Chapter 146 Thus Spoke the Reincarnated One
Edited by: Kanaa-senpai
I walked home alone, replaying the moment with Archangel again and again. The soft touch on my lips still lingered. A ‘poster girl’ like her should never have allowed something like that—it was supposed to be forbidden.
There had been all kinds of clumsy accidents before: the time Chef stumbled into a lucky grab, Seisouchou during a wardrobe mishap, or the baito leader flashing her skirt in that ridiculous miniskirt uniform. Those were company policies, or excuses for flirtation. But Archangel had never been part of that chaos. She’d guarded her purity fiercely to the end.
And yet… she had kissed me.
”…No, think about what she said, not how it felt,” I muttered, shaking my head.
My thoughts spun. Getting flustered just because a woman—my first love, at that—acted boldly was ridiculous. She’d told me, ‘You don’t have to forgive me right away.’ She wanted me to take my time, to decide on my own. Forgiveness shouldn’t be automatic just because someone apologizes. People often say sorry just to stop being blamed. Then you feel forced to accept it, and resentment festers beneath the surface. That kind of false peace never lasts.
By the time I finished overthinking it, I was already standing before the house. Were the others home? The idea of facing them made my stomach twist. I took a few deep breaths and opened the door.
”I’m home.”
The response came a moment later.
”Welcome back-degozaru, Master.”
Ichika stood there in an apron, smiling. Relief washed over me. If my mother-in-law or the family head had greeted me instead, the air would’ve turned icy.
No—I’d have to tell them what happened later. It would be dishonest to hide it.
”I’m home, Ichika. Think dinner’s still good to eat?”
”It’ll take a moment to warm up-degozaru. Go wash the sweat away in the bath-degozaru. Don’t worry, Master, I’ll handle it-degozaru.”
Why did she emphasize that? Maybe she already guessed why I came back alone.
”Got it. I’ll wash up. I probably smell anyway.”
”Not to me-degozaru, but when we have a daughter someday…”
”…Yeah. Right.”
She must’ve been thinking of that ‘papa smells’ curse all fathers fear. If I ever heard it from my child, it would break me—but maybe that’s part of being alive long enough.
I went to the bath and let the hot water rinse away my tension. The steam loosened my muscles, but my mind was still racing. After dinner, I’d need to talk about the future—our plan for the Sublimation of Existence—and then lose myself in crafting. Swing the hammer, forge something beautiful. Not a cursed relic to exile from the world, but a creation born from will and heat. A grand forging—pure and absolute!
I laughed to myself. If I kept ranting about the love of crafting, the Immortal King might log in just to mock me. I splashed cold water on my face to chase away the mental image.
When I returned to the living room, Ichika had laid the dishes neatly on the table. No sign of the others. Lucky me.
”Come, Master! Eat plenty-degozaru!” she said, beaming.
I sat down and lifted the lid from the large bowl. A golden cutlet rested on simmered onions, sealed under a layer of soft egg.
Katsudon. Simple, perfect katsudon.
Some call it miso katsudon or sauce katsudon, but to me this—cutlet simmered in broth—is the true classic.
”I used a bit more oil than usual-degozaru,” Ichika said proudly. “This is different from the local schnitzel style-degozaru. I seasoned it with soy sauce and white sesame-degozaru.”
I swallowed, took a bite. The top layer was crisp, the breadcrumbs rough and satisfying. Beneath, the broth had softened everything, blending soy, mirin, and sake with onions and silky half-cooked egg. The flavor deepened with every chew, sesame and soy merging in warm harmony.
Next came the miso soup—onion and potato, a mix of white and red miso. The sweetness of the onion melted into the bonito broth. Comfort in a bowl.
Then the kinpira gobo: burdock and carrot, sweet-salty with a hint of heat. A perfect contrast to the mellow soup and savory rice. My appetite came alive again.
”I actually thought about frying chicken too-degozaru,” she said.
”Fried chicken, huh?”
