The World’s Finest Assassin Gets Reincarnated in Another World as an Aristocrat - Volume 3 - Chapter 1

Chapter 1 | The Assassin Goes Hunting

Being home again was a great time. I was blessed with a marvelous family.

Dinner was relaxing. My mom wasn’t a gourmet chef, but her cooking suited my tastes. I probably liked it because that’s what I grew up on, but my affection for her played a part as well.

The next day, I went hunting in the mountains. I’d decided I would do the cooking today, though not necessarily as thanks for being treated yesterday. Dia wanted to eat my cream stew with rabbit, so I had to go out and gather ingredients.

Turning to Tarte, I inquired, “Are your mana and stamina still okay?”

“Yes, I am managing!” she answered.

My preferred hunting ground was located beyond a deep forest trail and was home to many fierce beasts, which made it quite dangerous. Those areas touched by man had been made easier to traverse, but even walking through the wilderness proved trying on one’s endurance. If you weren’t careful, your legs could end up scratched, too.

I sought game here to avoid poaching it from commoners. Many made their living from selling meat and skins, and I didn’t want to get in their way.

There were many other merits as well. Not even professional trappers ventured this deep into the wilds, so the area was abundant with fauna. Unworked land like this also made for a good training ground. Hunting here had honed my skills.

“I found Alvanian rabbit tracks… That means it probably hasn’t gone far, my lord,” Tarte observed.

Traveling through the dense woods tested my agility and stamina, and straining to make sure I didn’t miss even the smallest animal traces trained my attentiveness and concentration. It almost felt nostalgic.

Tarte was following behind me. Using only the tiniest trace of footprints left behind, she guessed our quarry’s location and took off in pursuit.

I’d given her two assignments during this hunting trip to help her overcome her weaknesses.

The first was to use her Tuatha Dé eyes the entire time she was on the mountain. The Tuatha Dé eyes constantly consumed mana. Without the Rapid Recovery skill, they could quickly cause you to faint. For that reason, a user had to practice maintaining a low mana output. This improved their control over the eyes.

Tarte’s other task was to use a new weapon I’d prepared for her. The spear was Tarte’s preferred tool in combat. Obviously, she should continue to practice with it and strive to be the best she could. However, I’d given her another armament to use, as well as a shortcut for raising her battle prowess. While it strayed from the honorable combat of knights or martial artists, I didn’t care. We were assassins. The pursuit of power was all that mattered.

Tarte took off running while chanting the incantation Dia had made at her request. It was a spell fit for assassination.

“Wind Shadow!”

Tarte was very proficient with a spell that created an aerodynamic wind barrier that removed air resistance, repressed stamina consumption, and enabled her to move at high speeds. This new magic she was utilizing had been based on that. Conjured air gathered around the young woman, boosting her swiftness, disguising her scent, and muffling her sound. As a veritable ghost, she approached the rabbit without fear of detection.

Admittedly, the spell didn’t erase all traces of Tarte. That required extremely delicate control, which in turn meant a more difficult incantation. However, those imperfections could be compensated for with assassination techniques, so we didn’t worry about it. Achieving all that was easier said than done, though.

“She’s doing well,” I commented.

Alvanian rabbits possessed acute hearing and smell. Should Tarte approach without being noticed, I’d give her a passing grade.

I was watching this play out from a distance. Tarte lifted her skirt. While she always kept a folding spear on her left thigh, she now sported a handgun with an attachable barrel on her right. That was the new weapon I had gifted her.

“A Gun Strike that Tarte can use. I hope it works,” I muttered.

The Gun Strike that Dia and I performed had a few significant shortcomings. It required an explosion of fire magic, which only a select few mages had. While anyone could use Gun Strike if Fahr Stone blasts were employed as a propellant, it required a larger firearm that could withstand the force.

That was why I developed the Fahr Stone powder. By adjusting its quantity, I could regulate the explosion, tapering it as necessary. The bullets in Tarte’s gun were filled with the maximum amount of powder a handgun could endure.

Tarte drew the pistol off her right thigh and fitted the attachable barrel to it. A handgun’s small size made it easy to use at point-blank range, and affixing the longer barrel raised accuracy for distance shooting.

In less than a moment, Tarte filled the Fahr Stone powder with mana to its critical point. An explosion sounded, and a bullet lanced forth from the handgun, piercing the Alvanian rabbit’s head.

Tarte fired the gun with one hand, a feat she was only capable of because she had magically boosted her physical strength. These firearms had twice the kick that a Magnum did. It was enough to knock back even the burliest of men. I’d given the weapon such ridiculous strength because it was intended to kill mages.

“Lord Lugh, I did it! I left plenty for us to eat,” Tarte said cheerily.

This was actually the second rabbit she’d shot today. She had struck the first in the middle of its body, ruining the meat. To ensure this didn’t happen, you needed to approach it as close as possible, remain calm, and fire a clean shot into the head.

Those were the skills I wanted Tarte to build, and she had succeeded.

“Great job. You’ve passed. How does the gun feel?”

“I love it. Being able to fire six bullets in a row is amazing.”

Tarte cocked the hammer, and the cylinder rotated and loaded the next round.

I’d given her a revolver that held six shots. A semiautomatic pistol would have been better performance-wise. However, it came with a risk of accidental discharge, which I thought was unacceptable. A revolver was better suited to the mechanism that blocked mana from flowing into anything other than the loaded bullet.

