Mushoku Tensei: Ripples of the Forgotten

[NARRATOR POV]

Wearing a simple apron over his training clothes, Claude stood before the stove with practiced ease. His movements were fluid and confident as he skillfully managed both the flame's intensity and the contents of the frying pan, each gesture deliberate and measured.

The fact that Claude could cook—and cook well—genuinely astonished C, who had witnessed firsthand the disasters of Claude's previous culinary attempts.

Not everyone was perfect; that was one of the first lessons everyone in Arbalest learned when they encountered the seemingly flawless Claude.

Despite being an adept swordsman and powerful mage, despite his mastery of enchantment and smithcraft, this apparently perfect individual had one glaring weakness: cooking.

Catastrophically horrible cooking.

In the past, Claude had attempted to prepare meals for his subordinates. The presentation had always been immaculate—dishes that looked like they belonged in a noble's feast.

But appearances, as they learned to their regret, could be devastatingly deceiving. Everyone except Claude himself found his food completely inedible. Those brave or foolish enough to try more than a single bite invariably ended up in the infirmary, suffering from what could generously be called "acute digestive distress."

After that incident, an unspoken rule had emerged among Arbalest members: never eat anything that looked suspiciously perfect and appetizing, especially if Claude had prepared it.

"Err, Master Claude," C asked hesitantly, eyeing the beautifully arranged food on the table with deep suspicion, "is this... safe to consume?"

Reida was genuinely mesmerized by the presentation before her. The dishes gleamed under the lamplight, their colors vibrant and inviting, accompanied by aromas that made her mouth water despite herself.

When Reida took her first tentative bite, C actually paled and took an involuntary step backward, bracing himself for the inevitable sounds of distress.

"Mmm!" Reida's eyes widened with genuine surprise and delight.

See? I knew something was wrong with— C's internal monologue ground to a halt as he watched the Water God's expression.

"This is exceptional! How did you manage to cook this well?" Reida asked, taking another appreciative bite.

"What?!" C lost all composure, pointing an accusatory finger. "Water God, are you trying to trick me into eating that... that thing?"

"What are you talking about, Charles?" Reida replied mildly, taking another spoonful and chewing thoughtfully, clearly savoring the flavors.

"This... this can't be real," C muttered, edging closer to the table despite his ingrained terror. "Master Claude can actually... cook?"

"If you don't want to eat, then don't," Claude said with amusement, turning his attention to Isolte. "But you're being unnecessarily dramatic about it." He held out a spoon toward the young girl. "Here, try this."

"I can feed myself perfectly fine!" Isolte huffed, refusing the offered spoon with a petulant expression. She was still nursing her wounded pride from yesterday's sparring session.

She was angry at her own powerlessness, frustrated by how much training she still needed. But more than that, she was irritated with Claude because he had clearly been toying with her during their match—holding back, testing her, never truly taking her seriously as an opponent.

Even so, she couldn't help but eagerly devour the food Claude had prepared.

What is this? It's absolutely delicious! Stars practically sparkled in her eyes with each bite. Claude smiled at her obvious enjoyment and couldn't resist another gentle provocation.

"You could have meals like this every day if you became my wife, you know. Quite an attractive proposal, wouldn't you say?"

"Indeed, that would be wonderful," Reida chimed in with evident satisfaction. "If you became my grandson-in-law, I could enjoy cooking like this whenever I wished."

"Another brownie point for me," Claude murmured with quiet satisfaction.

Reida's comment made Claude glance at Isolte, who was glaring at him with puffed cheeks full of food. The sight made her look remarkably like an indignant squirrel, and he had to suppress a chuckle.

"By the way, why did you establish a dojo in Millis when your headquarters is located in Ars, the capital of the Asura Kingdom, grandmother?"

"'Grandmother' already, is it? Such a shameless young man," Reida retorted with amusement, deliberately avoiding his question. "Though I must admit, I find your boldness rather refreshing."

Her deflection confused Claude. The fragmented memories from his fourth incarnation hadn't provided complete information about the Water God's motivations, leaving him with frustrating gaps in his understanding.

Meanwhile, C finally worked up the courage to try Claude's cooking.

"What... what is this sorcery?" he stammered after his first bite. "This food is incredible! Master Claude, what kind of magic did you use?"

The transformation was so complete that C wondered if he was experiencing some elaborate illusion.

[Reida Reia's Point of View]

I can only describe the boy's demonstration of skill and mastery with a single word: extraordinary.

He excelled remarkably in both disciplines. His fighting style was specifically designed to accommodate a mana swordsman's integration of magical and physical techniques—a hybrid approach that few could master.

What fascinated me most was that he seemed unaware of the Touki naturally surrounding his body during combat.

It was the first time I had witnessed mana and Touki working in such perfect harmony, complementing rather than interfering with each other.

His use of time magic was particularly unbelievable.

That wasn't standard time magic—nothing like the techniques employed by the Dragon God. His temporal manipulation applied exclusively to himself, accelerating his personal timestream while leaving everything else unaffected.

When he cast the time spell, he accomplished twice the work in the same span of moments. It was as if he was pushing his own temporal existence forward while bearing the full burden of the accelerated experience.

Normally, such magic should be impossible to sustain. A single miscalculation could prove fatal—it was essentially a suicidal technique.

Yet there he was, performing it flawlessly before my eyes.

I had launched a series of attacks designed to overwhelm him while simultaneously countering his spells.

But he simply activated his time magic again, showing no signs of mana exhaustion or Touki breakdown. This suggested it was a technique he could reliably use, not a desperate gambit.

It shouldn't have been possible, yet I witnessed it myself.

Truly remarkable.

I wanted to test his full capabilities, but even from what I observed, his abilities could rival those of a King-ranked swordsman.

This was primarily due to his innovative integration of magic and swordsmanship—a synthesis that created possibilities neither discipline could achieve alone.

The style was still somewhat rough around the edges, an immature technique still in its developmental stages. Even so, what a boy barely older than my disciple had accomplished was genuinely impressive.

He must have experienced quite intense trials during his time after the Metastasis to develop such skills.

He was undeniably gifted, but as much as he seemed to adore my granddaughter, I could detect an undercurrent of barely controlled madness in his swordplay.

What could have happened to him to leave such psychological scars?

For someone so young to carry such deep-seated trauma...

Yet whenever he interacted with Isolte—teasing her, sparring with her—that darkness seemed to recede completely.

Even during their practice matches, he kept his inner turmoil carefully contained. It was only when he fought me seriously that his madness emerged, raw and unrestrained.

I could see that Isolte didn't truly dislike him. In fact, she seemed genuinely impressed by his power and skill.

But she was far too stubborn to admit such feelings openly.

Well, perhaps I should create more opportunities for them to spend time together.

Watching this child, usually consumed by barely contained darkness, become so gentle and playful around my granddaughter...

What a fascinating sight indeed.

There was something deeply human about the way his carefully constructed composure crumbled into genuine warmth whenever Isolte was near.

It suggested that beneath all his trauma and calculated behavior, the core of who he was remained intact—someone capable of genuine affection and hope.

Perhaps that was what Isolte sensed as well, drawing her to him despite her protestations.

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