”Exactly-degozaru, you see through me, Master!”
I smiled. She could’ve gone with tatsuta-age, but karaage was the right call. Sharing ingredients made her menu efficient and clever.
The warmth in my chest grew. Maybe the food, maybe her presence. Either way, it tasted even better than before.
”Thanks for the meal.”
”Glad you liked it-degozaru—wait, Master!” she yelped as I started to wash my dishes.
”You cooked. Let me at least do this much.”
”Ugh… my good-wife-and-wise-mother plan is ruined!”
”Plan? Ichika, you’re already the kind of wife anyone would envy.”
She pouted, and I laughed softly. If I let her do everything, I’d melt into dependence. Better to help now and then—clean the bath, cook sometimes, show her I’m more than just a pampered husband.
”Master, can I ask something-degozaru?” she said.
”As long as it doesn’t break my focus.”
The dishes clinked softly in the sink. Just one set—quick work. Maybe next time I’d help with the frying pans too.
”What happened during today’s exploration-degozaru?”
Her question froze me.
”Ethelena-sama and Yohira came home first,” she continued quietly. “Both were crying. For a moment, I feared the worst—that you had fallen. But there was no body, so I asked what happened…”
”I lost my temper, didn’t I?”
She nodded. “Yes. They said, ‘We made Tatara angry.’”
The air grew still between us.
So they really told her the truth—that they made me angry.
”Yeah,” I said quietly. “They said something that crossed a line. I lost control for a moment.”
I resumed washing the dishes, forcing myself to be gentle. One wrong squeeze and I’d crush the chopsticks.
”Unusual,” Ichika said softly. “Master rarely gets angry with family-degozaru.”
”I think I’m rough enough with you,” I countered.
”If it’s for something foolish I did while trying to act like a silly fox, it’s fair-degozaru. The only time you’ve ever truly shown anger toward me was…”
She placed a hand over her chest, her gaze steady. “When you told me to stay here. You spoke harshly then because I couldn’t be honest about what I wanted.”
She smiled as if showing me a precious jewel. The warmth behind it embarrassed me more than I expected.
”Please, tell me what happened during the exploration, Tatara-sama.”
I sighed. “You might stop seeing me as your noble ‘Master’ after this.”
”I won’t.”
Her calm resolve left no room for retreat. I gave a crooked smile and began.
I told her about what happened at the sixtieth floor—how I’d revealed that I was a reincarnated soul, how the others reacted. I spared the gory details of my past life but explained enough. Then came the teasing, the cruel jabs about my inexperience that scraped against an old scar I’d carried from before I died. It had pushed me past my limit.
When I finished, I felt oddly lighter. Still, I knew I might’ve sounded bitter, maybe even unfair. From her point of view, it could have all sounded like a self-serving tale.
”…May I ask first,” Ichika said gently, “what does it mean to be a reincarnated one?”
”It just means I have memories from a previous life,” I said. “A world built on different laws entirely.”
”Different… how?”
”There were only humans there. No youkai like you. No mana, no magic. It was a world powered by electricity instead.”
I almost laughed, imagining Dahlia bombarding me with technical questions. Ichika, thankfully, just listened.
”That’s… hard to believe,” she admitted.
”Yeah. I’d doubt it too.”
If someone told me such a story, I’d probably question it. But when it came from family—someone I trusted—I’d want to believe. Maybe that was why her next words hit me so deeply.
”But you’re not ‘someone else,’ Tatara-sama. You’re you. And because it’s you, I believe it.”
”It could all be a lie.”
”If it were, you wouldn’t wear that look of quiet surrender. You only get that expression after being dismissed again and again by people you wanted to believe in you. That pain doesn’t come from liars.” She smiled faintly. “Because it’s you, I believe.”
Her eyes met mine—clear, unwavering. Heat rose behind my own. Before I knew it, tears blurred my vision, and Ichika reached out to gently wipe them away.
