(Ryuta POV)
From a great enough distance, watching through my scope, I kept my breath steady, the mask over my mouth and nose keeping the glass from fogging up. My target: a flock of Red Dragons—one of many still left for me to kill.
My sniper rifle, a custom Magic Tool of my own design, looked deceptively simple. At its core was a common but popular Magic Tool used for basic shooting spells. But with a few personal modifications—yellow mana amplification crystals aligned for Earth Magic, a reinforced barrel to stabilize casting output, and the precision scope—this weapon became something entirely new to this world—a precision dragon-killing machine.
Why did I make a weapon like this? Curiosity got the better of me, or rather, I thought it would be cool.
But this exact weapon is what came in handy for my current mission—culling the number of Red Dragons nesting along the Upper Jaw of the mountain range.
That warlord and his reckless researchers left us with a real mess.
Any large-scale disruption—a misplaced Emperor-class spell, for example—would only provoke the dragons into a frenzy. Worst case? They scatter and fly toward civilian settlements. Best case? They converge on the caster and tear them apart for their braindead provocation.
So instead, I opted for a more grotesque solution: controlled attrition. Let them turn on each other.
As it turns out, Red Dragon meat isn't just a delicacy for humans—it's a prized meal among their own. Cannibalism. A grim reality, but one I could use.
I peered through the scope, eyes locked on an elderly Red Dragon lagging behind the rest of the flock. Its wings were torn near the edges, and its flight was sluggish. It wouldn't last long in the wild. The rest of the dragons around it looked gaunt, their scales dulled from hunger—probably one of the weaker flocks.
Perfect.
I adjusted the barrel, letting the Earth Magic flow through the amplification runes. A spike of sharpened stone began forming in the chamber, dense and vibrating faintly with stored pressure. I lined up the shot—aiming just behind the eye socket.
ClickWhirr
The sniper released with a muffled thump. The spike shot through the air faster than any chantless spell could manage, cutting clean through the mountain wind before embedding deep into the dragon's skull.
It collapsed mid-screech, tumbling into the jagged terrain below.
I held my breath.
For a moment, the flock scattered—startled. One younger dragon dove toward the corpse. Then another. Then three more. That's when their feast began.
"...And there it is," I murmured, lowering the scope.
With their attention elsewhere, I slipped back into the shadows of the ridge. My cloak flapped gently as I slid down the slope, boots crunching against loose shale. No pursuers. Clean kill. That was my method for the solution until enough flocks went back to the Lower Jaw.
Time to find the next target.
***
Despite being unsure of my progress in thinning the Red Dragon population at the Upper Jaw, on top of having this workaholic feeling that I should keep going, I'd decided that a break—at least a day—from a ten-day hunting session was well deserved.
It'd been a long time since fatigue hit me this hard—outside of training, anyway.
Since Orsted wasn't in his new office building, he went to the Teleportation Circle that connected to my house.
First, a long shower to wash off the soot, grime, and sweat. Then a soak in the jacuzzi. If only I had some flavored milk—that would've made it perfect.
Once I'm well rested, I could ask Perugius if he could use Arumanfi to tell me if I restored at least some balance in the Red Dragons' territory.
Maybe should check up on the little Dwarf girl while I'm still in Sharia.
After my initial rage over the masked man and his shenanigans, I decided to prioritize the little girl's needs. I cleaned her up, bought her some cloth at the market, and gave her some food. No funny business happened.
The poor thing was in bad condition, and I believe I have turned myself into something better than to go back into my old way of thinking, as I did in my first life.
Her current caretaker is Zanoba, since if the theory about the optimal age to learn chantless Magic turns out to be true, then having her become his... I want to say servant, but the little girl barely knows her own language well. Let's say she is a future apprentice.
I don't have to worry too much, especially since Zanoba is most delighted about the idea, and he recently got a message from a former knight of his that she is on her way to Sharia. It almost escaped me that the chances of that knight arriving are close to zero, but the news should come to him on its own anyway.
As I went up the stairs from my basement, a waft of a delicious smell from upstairs hit my nostrils.
After days of blood and stone, walking into the scent of home-cooked food was... jarring. And oddly comforting.
Out of reflex, I focused on my detection magic. The intruder... was Sara?
Oh god. I've avoided her for so long that she's grown tired of waiting and is now making the advances. Why else would she break in here and cook something that makes my stomach growl louder than a Red Dragon snarl?
My unresolved feelings with her were redacted in my report to Orsted, so I'm afraid to compromise a semi-significant aspect of his plans because of it.
With careful steps made soundless with the aid of Gravity Magic, I approached the part of the building she was in. If I remember correctly, that part should be the kitchen.
With how barren the kitchen was, she must've brought her own tools just to cook here.
Am I missing something, or have we been skipping some essential things here?!
"Umm... hello?"
At the sound of my voice, both girls turned, startled.
There was a steaming pot over a portable stove, vegetables on a cutting board, and what appeared to be small containers of spices in it.
Not only that, but both girls were wearing aprons.
Now I know this is reality. If this were a dream, neither of them would be wearing anything but panties under those aprons. And let's be honest—Nanahoshi probably wouldn't even be in the dream… probably.
The first to speak in our awkward silence was Nanahoshi, her mask nowhere to be seen on her face.
"Y-You're back."
"Yeah... this is my house, after all," I said, eyeing the scene. "Though I didn't expect to find… this… in my kitchen."
Nanahoshi raised an eyebrow. "What, people actually using it?"
"Touché. But most people give notice before they turn someone else's kitchen into a battlefield of cutting boards and spices."
