude.

Click!

A loud tongue-click echoed clearly, and Cross quickly turned around in surprise.

“Hm? Something wrong?”

But there she was—Mary, wearing her usual innocent smile.

She didn’t look like someone who had just clicked her tongue in frustration.

“…No, I think I just stepped on a twig or something. Anyway, shall we go, Mary?”

“Yep!”

And with that, the two of them headed toward the Hero who awaited them.

To Cross, that moment was a radiant memory.

A time of genuine treasure—forever etched into his heart.

He had seen it before, during receptions hosted by nobles—those unusually long tables draped in white cloth.

Cross was led into a dining hall where such a table stood.

Upon entering, he immediately bowed his head to Aura in apology.

“Sorry… I overslept.”

Perhaps because the dream had been so pleasant, he was already an hour late.

“No need to worry. Dinner is usually served even later. Please, have a seat,” Aura replied.

A maid—one who looked entirely human—quietly pulled out a chair for him.

“Thank you,” Cross said as he sat and looked across the table at Aura.

“…It’s kind of strange, isn’t it? Just the two of us, sitting face to face at such a long table,” he commented.

Aura blinked in surprise.

“…Now that you mention it… we usually only dine with two or three people. I suppose this table isn’t really suited for that. I never really thought about it.”

Hearing her say that, Cross let out a soft chuckle.

“How embarrassing… I suppose I have my scatterbrained moments.”

“It’s fine. Makes you more approachable, actually. A Demon Lord like that is easier to relate to… Wait, is it okay to say that?”

“No, no, I aim to be that kind of Demon Lord. So please, no need to use formal speech anymore.”

“Alright. Not that I was ever using proper formal language to begin with.”

Cross grinned as he said that, and the two of them exchanged amused glances and shared a laugh.

“And you don’t need to use honorifics like ‘-sama’ either.”

“But… we Demon Lords are, technically, your adversaries…”

“Honestly, being called ‘sama’ or ‘sage’ just makes me uncomfortable. I’m a regular guy—it’s hard for me to take that kind of formality.”

“…My apologies. In that case, Cross-san—is that acceptable?”

“Perfectly fine.”

When Cross replied, Aura let out a lighthearted giggle.

“…You two seem to be getting along well, but… will you not introduce me?”

A raspy voice, like that of an old man, called out from behind the door.

Aura quickly turned toward Cross, looking flustered.

“Sorry! Would you mind if someone else joined us for dinner?”

“Of course not… but may I ask who it is?”

Though he asked politely, the powerful presence in that voice made Cross feel slightly intimidated.

“Oh—yes, my apologies. It’s my father. Just a family member, so if you’re not comfortable…”

“No, no. Families should eat together. Honestly, I’m the one intruding.”

“He was looking forward to meeting you, so if you don’t mind…”

“I don’t mind at all.”

Aura let out a relieved sigh, bowed slightly, and stepped out to bring her father in.

“Then, if you’ll excuse me—I’ll be joining you.”

The elderly man took a seat some distance away.

As his voice suggested, he was dignified, with snow-white hair and beard, a powerful, noble face, and not the slightest trace of frailty.

Draped in the same black robe as Aura, he gave off the air of a great archmage.

If Cross had met this man on a battlefield, he wouldn’t have tried to flee—he would’ve prepared to die.

That’s how overwhelming his presence was.

Frankly, he looked far more like a Demon Lord than Aura did.

“Now then, regarding the meal—we’ve prepared both traditional human cuisine and our own. Which would you prefer?” Aura asked.

Cross tilted his head.

“How are they different?”

“Well… we find human cuisine a little bland. But that’s probably due to our upbringing. How you feel about our food may vary…”

“Hmm… you’re not using, say, human meat or anything, are you?”

Aura chuckled awkwardly.

“Of course not. Tonight’s main dish is beef.”

“Then I’d like to try your style of cooking. I always try to eat local cuisine when I travel—it’s part of the experience.”

“Very well.”

Aura smiled, and at that moment, the old man looked directly at Cross—so intently it was impossible not to notice.