”Tell me about that other life,” she whispered. “What you loved. What hurt you. Everything.”
And so I did. I spoke of my love for robots, the food I used to cook, my family, my friends, my work, the traumas I carried. Once I started, it all poured out like a dam breaking.
”I don’t remember my old name anymore,” I added quietly midway. “Sorry.”
Ichika’s face softened, touched with sadness. She was trying to accept all of me, and I couldn’t even give her that small piece.
When I finally stopped talking, I realized how much I’d been holding in.
”You despise people who gang up to hurt someone, don’t you?” she asked.
”Yeah. That sort of thing disgusts me.”
”And being betrayed by someone you trust?”
”…That too.”
”Then your anger toward Ethelena-sama and the others is right and just.”
Her voice had taken on an edge I rarely heard. When I looked up, her eyes burned with anger—a rare sight in someone usually so gentle.
”Ethelena-sama knew about your past life from the beginning,” she said. “She didn’t believe you, and when Yohira did, she lashed out in jealousy. To strike where it hurts most—your past wounds—is unforgivable. If I had been there, I would have struck all three of them, not just her.”
”That far?” I asked.
”Would you not have done the same if they’d done it to Ethelena-sama or Yohira instead?”
”…Maybe not.”
But even I knew that was a lie. I probably would have.
”Tatara-sama,” she continued softly, “you should allow yourself to be angry sometimes. If you never show it, people will grow too used to your kindness and forget that you’re human.”
A chill ran down my back. She was right. When kindness becomes expectation, it turns into permission for cruelty.
”Don’t forget,” she said, her gaze firm, “you’re a life worthy of respect, too.”
Her words struck something deep in me. Maybe being reincarnated made me careless about my own life. I’d throw myself in front of danger without thinking—like I didn’t value survival itself. Ichika caught that momentary hesitation, and sorrow flickered across her face. She never missed a thing.
I felt pathetic. To have someone who treasures my life more than I do—it was twisted. Maybe I really did need therapy.
”Yeah… you’re right,” I said. “Thanks, Ichika. I’ll try. Even if it’s hard.”
”Ordinary people,” she said with a faint smile, “always put their lives first-degozaru.”
I chuckled. “Your old speech pattern’s back. You know, it’s cute.”
”Don’t tease me…” she muttered, cheeks pink.
Her normal tone had returned, familiar and comforting. Maybe that was why her next question came so lightly.
”By the way, is there anything else you haven’t told me?”
”Yeah,” I said without thinking. “I was planning to have a child with you—and then die.”
”What?”
Oh no. I’d stepped right on a landmine. A big one.
Her hair began flashing between gold and brown, tails multiplying and vanishing with every breath. Magic trembled in the air.
”Tatara-sama,” she said in a dangerously calm voice, “please explain how you reached that conclusion-degozaru.”
I’d never seen her this furious before—her usual politeness cracking beneath pure anger.
”W-well,” I stammered, “I was thinking at least I’d live until our child finished primary school…”
”That sounds like you don’t plan to live past that point-degozaru,” Ichika said flatly.
”Well… that’s not exactly what I meant,” I tried, but even I didn’t sound convinced.
The truth was crueler. I’d lived for Ethelena alone, and when that purpose vanished, so did my reason to keep going. I felt sorry for Ichika—and for the child she carried—but the idea of a long life felt unbearable. No matter how much I tried to push her away, a part of me still orbited Ethelena. Pathetic.
”So bound… still by Ethelena-sama?” Ichika’s voice trembled, her eyes shining wetly. “Can I not fill that emptiness-degozaru? That hole in your heart!?”
Her tears broke me. I pulled her close before she could crumble further.
”I hate her,” she whispered. “I hate that woman who still fills your heart even now!”
Her voice shook the air, and I felt the faint stir of power—my inventory charm for curse-cutting reacted, warning of an emotional surge. The hatred was real, physical. Black threads of malice shimmered in the air, wrapping around her like smoke.
