The World’s Finest Assassin Gets Reincarnated in Another World as an Aristocrat - Volume 7 - Chapter 11

Chapter 11 | The Assassin Reunites with the Goddess

I woke up to find myself in a white room.

No, I wasn’t awake. This was a dream. I’d been summoned here again. This had happened so many times now that it no longer surprised me.

“It’s the goddess again…”

“Heya, it’s been a hot second! It’s your favorite girl, the goddess! Tee-hee.”

“…You changed your personality again. You’re just going to confuse me, so please stop.”

“Boo. You’re as cold as ever. Guess they called you the Icy Assassin for a reason.”

“Now, that takes me back.”

“I love that nickname. It’s so edgy!  ”

I was given many titles in my past life. Only the higher-ups in my organization knew my face and name, causing rumors of a mysterious, skilled assassin to spread through the criminal underworld. There were times when any extremely difficult assassinations with an unknown perpetrator were attributed to me. The embellished nature of the rumors constantly had me exasperated.

“Quit messing around and give me your request.”

“I don’t have a request. I just wanted to summon you.”

“I don’t understand… Oh, I guess the summons itself is the message.”

“You really are a smart cookie. My resources have been mega short recently, so just getting you here took all I had. You have no idea the headache that giving even a little advice would cause me. Spending more than I’m allowed will force me to pull resources from elsewhere, which could end up breaking functions of the world and causing lots of problems!”

That sounded terrifying.

“Are you short on resources because of whatever you were plotting with that demon?”

“Oh come on, you know I can’t answer that.”

“Because it’ll consume resources?”

“Exactly. Interfering with the world comes at a high price… Well, I guess I can tell you one thing, because you already worked it out. I was lying through my teeth when I said you were the only reincarnated soul. But all of the others failed. There’s no doubt that you are at the center of the world, and that your actions will decide its fate. Only you can make it that far. As a result, interfering with you demands an absurd amount of resources. Ugh, it makes me want to tear my hair out.”

“Sounds like a fine-tuned system.”

“It sure is. I can mess with irrelevant nobodies all I want, but it won’t have any impact on the world. Meanwhile, meddling with a kid who holds actual influence eats up my resources in a flash. That is to say: You’re the world’s only hope! I’m counting on you.”

The white room crumbled. She really did summon me without a request. I got her message loud and clear anyway.

I woke up for real this time.

“Are you feeling okay, my lord?”

Tarte, who’d already changed into her school uniform, peered at my face with concern. Those clothes suited her very well.

“We’ve been worried about you. You came back last night all beaten up and then collapsed without a word. I thought you might die,” Dia said.

“Epona and I dueled… The hero is ridiculously strong,” I responded.

“Well, duh. You know better than anyone that Epona’s a superhuman monster.”

“You’re right about that.”

I inspected myself. Rapid Recovery had repaired nearly all of my injuries. My recovery rate was over a hundred times faster than the average person’s, which meant that half a day of rest was like three months for anyone else—plenty of time to heal a broken bone. The cracked ones in my rib cage, right wrist, and both arms were fine now. My strained muscles and overworked nerves were back to normal, too.

The problem was…

“This took a lot of effort to make.”

…I looked down at the bulletproof vest I wore under my clothes. Its unique, slippery coating deflected weaker slash attacks, and it could survive being hit by a ten-ton truck, thanks to an elastic gel taken from the earth dragon demon’s membrane and a frame made to break when overloaded. It was utterly ruined. I might have died if I hadn’t been wearing it, but the thought of having to rebuild it was still depressing.

“Don’t freak out, Lugh… But that’s not all that was broken,” Dia said.

“I checked everything while you were asleep, my lord. The barrel of your gun is twisted, your undergarments are ruined…and the amulet prototype you made in case of emergency was broken,” Tarte said.

“…I want to hide under the covers and never come out.”

I’d skirted most of Epona’s direct attacks, but the shock waves they created knocked me off my feet multiple times. Many pieces of equipment I hid under my clothes were destroyed.

“I’ll help with repairs!” Tarte declared.

“Guess we don’t have much choice. I’ll help, too,” Dia added.

“I appreciate it. I want to remake your equipment anyway, so I suppose this is good timing. Let’s take this opportunity to make upgrades, not just fix,” I responded.

I’d made equipment for both the girls, including guns, stab-proof undergarments, and knives made with a special alloy, using knowledge from my past life. To improve on them, I’d need materials surpassing technological possibilities.

Fortunately, I’d defeated multiple demons. Much of a demon’s strength came from its body, which could be harvested for materials so excellent they were beyond scientific explanation. Demons turned to blue particles and disappeared when they died, but the most powerful parts of them remained. I’ve collected and stored the remains of all the demons I’ve killed.

“Ooh, that sounds fun,” Dia said.

“I’m excited,” Tarte agreed.

They both looked very interested.

“All right. Let’s cut training short today and work on making equipment.”

I decided I’d work out the designs in class. It wouldn’t be hard for me to multitask.

We held a light training session after school and then moved to my workshop.

“Hey, Lugh. How did you get a workshop as a first-year?” Dia inquired.

“It’s a long story. I said I needed one, and the academy provided,” I answered.

The academy’s headmaster was an ally of the Tuatha Dé clan, and he accommodated me after negotiation.

“Our offensive firepower is sufficient… Well, not quite, but it’s getting there. I want to improve our defense. No matter how strong we become, one surprise attack could kill us instantly.”

“That’s especially true for me. I get really scared sometimes while chanting.”

