A Long Tail Gets Stepped On
Oh!
As expected, it pays to stay on good terms with people far and wide.
You never know which connection will turn into a treasure.
And wishing on a shooting star is sound doctrine in any world.
May fair winds carry my gastronomy expedition plans.
I had made that wish less than a day ago, and already the book I had been hunting for—the one containing a nationwide map of monster cuisine—had landed right in my hands.
And not just any loan.
An indefinite one.
I could have shouted, “This book is mine now,” and no one would have been able to argue.
In a medieval world without visual media, nothing beat a book as a storehouse of knowledge.
I owed a great debt to the ringlet-haired young lady I had so unexpectedly reunited with.
So I asked her.
“Is there anything you want? I feel like I’ve been doing nothing but taking.”
Even as the son of a declining baronial house, I was no penniless beggar. Whatever she wanted, I would tell Rendler and make sure it was procured, no matter what. That was the resolve behind the question—yet the answer that came back was unexpected.
She grinned.
“Me? I just like giving, that’s all. Don’t feel burdened. Being able to recommend books is already enough to make me happy.”
Ariel answered with a simple, pure-hearted smile.
Was this the second coming of Mother Teresa?
The advent of the Giving Tree itself?
Ariel’s boundless generosity left me with nowhere to put myself. Someday, when the chance came, I would repay this kindness without fail—so I thought as I opened A Nationwide Culinary Tour of Monster Cuisine and went on with my meal.
I had no idea who the author of this magnificent volume was, but it was a perfect treasury of knowledge.
A nationwide map of major culinary destinations; refined regional recommendations; priorities sorted by taste preference; even suggested travel routes. And of course, no food map would be complete without reviews and star ratings.
On top of all that—hidden gems.
It was a bible for the gastronomy traveler, a guide so complete that, just as Ariel had said, this one book alone finished every preparation.
“Oh… so Horis Village in the Langren Duchy is famous for red dragon cuisine?”
A dish that used dragon—the masterpiece of any fantasy world—as its ingredient…
And contrary to the expectation that it would be tough, the tenderloin was said to be soft and meltingly delicate?
The skewered tip of the tail, chewy yet moist, was the house specialty?
The offal and crushed bones, cleaned thoroughly and simmered for two full days into a savory bone-and-organ broth, were a delicacy?
I could not let that pass.
Even sitting in the Great Hall mid-meal, the monster cuisine made my mouth water.
The location was only ten kilometers west of the Winterfell Grand Duchy. If my escape succeeded, that would have to be the first stop—I muttered as much to myself, and Ariel spoke up.
“You’re thinking of going to the Langren Duchy? I heard there’s a big library there too.”
Oh.
“Then want to come along?”
It was a joke, of course.
I could leave on a freewheeling journey because I was the sole son of a declining baronial house, an orphan, and the heir set to inherit the title. I had already told Old Man Rendler to pay the household retainers a proper severance and keep only the bare minimum of staff.
Even as the third daughter, free from the succession, Ariel could never live as unfettered a life as mine. I had only asked lightly, out of courtesy—because her lingering on the mention of a “big” library seemed to leave the door open for company.
And yet.
“R-Really?”
Ariel brightened and asked again.
I was hardly opposed. Young Lady Ariel Elrond was the first friend I had made since transmigrating into this world, and a benefactor to whom I already owed a great deal.
Still.
The gastronomy expedition I intended to embark on was no ordinary trip—it was a farm-to-table journey of the absolute highest freshness. That was precisely why I was undergoing special training under Rachel.
One might ask why I needed A Nationwide Culinary Tour of Monster Cuisine at all, then—but no matter how hard I pushed, I could not spend every single day hunting monsters. The heart of a culinary journey was, above all, healing. I had no intention of marching so hard that I ruined that, which made a guidebook full of restaurant reviews indispensable.
In any case, at a glance, this was not a road suited to a young lady raised so carefully.
“I don’t mind, but we’ll be hunting monsters ourselves too. Won’t that be dangerous?”
Ariel had never held a sword in her life, and the only time she used her fists was to cheer—so I asked. The answer that came back was radiantly pure.
“It’s fine. I’m not the one catching them, right? And I have an escort knight of my own!”
“….”
Well…
That was true enough, but I still could not agree so readily. Dragging a young lady ignorant of the world’s harshness into a farm-to-table monster-cuisine party without a second thought might earn me an earful from House Elrond.
“That’s fair, but shouldn’t you get your parents’ permission first? They’d worry.”
Once again, a bright, artless answer returned.
“That’s fine too!”