I stroked her hair slowly, trying to calm her. The curse twisted, sticky and visible like tar, coiling up my fingers.
”怨怨怨怨怨怨怨怨怨怨怨怨…” she chanted under her breath.
”Okay, that’s officially terrifying,” I muttered. “Please calm down before this turns into a horror movie.”
Her voice rattled the room like a cicada’s endless cry. I was touched she cared so fiercely—but ghosts and curses? Definitely not my thing.
”Tatara-sama,” she said finally, raising her face. Her eyes gleamed with fierce clarity. “You are my only master. When you decide to end your life early, it tears away half my soul. To curse the one who caused that pain is natural.”
”I appreciate the anger,” I said gently. “But don’t drown yourself in it. You don’t need to sink into a curse because of me.”
The dark tendrils clung tighter, staining her hair ink-black. I ignored it, even when the sticky aura brushed my cheek like a living serpent. If I started analyzing it, I’d lose my nerve.
Ichika pouted, sulking, and I ruffled her hair until she squeaked in protest.
”You don’t need to fall with me,” I said softly. “Even if my life’s short, I’ll give our child all the love I can. Maybe we could even… have another someday.”
Her eyes flared at that—bright, dangerous. Maybe I’d said too much.
”I’m not asking you to smile,” I went on quickly. “Just… don’t let your own light twist into darkness. Don’t let that curse change who you are.”
I cupped her face, leaned in, and kissed her gently. The black haze shimmered, then bloomed into pale pink petals before dissolving into air.
”…You’re unfair-degozaru,” she murmured.
”Maybe,” I admitted. “Using your affection to stop your anger—it’s definitely unfair.”
Maybe I was just manipulating her to protect the past, or maybe to protect her from herself. I wasn’t sure anymore.
She placed her hands over mine. “Then, my unfair husband, may I ask one thing-degozaru?”
”If it’s not impossible.”
I tried to sound casual, but I had a feeling this would be heavy.
”I won’t ask you to live to the deepest floor,” she said. “Just ten more years. Long enough to see our child come of age.”
”Coming of age… that’s fifteen, right?”
She nodded. “Yes.”
In this world, the schooling system matched the compulsory years of my old world, but adulthood came at eighteen. Fifteen was a meaningful milestone.
”And after that,” she continued softly, slipping out of her usual speech pattern, “spend the rest of your time with me. Give me memories—something that makes life worth living.”
I couldn’t say no to that. “Alright,” I said quietly. “Ten more years.”
”Thank you,” she whispered, crying as she wrapped her arms around me. I held her back, thinking bitterly how easily I gave in when she wept.
”And Master,” she added, her voice muffled against my chest, “I won’t tell you to forgive those three. If you did, it would only steal time from me. But… if a day ever comes when you can…”
”…Then maybe I’ll try,” I said. “No promises, though.”
Maybe someday, after a real apology. For now, that decision could stay with the future me.
Later, I retreated to the workshop, needing to move my hands to quiet my head. I threw myself into forging mithril, the silvery-blue metal glowing in rhythmic pulses. Fifty-two kilograms—enough for ninety-nine small Tatara golems and two medium ones. The merchant guild’s upcoming construction request demanded better efficiency, so I planned to double production. Two hundred small units, led by two mediums, could probably build a mid-sized dam in under a month.
’Appraisal’ magic would handle terrain analysis, but material calculation—cement, mana stones, reinforcement—was tedious work. Still, the repetition soothed me.
I also planned to rebuild Aarem’s arena and repair Whirlwind’s outer wall. In the original story, that wall’s decay triggered a heroine’s route tied to the outbreak of war. Here, I wanted to prevent that future entirely. As Chief Crafter, it would be my first major test—one the city’s mayor herself had once faced. She’d needed a team; I’d do it alone. One week to restore a wall encircling fields and homes for a population of over a hundred thousand. Ambitious—but possible.