“I see. Please let me know if you have any concerns. It’s still a prototype, so it needs improvement,” I stated.

“Okay! I’ll give a detailed report of anything that comes to mind. Test model or not, having powerful magic that doesn’t require an incantation is incredible. Any mage could use this.”

Just as Tarte said, I’d developed the weapon to be accessible to all. If I ever found highly efficient gunpowder in this world, that would remove the dependency on Fahr Stones, and I would be able to manufacture a firearm that anyone could use, mage or not.

“The era of having to entrust everything to one hero will end someday. This gun could be the first step toward that,” I commented offhandedly.

Firearms had brought an end to the knights of medieval Europe. Such fighters were granted privileged lives because they trained from a young age, learned how to use a sword, and ruled over and protected peasants with their superior strength.

Everything changed the moment guns were invented, however. Now, anyone could kill with ease. Years of practice with swords and lances meant nothing in the face of a lead bullet. With only a few days of training, commoners could slay experienced soldiers. Once knights were no longer needed, peasants began to feel exploited, and knights never held the same position in society again.

“Lord Lugh, are you planning on distributing guns throughout the world to bring an end to the current society?” Tarte questioned.

“No, I’m not preparing for anything like that at the moment.”

In this world—or rather, in this country—the society of nobles was just barely keeping the peace. I didn’t want to do anything to light the embers of war.

“Let’s head back.”

“Yes, my lord! I’m looking forward to your cream stew. I have never managed to get mine to taste like yours, even though you taught me the recipe. It always feels like something is missing.”

I’d first made cream stew here when I was very young, and it became a local specialty of the Tuatha Dé domain. It was served to travelers at inns, and those sightseers spread it throughout the world. Some came to like it so much that they wanted to go to Tuatha Dé just to experience the dish where it originated.

“I really don’t do anything special when I make it, though,” I admitted.

“Please let me watch you as you cook. That way, I can discover your secret!” Tarte was getting fired up. She did like cooking more than killing.

We entertained idle conversation as we skinned the rabbit, drained it of blood, and wrapped it in tree bark. Once we were back home, I headed for the kitchen right away. Tarte had worked hard hunting today, so I made sure to give her the leg meat, which was the tastiest part.

For dinner, we enjoyed the cream stew with rabbit, some fresh bread, and one more item that I hastily threw together.

I prepared the broth using rabbit bones, dried mushrooms that grew in the mountains, and white sauce. I filled the soup with a typical assortment of seasonal vegetables and rabbit meat.

“My little Lugh’s cream stew is truly a masterpiece. There’s nothing like a son’s home cooking.”

“Mom, I often hear ‘mother’s home cooking,’ but I’ve never heard anyone say ‘son’s home cooking.’”

“But that’s the only way I can describe the flavor. You sure know how to please a woman, Lugh,” my mom said with a sigh of pleasure.

“Watch your phrasing,” I shot back.

She brought a spoonful of stew to her mouth and smiled from ear to ear.

“Awww, I at least want to surpass Lord Lugh at cooking… I’m a failure as his personal retainer.” Looking conflicted, Tarte bit into the leg meat. Its tenderness and flavor made it the tastiest part of the rabbit. Partaking of it was the privilege of the person who’d killed the animal.

Unless we were at the academy, Tarte usually stationed herself behind me as my maid at meals. Today, though, my mom gave her strict orders to eat with us. I wasn’t exactly sure what happened, but yesterday, my mom had summoned Tarte for a lengthy discussion. Her eating with us probably had something to do with that. My dad was absent due to something related to my medal ceremony, which presented my mom with the perfect opportunity to get into some mischief.

“This is nostalgic. You made cream stew for me back when I was your mentor, remember? I couldn’t believe you created such a delicious meal at such a young age. You’ve been remarkable ever since you were small, Lugh,” Dia said.

“I was just an early developer. I made the gratin you requested, by the way.”

“Yes! That’s my favorite.”

Typically, I prepared gratin the next day using leftovers. However, Dia really wanted some today, so I obliged. All I had to do was coat pasta with cream stew, tomato sauce, and cheese, then bake it—a relatively simple effort.

“Adding rich cheese and the sour taste of tomatoes to the already delicious cream stew makes it even better,” Dia remarked, ecstatically savoring one of her most beloved foods.

Tarte was similarly enjoying the meal, so I offered her some gratin as well. Then I noticed Mom’s reproachful glare and gave some to her, too.

That left me without any, but I didn’t mind. I made gratin to add a bit of a different flavor to the leftover cream stew the next day. Yet, even so, the taste was still similar. Simultaneously eating both was a little too much for me. I couldn’t believe what short work the ladies of the family were making of it.

“That was incredible,” my mom said.

“I will take care of cleaning, my lord,” offered Tarte.

“I’m going back to my room. Come by later, Lugh. I’ve finished analyzing the spell you asked me to look at,” Dia invited.

The three of them went their separate ways. I decided to head to my chamber to do some work. Although I was curious about what Dia mentioned, I also wanted to improve my prototype gun.

Tarte had been continuously stealing glances at me from the corner of her eye. It was typical behavior whenever she was hiding something from me. She’d done the same thing before giving me a surprise birthday present.

For the time being, I was content to pretend I hadn’t noticed. I was worried about whatever nonsense my mom had filled her head with, but I was sure Tarte wouldn’t do anything to cause me stress.