Sara glanced toward us briefly before turning back to stir the pot that was about to overflow.
That's when Nanahoshi stepped closer, lowering her voice as her words shifted to Japanese."{I didn't know you would come back so soon.}"
"{Kinda hard to say when I would come back, considering I was dealing with fire-breathing overgrown lizards,}" I replied in the same tongue. "{Being in a fantasy world is already weird enough, but you and Sara becoming kitchen friends? That feels weird in a different way.}"
"{I could've… prepared differently, if I knew,}" she said, giving a quick glance toward Sara.
"{Prepared what, exactly?}" I asked, half-smirking.
"{Never mind,}" she muttered, brushing a strand of hair back before sniffing faintly. Her eyes narrowed."{If you haven't smelled it yet, I'm in dire need of some cleaning,}" I said, cutting her off before the insult could land.
Just a single sniff was all it took for her to pinch her nose and dart at least seven feet away from me.
"{Oh god! Go take a bath!}"
"{Wayyyy ahead of ya, young lady,}" I said, turning toward the hall.
I couldn't get mad at her for ordering me to clean myself. No point telling her that with more dragons came more... droppings. And yeah, I stepped in more than a few. Even after washing them several times, I still feel the strong urge to get new ones.
***
To ensure there was no stench left on me, I took my time to clean myself thoroughly.
As for my clothes, I tossed them into my Magic Washing Machine—the one I'd brought here not just for myself, but for Nanahoshi too. She'd never admit it, but I knew she appreciated the convenience and the opportunity of using a real bath.
Steam still clung to my skin as I stepped out of the bathroom, feeling lighter, cleaner, and ready to collapse onto a soft bed for the next twelve hours.
But first—food. And not dried meat or crumbling rice balls this time. Well... maybe something with rice.
As I walked toward the kitchen, Nanahoshi intercepted me, already undoing her apron.
"Hey, Ryuta, would you mind making a table and some chairs in the living room for us to eat at?"
"...Sure."
I felt a weird kind of discomfort at her casual request. This house was technically mine, but she talked like she owned half of it. Then again, she did know how this place had been dropped onto me like some bizarre divine favor I never asked for.
With minimal effort, I conjured a simple but smooth-edged table and three chairs. Sturdy, plain, but functional.
Nanahoshi and Sara soon returned, bringing over the dishes they'd been preparing. One by one, they set them down—steaming bowls of rice, a chunky vegetable stew, dark yellowish-glazed grilled meat, and a bowl of something that vaguely resembled miso soup.
Interestingly, everything was served in small bowls and plates, more Eastern-style than the typical Western platters you'd find in this world. The aroma made my mouth water, and a loud growl from my stomach betrayed my anticipation.
Sara glanced at me, clearly amused. "Help yourself," she said, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear.
Nanahoshi set down the last bowl, untying her apron as she added, "It's nothing fancy—we were just trying out a few new combinations."
My eyes flicked between them. "Okay... since when did you two become a tag team in the kitchen?"
"We met at the market," Sara said, "on my day off from the daycare. I recognized her from, well… rumors. About her. About you."
"I was running out of ingredients, so I went out to make myself something," Nanahoshi chimed in. "She approached me. We got to talking, and... things just went from there."
"So that explains the market run," I said, narrowing my eyes. "But what I'm still trying to understand is—why here? And… was this meal for me?"
At that, Sara blushed and looked away, pretending to inspect a spoon.
Nanahoshi, on the other hand, gave me a very deliberate look—and not-so-subtly tilted her head toward Sara.
'What does she try to- ooooooh! She is playing the wingwoman here. How much did I miss in these past few days?'
I didn't recall ever mentioning Sara to Nanahoshi, but it was entirely possible Orsted did. Especially if she visited him recently to report on my "mental disorder."
Sensing the rising tension, I cleared my throat. "Well, uh... why don't we eat before it gets cold?"
We all put our hands together and murmured a short thanks. Then we started digging in.
Or at least, that was the plan.
I took a bite of the grilled meat and was immediately met with pure flame spreading across my tongue. My mouth ignited, not in a "pleasant heat" kind of way, but in a mouthful-of-demon-fire kind of way.
Across from me, Nanahoshi suddenly froze mid-bite, then clutched her throat. Her eyes bulged. Her face turned red. Tears welled up instantly.
"Nggh—ffffuhkk!" I wheezed through gritted teeth, grabbing for the miso-like soup and drinking half the bowl in one go.
Sara, who hadn't yet tried the meat, blinked at us, wide-eyed. "A-Are you two okay?"
We weren't.
Nanahoshi slammed her bowl down, gasping for air. "What the hell—what is in this?" she croaked.
Between gulps of rice, I choked out, "Y-You tell us! You're the one who bought the ingredients!"
"I thought it was curry powder!" she hissed, fanning her mouth. "The label said 'sunfire powder', I think, and it looked like curry from the outside."
"S-Seriously?!" I choked out, coughing before I could single out another word.
She probably mistook 'sunfire' with 'sunflower' since in the Human God tongue, they are very similarly written. Either the seller had bad penmanship, or Nanahoshi was that careless.
Meanwhile, Sara silently took a small slice of meat, sniffed it, and casually set it back down like it was radioactive.
"Sara... do you have some milk back in the kitchen?" I asked with all my strength.
"Y-Yes, I think we have some?" she asked sweetly.
She walked off toward the kitchen—and I'm not sure, but I swear I saw her smiling. And I can't exactly be mad at her for it. I would laugh my ass off if I weren't the victim in this.
///