As I divided the forged mithril into half-kilo pieces, I activated ‘Crafting’ and ‘GolemCrafting.’ The small Tatara golems each housed a rare Golem Core—thankfully, I’d stockpiled enough. After finishing ninety-nine, the skill reached level four. I pushed it further, creating two medium units to manage the rest. Two commanders, ninety-nine underlings each—two hundred one in all. A proper workforce.
Maybe it was overkill. Maybe I was just avoiding thought. But repetitive labor, like hammer strikes, has a way of keeping the mind steady.
Thinking back on Archangel’s words, and on what Ichika asked of me, my heart finally loosened a notch. With that small space to breathe, I tried to face the three who had hurt me. But when I did it alone—without Archangel or Ichika beside me—the anger rose again like heat from the forge. That was why I made more Tatara Golems. Maybe making a hundred and one extra was… a bit much.
Skill growth came with side effects. “Golem Enhancement” advanced to level three; all stats up by thirty. Scary on paper, but my Tatara Golems aren’t for war. At best they can body-check a knight trainee to pull a civilian out of danger. We need bodies, not heroes.
Once I finished ninety-nine small units and two medium leaders, I tucked them all into my inventory and called out the very first medium unit—the original leader. It hopped onto the workbench, bright-eyed. I met its glass-black gaze.
”Leader,” I said, steady. “I’m going to strengthen you with my GolemCrafting ability. I need your consent.”
People might laugh at me for asking a machine. But these ones show will. If there’s a will, I’ll respect it.
”Ta—!” it chirped after a thoughtful pause, like a child taking a deep breath before diving.
”Good,” I said. “Here’s the plan.”
I opened my magitech word processor and brought up the schematics. The upgrade was simple to list, hard to execute: an orichalcum movable frame inside, and plates of adamantite over key exterior points.
Scaled to the medium unit’s size, the internal frame massed around six kilos. Factoring density, the bones would need thirty kilos of orichalcum if they’d been calcium, but orichalcum forged clean would be lighter and stronger. I went with hollow cylinder elements and filled their channels with fluidized mana stones, so the core—our ‘egg’—could transmit energy more efficiently.
Adamantite would stay minimal: about one kilo. Plates for the armor segments, threads for the hair. It would make the unit look a little more like me; the leader agreed to that part. The ahoge—the silly antenna hair—couldn’t take adamantite; it hurts mana transmission. So it would stay silver, a bright flag in a dark crowd.
With the plan set, I engaged “Golem Custom.” I forged the orichalcum frame first, then powered the unit down and removed the egg with care. The egg went into the frame’s heart, sealed by an adamantite guard. I set the frame inside the old shell with a pulse of Crafting, tuned the joints, and reshaped the proportions—less squashed, more balanced. Like an old BB model upgraded to HGSD: same soul, sharper lines.
I sealed the chassis, added the adamantite plates, and mixed the remaining strands into the hair. A clear tone rang in my head: complete. The leader’s eyes lit a moment later. It flexed, touched its chest, then reached a small hand toward me.
”Ta!”
”Morning,” I said. “How’s it feel?”
”Raa!”
”I’ll take that as ‘great.’”
If Archangel or Chef were here, they’d translate the exact meaning. I settled for the vibe.
I stored the leader and turned to the next problem—gear for floors sixty-one and beyond. First, countermeasures for ‘angels’ of rank eight and higher: mid-range tools. I added four anchor guns to my ‘黒煌’—two on the forearms, two on the belt. Retractable cables to twenty meters, reusable.
Then a new weapon: a needle launcher. Picture a missile pod, but it fires six demonsteel spikes at once. Unlike the anchors, these are disposable. The firing system converts a wind kingstone’s mana into compressed air, then dumps the pressure through vented chambers. ‘黒煌’ supplies the mana, and the efficiency math finally clicked. I built a second pod and mounted both on my calves.
”That should carry me to the seventieth boss,” I murmured.