“Well then… while we wait for the food, would you indulge this old man in a little conversation?”

There was no hint of a choice in that question—and Cross nodded.

He had no other option.

“A glass of wine, if you please.”

The elderly man spoke gently to the maid standing beside him.

As though it were routine, the maid fetched a bottle of wine and gracefully poured the deep crimson liquid into his glass.

The old man offered her a faint smile, then swirled the wine in his glass, savoring its aroma and color before taking a delicate sip.

Even among the nobles Cross knew, none embodied the art of wine tasting with such elegance. The sight alone spoke of a man of true nobility.

“…Not bad. Now then, Sage… or do you dislike being called that?”

The elderly man spoke with a warm smile. Cross responded with a firm nod.

In truth, the person before him seemed far more deserving of the title “Sage.” To be addressed as such by someone like him was, frankly, troubling.

“Well then… Let us start with introductions. My name is Gryul. I am Aurafeel’s father—Gryul Raoul. Since the name ‘Raoul’ might cause confusion between Aurafeel and myself, I’d prefer you call me Gryul, or if you wish, Gryun.”

Cross gave a polite nod in response.

“Understood, Lord Gryul. I… I am Cross Necronia. Please feel free to call me Cross.”

“Well then, Cross. It seems that even in this brief exchange, we’ve learned something important—there’s a mutual lack of understanding between us.”

Gryul chuckled softly, clearly amused by the observation.

“Lord Gryul… what do you mean by that—?”

“Oh, it’s a common pattern for me. People speak freely with the Demon King, yet grow stiff and formal around me. It’s odd, don’t you think? It’s not as if I were the previous Demon King. In fact, I’m closer to being an ordinary man.”

…There’s no way that’s true.

There’s no such thing as an “ordinary man” that remarkable.

Cross swallowed the urge to retort and gave a vague nod instead.

“With the way Father looks, it can’t be helped,” Aura said, giggling softly.

Gryul responded with a wry smile and a light shrug of his arms.

“What a troublesome thing. Ah, in that sense, Cross, perhaps you and I are alike. You, being called a Sage when it doesn’t suit you. And I, receiving unnecessary reverence from all around me. There’s something similar in that… or is it rude of me to say so?”

He smiled gently after speaking those words.

And Cross felt… something stir faintly within him.

“…Yes, you may be right,” he replied with a small smile of his own.

“Oh, Father! Maybe if you told him your title, it would help Cross understand who you are?” Aura suggested brightly.

To that helpful prompt from his daughter, Gryul gave a light clap.

“A fine idea. Cross, despite how I appear, I’m rather well known. I have a title—a moniker, if you will. Hearing it might help you grasp what kind of man I am.”

“…May I ask what it is?”

For someone to hold a title of distinction—it meant they were far from ordinary. What sort of name could it be?

Cross asked the question, though he felt a twinge of hesitation.

“Indeed. It’s a name I bear with pride. My title, my epithet—it’s The Harvester.”

Gryul declared it with confidence, as Aura beamed proudly at his side.

Cross took a moment to think.

Harvester.

What could that mean…?

Then it struck him—an image that matched perfectly with the old man’s demeanor.

The one who reaps—The Harvester.

In other words, a bringer of death.

To be given such a name… it wasn’t merely a mark of strength. It meant he was feared—even by his allies.

“…That’s quite the title. You must be… very powerful.”

Both Aura and Gryul tilted their heads at the same time, puzzled by the comment.

“Hm. It seems there’s still some misunderstanding. I wonder how I might convince you I’m not as impressive as I appear…”

“What shall we do, Father?” Aura said playfully, giggling like a mischievous child.

“Ah, Aurafeel… Are you intentionally encouraging this misunderstanding?”

“Who knows? But… I did think you forgot to mention your actual profession.”

Hearing that, Gryul looked slightly embarrassed.

“Ah, yes. Cross, I neglected to say—I’ve always been a farmer.”

He admitted this quickly, almost bashfully.

And with that, Cross finally understood the true meaning of The Harvester.

Not a bringer of death—

—but a bringer of abundance.