Few mages could use magic in the thick of battle. The reason was because their guard dropped during incantation. Mages used mana to boost their physical abilities, making them a match for a thousand ordinary troops.

Casting a spell meant reciting a formula and investing an amount of mana. A mage couldn’t empower themselves and perform magic simultaneously. So while they worked a spell, they were no different from ordinary people. Thus, the safest way for a mage to fight was to rely only on physical strengthening and not cast at all. I didn’t let Dia fight that way because she was so adept with magic that the standard rules didn’t apply to her. The advantages of using her spells in battle outweighed the risks.

“That’s a difficult problem. If you devote more to your physical strengthening, your spells become significantly less powerful, but if you devote more mana to your casting, you become more vulnerable,” Tarte said.

“Right? I wish I could wear armor, but… Without physical strengthening, I’d be too slow,” Dia agreed.

Good defensive equipment was heavy. That’s what the people of this world believed.

“Lugh, make us each one of those vests that breaks to erase impact,” Dia requested.

“Sure it’s lighter than armor, but it’s too heavy for you both. That’s why I’m going to make undergarments that are harder than armor and lighter than any clothing… I suppose they might as well be camisoles. Then you can wear them all the time, which is for the best,” I explained.

“Ah, we’ll be able to wear those every day,” Tarte said.

Dia nodded. “Sounds good to me. Like you said yesterday, there’s a real chance someone could try to assassinate us at any time.”

Making clothing as light as an undergarment while still stab-proof and impact resistant was challenging. Scratch that, impossible—unless you had access to materials that defied science, of course.

“What are you going to make them out of?” Dia asked.

“Do you remember the Puppeteer demon we fought in the holy city?” I said.

“How could we forget?” Dia replied.

Tarte shivered. “He was a very difficult enemy.”

“He used telepathic threads when controlling large groups of people, but he needed a physical one to possess formidable targets. I have those here.”

These threads remained after the Puppeteer turned to blue particles and disappeared. I performed various tests and discovered they were tougher and lighter than carbon nanotubes. They were only a few micrometers in width, yet could easily lift five tons. It was absurd.

“Can we touch the thread?” Dia asked.

“Sure,” I responded.

“It’s so light. Even a handful weighs absolutely nothing.”

“It’s soft, too.”

“The Puppeteer used these to transmit thoughts to his targets and control them. Turns out they’re equally adept at conducting mana. I can use it to knit light, tough, and magic-compatible camisoles. You’d be hard-pressed to find better defensive equipment.”

“I’m excited.”

Dia had a big grin on her face, but Tarte turned pale. She realized the problem.

“You’re making camisoles with this thread?”

“Yes.”

“It’s so thin it’s invisible. It’s terrifying to think how long it would take to knit a camisole… You would need years…”

“Oh, I’m not knitting them by hand. I’m gonna make a loom.”

“It’s just like you to make one instead of buying one,” Dia teased.

“I have no choice. This thread is too strong for an ordinary loom to handle.”

Even a scarf took a week to knit with yarn, and the thinner the thread, the more time required. Spinning this thread would take ten times as long, and I didn’t even want to think about how many years it might be until I had a camisole.

Tarte sighed. “That’s a relief. The first time I knitted you a sweater, Lord Lugh, it took a month.”

“I’ve kept that sweater even after outgrowing it. It’s important to me.”

“You don’t have to do that. You can throw it away.”

“No. You made it with love and care. I’d like our kids to wear it one day.”

“K-kids…? I’m going to have kids with Lord Lugh…? Heh-heh-heh…”

It was a quality sweater despite it being Tarte’s first attempt. She did so well on her first try because of how scrupulous and dedicated she was to the task. I couldn’t wear it anymore, but I still treasured it.

“I wish I could do something like that. I’ve never made you anything,” Dia groused.

“What are you talking about? You’ve made me lots of things.”

“I can’t remember anything.”

“I treasure all the spells we’ve constructed together. I could never have made them without you. I can’t thank you enough.”

Dia blushed and laughed. “Yeah, you’re lucky to have me. I make spells because I like magic, but it’s also for you.”

“I know. Thank you… I need to return the favor by making you both defensive equipment that will keep you safe.”

I smiled and produced a piece of metal with a spell. Making the loom out of metal was easy—I only had to create each piece in my blueprint. Magic could only fabricate simple shapes, but I could build anything if I conjured the parts individually.

“Is this your blueprint for the loom? Oh, that’s what you were drawing in class.”

“I don’t know how you were able to sketch this. You scare me sometimes, my lord.”

My knowledge from my previous life was a constant boon. I acted as many types of people to get close to assassination targets, and I absorbed knowledge on many subjects to ensure convincing performances. That said, I never learned how to make a loom that way. I simply remembered a video. Perhaps it was part of a movie. I wasn’t sure. A person operated a loom in the footage, and I reverse engineered the blueprint based on their actions and the functions the machine would require.

“I guess you’re gonna put all these parts together once you’re done making them. Whoa, there’s over a hundred on the blueprint,” Dia said.

“That’s how complicated this device is,” I replied.

Tarte marveled at me. “That’s amazing. You’re making camisoles by creating the parts necessary for the machine to weave them.”

“It’s not so unusual. Making a machine to make a machine to make a machine to make a machine that makes the desired product is commonplace,” I explained.

Dia groaned. “You’re making my head hurt.”

That was the fate of the manufacturing industry. At any rate, I expected the three of us to complete the loom by the end of the day. It would take another half a day for me to finish their camisoles.

I’d never seen such beautiful, transparent, and supple thread. This work was for pragmatic pieces of defensive equipment, but they were going to be high-quality camisoles.