”Enemies that demand new Magic Devices, then,” a voice said behind me. “In that case, this Dahlia will accompany you on the next exploration.”
”—Gah!?” I yelped, half-throwing a wrench.
Dahlia stood in her usual maid dress, expression neat, presence nonexistent.
”Don’t slip in silently,” I said, catching my breath. “You scared me.”
”My apologies, master,” she said, bowing.
I couldn’t help smiling. Seeing her in that uniform again warmed something in me. She’d spent so long at the mayor’s office testing the Returner array that she’d collapsed the day she finally came back. To find her steady on her feet now felt like grace.
”Welcome home, master,” she said, and for once a soft smile touched her face. The iron mask was gone; her feelings showed clearly now.
”Good to be back,” I said. “The Sublimation of Existence went fine.”
She nodded, pleased, though her eyes kept flicking toward the launchers.
”You really want to see these, huh?” I asked.
”Very much so. We Automaton Maidens find the birth of a new Magic Device… biologically compelling,” she said, almost prim.
”Coming from you, that tracks.”
I walked her through the needle launcher’s guts. When I mentioned the kingstones, I half-expected her to push for upgrades to Lantana, but she let it pass. Instead, she fixated on ‘黒煌’—especially its property absorption. I admitted the trick came from the material, not my research. Without the kingstone’s quirk or true conceptual arms, imitation was unlikely.
When the lecture wound down, silence stretched. Dahlia watched me with that clear, steady look of hers.
”…You want to ask something,” I said.
She hesitated, then spoke. “What happened with the Okusama—the madams—master?”
Her tone had gone formal again, a little stiff.
”Why do you think something did?” I asked.
”First, master returned alone,” she said. “Second, after speaking with Kasumi-sama, the madams were taken to Hizuru. Therefore…”
She let it hang in the air, like a blade waiting for my hand.
”…What?”
That was the first I’d heard that Ethelena and the others weren’t even in Whirlwind anymore. Somehow I hadn’t noticed the house was missing its usual noise. A new low for my awareness.
”I slept until someone returned home,” Dahlia said. “When the ladies did, I couldn’t sense your presence, which felt wrong. I hurried downstairs armed for battle, only to find them explaining things to Kasumi-sama. You were safe—that much I learned—but then Kasumi-sama began scolding them. It was… terrifying, master. So I retreated.”
”Even you were scared of Mother-in-law when she lectures?”
”Yes. It reminded me of my own mother.”
Motherhood is fearsome across worlds, apparently.
”Afterward, Kasumi-sama declared, ‘It’s unwise for everyone to remain under one roof. I’ll take them to Torakuma’s estate for now,’ and used the garden teleportation gate.”
”I see.”
A cooling-off period, then. Probably for the best. Age brings wisdom, after all.
”Master,” Dahlia said gently, “it may be difficult, but I must ask directly—what happened inside the dungeon?”
For a heartbeat, I considered dodging it. But then I thought of Archangel, of Ichika. They had already trusted me with the truth. It was time I stopped running from it.
”Before I answer,” I said quietly, “there’s something you should know first.”
”Yes, master?”
”I’m a reincarnated soul.”
Her eyes met mine without flinching. She processed for several seconds, then nodded once.
”The trouble with the Okusama began after that revelation, then?”
”Yeah. I told them I was reincarnated, and they… stepped on a landmine.”
As I spoke, the pieces began falling into order. What really hurt me wasn’t the teasing—it was being ganged up on. I could laugh off the jokes, even about being a virgin in my past life. But the disbelief… that cut deeper. I’d exploded only because years of that same pain had piled up past my limit.
I really was a complicated man.
”Do you believe me, Dahlia?” I asked.
”If master tells me you are reincarnated, I accept it as truth. Doubt has no function between us.”
”That’s dangerous thinking,” I warned. “What if I told you some noble pervert wanted you and ordered me to kill him?”