“…Huh?”
“Mom and Dad told me to do whatever I want and live as I please!”
…
……
I had wondered how a baronial young lady could so easily come alone on a reading trip all the way to the frozen north.
Our ringlet-haired bookworm of a young lady…
Even at the Academy she had done nothing but bury herself in novels…
“Monster hunting I’ve only ever read about in books—I’m so excited!”
She really was free of her family’s expectations, wasn’t she…?
Whoosh!
Thwack!
After lunch, and then dinner as well, shared with Young Lady Ariel, Rachel was training Elden on the outdoor grounds.
Today’s lesson was straight-sword training. Using the practice wooden swords they had brought, she was teaching him the basic grip and stance.
“If you hold it like that, you’ll wreck your wrist. Keep it a little more upright.”
“Lowering your stance doesn’t mean spreading your feet that wide. You’ll lose power when you swing.”
Every correction came from real combat experience. Having never received formal instruction herself, she was simply passing on the know-how she had clawed out through injury and failure—and of course her delivery was less than polished.
And yet, for a man holding a straight sword for the first time, he was already swinging it as if it belonged to him.
As I thought—at this level, his talent is innate.
The conviction only deepened the longer they trained. Elden Raphelion’s gift was so exceptional that she almost regretted not being able to give him professional instruction. Even with her clumsy teaching, he grasped ten things from one lesson and applied the one he learned to ten more situations.
She had never taught anyone before and had no standard to measure by, but at this rate, his rebirth as a monster hunter would not take long.
If he can just pick up magic quickly, he should be able to hunt mid-class monsters like dragons without much trouble.
Once tomorrow’s introduction ceremony was over, she would have to teach him mana manipulation—so Rachel thought. The woman who had once found discipleship a nuisance, who had found teaching itself a chore, was already sketching out tomorrow’s training in her head. The woman who had known no method but endless sparring was establishing a proper sequence for instruction.
That she felt a strange hunger for someone else’s growth; that it pleased her when another person so readily absorbed her teaching—she did not yet know that these were the feelings of a master.
In any case.
“That’s enough for today.”
So the third training session came to an end.
Night had already settled into deep black. So absorbed had Rachel been in teaching that she had no sense of how the hours had slipped past; she looked around with a touch of wonder.
…It’s already this late.
Rachel took the practice wooden sword back from Elden.
“Hah. Sword training really is more fun after all.”
“You worked hard.”
“Right. Let’s head to the annex.”
Sweat, as the saying went, was best washed away before it cooled. Elden started forward—but Rachel said nothing.
“…?”
When he glanced back, puzzled, she spoke in a low voice, almost like a ventriloquist.
“Go on ahead. There’s something I need to check.”
“Check? Check what?”
“If it checks out, I’ll tell you then.”
“…?”
Why was she suddenly whispering?
It was strange, but he knew Rachel was not one to speak or act without reason, so Elden nodded.
“All right. I’ll go first.”
And then—
“I’ll return the wooden sword and follow after.”
Unlike her hushed words a moment before, she said the last line loudly.
He could not guess why, but the look in her eyes as she spoke of “checking something” was far from ordinary, so Elden walked on.
Rachel turned the opposite way and headed straight for the rental stand.
……
Step. Step.
On her way to the rental stand, Rachel changed direction.
…Just as I thought.
The faint presence she had been sensing since the day before yesterday. At first she had dismissed it as imagination, but by today she was certain.
Surviving battlefields where blood and screams flew, where the clash of weapons never ceased, had owed a great deal to an uncommon sense.
Sensitivity.
It had saved her life dozens of times over.
Spears and arrows from every direction; enemies aiming for her throat from behind; allies who chose betrayal over a scrap of food; men who tried to ambush her for her body—she had survived them all and risen to become the Purple Knight because that keen sense had done its work.
And that same sense had been catching something suspicious for days now.
It held no malice.
It held no hostility either.
It simply oriented itself toward her employer, and it had not yet shown any truly dangerous sign.
So she had put distance between herself and him under the pretext of returning the sword, and was now closing in from afar.
Transparent.
Even when she drew near, she could not identify it. The presence was so faint that without her hypersensitive perception, she would never have noticed it at all.
She locked her breath and erased her own presence.
And the moment she closed the distance—
Rachel scattered the sand she had been holding since the training grounds into the empty air.
Pat.
Though nothing should have been there, the sand bounced in every direction as if it had struck something. In the same breath, Rachel leveled the wooden sword at it.
Something small and transparent was floating in midair.
“Move, and you die.”