She gave me an unimpressed look. “Choosing to kill instead of, say, refusing the request—that already says plenty about you, master.”
I couldn’t help chuckling. She was right. Her face barely moved, but I could read the exasperation now.
”Suppose you did develop affection for someone else,” I continued. “Would you still obey if I told you to kill him?”
”No,” she said simply. “Because I would not. Master already knows I can only feel affection toward you. You wouldn’t test me otherwise.”
Was that my arrogance? My presumption that her loyalty was absolute?
”Master,” she said, voice calm as still metal, “I am an Automaton Maiden, the sole holy mechanism of the Machine God. Even our god designed me never to bond with anyone else.”
”So even the god has me registered, huh?”
”If you doubt it,” she said, “Machine God-sama ordered me to tell you this: one of the anchors keeping you tied to this world is Him.”
”…Seriously?” That explained a lot. I’d never known which god bore that role, but I hadn’t expected that one. I owed Him thanks, apparently.
”The reason,” Dahlia continued, “is because you saved me.”
”I just did what anyone would have.”
”And yet ‘anyone’ rarely does, master.”
Maybe she was right. Ordinary kindness is often the hardest kind.
”Therefore,” she said, “until the day your life ends, my duty is to serve by your side. That is my god’s decree.”
”Then throw it away,” I said flatly. “If it chains your will, it’s worthless.”
She smiled faintly. “Joking again. If I didn’t want to stay, I would have left after I settled things with that irritating bird mimic. Remaining here is my choice.”
Her gaze was firm, bright. I still didn’t understand why she cared that deeply. Maybe she saw an idealized version of me—someone worth following. Someone I wasn’t.
”…You probably think I’m cooler than I really am,” I said. “Truth is, I’m not worth admiring.”
She waited silently for me to go on.
”In my past life, I was a crafter, too,” I admitted. “Not as versatile as now—just a specialist.”
”That sounds like you, master,” she said.
”But I didn’t have the ability to solve everything. I coordinated teams, trained rookies, fixed other people’s messes… and got looked down on for it.”
”Looked down on? You?”
”Yeah. I’d outperform them, but they had that weird illusion of superiority—thought they were more ‘complete’ somehow.”
Once I started talking, it all spilled out. Dahlia listened, inserting small murmurs at the right moments, steady as a therapist clockwork.
”One day,” I went on, “a trainee I’d been mentoring decided my help meant I was interested in her. When she botched a major job, people twisted the story—claimed we were lovers, said I’d neglected her. The group turned on me. Eventually I snapped, quit, and walked away from the whole field.”
”So the wound they pressed in the dungeon,” Dahlia said softly, “was the same one—an attack by a group.”
”Exactly. I’ve never been good with people, but that finished the job. Made it easier not to care.”
”Yet you keep saving people,” she pointed out.
”If someone’s in trouble and I can help, it’d be wrong not to.”
She sighed—an oddly human sound for an automaton. “And that’s why you attract misunderstanding. A man who claims to dislike people but saves everyone invites fools to assume affection.”
”…What?”
”Women who think ‘he helps me, so he must like me.’ Children who grow spoiled because someone always fixes things. In your past life, you were surrounded by both, weren’t you?”
I frowned. “Helping someone a bit—how does that equal romance? Or contempt?”
She just looked at me, long and silent. I wasn’t sure if it was pity or amusement.
”Then tell me,” she asked, “was there anyone back then who helped you?”
”Not really,” I said after a moment. “I did the work of my boss and my team both. The only real help was from the few who could actually do their own jobs.”
Dahlia sighed again. “That’s a hopeless system, master.”
What exactly made it ‘hopeless’? I wasn’t sure.
”In private life,” I said, thinking, “I guess the only real support came from my family—my parents, my brother.”
”You had a brother, master?” Dahlia asked.
”Yeah. We were just… normal siblings. Sometimes went to the movies, grabbed food together, shared games or anime. He’s the reason I got into my trade in the first place.”
I smiled faintly at the memory. “The last junior I trained cried when I quit.”
”…The gender of that junior?”
”Female, but what about it?”
”Hopeless case,” she sighed.
”Excuse me? She was excellent—almost fully inherited my skills.”
”Hopeless case,” she repeated, deadpan.
I frowned. I could tell she was scolding me for missing something obvious. Maybe she meant the poor girl’s feelings. Sure, she’d been a bit of an oddball—short hair, wore men’s suits at first, referred to herself as boku. Later she switched to women’s clothes, always smiling shyly. A cute, honest kid, really.
”Master,” Dahlia asked suddenly, “are the Magic Devices you craft things that existed in your past world?”
”For household types, yeah. Some are modified to match this world’s rules, though.”
”What about the Alchemist’s Egg, Elingium, or Arcane Armor?”
”Those never existed—pure fiction. I based their principles on stories from my old world.”
”…Then you’re probably the only one who could make them real.”
”Nah. Anyone could, if they had the ideas. I was told all my life I was replaceable—’someone else could do your job.’ So yeah, it’s normal.”
She gave a long, mechanical sigh. “Whoever shaped that way of thinking has committed both the greatest sin and virtue in this world.”
Her tone made me pause. Maybe she was right. Even now, my patents rarely paid royalties—no one could replicate the tech anyway.
”What kind of stories did you grow up with, master?” she asked.
”Too many to count,” I said. “If I started now, I’d need several lifetimes to finish.”
Giant robots, rebel emperors, singers whose voices reached space, armored soldiers, saints who cut demons, devils in steel castles, energy beings with wills of their own, humanoid weapons built to fight gods, golden kings of heroes, warships battling lizards from Jupiter… Even listing the robot ones Dahlia would like barely scratched the surface.
”I’ve built a few things inspired by those tales,” I admitted. “Sometimes it feels like cheating, though. Being called Chief Crafter feels too grand.”
”Recreating imaginary concepts in reality isn’t cheating,” Dahlia said. “It’s… incomprehensible.”
”Let’s call it a win by creativity,” I chuckled.
Honestly, it still felt like copying answers from someone else’s test. Most of my ‘patents’ existed to share the knowledge, but no one could replicate them. So I ended up training apprentices here, too. Funny kind of irony.
”Your spell style, the Fol-Julon,” I said, “that’s another hybrid. Half sorcery theory, half modern alchemy.”
”There was sorcery in your old world?”
”No magic. Just ideas.”
”Then what sort of knowledge?”
”Concepts that existed only in stories. I pulled from those, refined the plausible parts, and shaped them here.”
Some of it even used blood or hair to synchronize the device with its owner—fictional concepts turned real by this world’s mana. Demonsteel, too, had roots in the old world’s metallurgy, merged with fantasy alchemy. This world’s looser physics made such things possible.
”Remember that aerial maneuver I taught you?” I asked. “That’s straight out of fiction.”
”The one you used against that bird-like demon? It had a name, didn’t it?”
”Golden Wing King Blade,” I said. “Originally, it was a fighter-jet move. I reimagined it for a swordsman in midair—that’s the version you learned.”
”…And you optimized it for ‘Triteleia’ during the fight?”
”On the fly,” I said with a shrug.
She smiled faintly. “You really are my master.”
Only then did it sink in—Dahlia truly believed me. She’d never doubted a word, never once asked for proof.
”Dahlia,” I said softly, “you really do believe in my past life, don’t you?”
”Of course,” she said. “In fact, hearing it explains many of your mysteries. And I told you before—I accept your words as truth.”
”…Thanks.”
She bowed lightly. “No, master. Thank you—for sharing your secret with me.”
Notes:
• Ichika – The fox girl. Kunoichi. Virgincest⚠️, becomes pregnant immediately.
• Yohira – Torakuma’s first name. Oni warrior.
• Dahlia – The automaton.
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Edited by Kanaa-senpai.
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