Reborn As The Duke’s Daughter: Noodle Apocalypse In Another World

The moat's algae-green water shimmered under the rising sun, its surface broken only by the splashing of a disheveled assassin and the indignant honks of a swan.

Boris the Bungler clung to the bird's neck, his black pajamas sagging like a deflated balloon.

Duke Cassian leaning over the drawbridge, eyebrow raised

"Rylan. Explain why there's a soggy buffoon singing in my moat."

"Claims he's a 'master assassin,' Your Grace. Also insists the nursery cat quoted poetry at him." Guard Captain Rylan replied in a deadpan tone.

"Not poetry! It said, 'Leave now, lest I feast on your bones!'—and I'm pretty sure it rhymed!" Boris said spitting out duckweed.

The duchess glided into view, Evangeline cradled in her arms. The baby's prophecy mark pulsed faintly, casting ripples of blue light across the water.

Duchess Meredith smirks and says.

"How… quaint. An assassin bested by a pacifier."

Evangeline reaching for the swan replied.

"Gah!" Translation, "I demand this feathery warrior as my royal steed!"

Marquess Vexley stormed onto the drawbridge, his neon-green hair now streaked with moat slime. His velvet shoes squelched with every step, leaving trails of algae in his wake.

"You incompetent worm! I gave you a cursed relic forged by the Hex-Mistress of Yore! How did you fail to silence a crib-bound infant?!" Vexley jabbing a finger at Boris as soon as he saw him.

"The Hex-Mistress clearly never met a baby with a holographic bard band! Also, your rattle's cursed lullaby sounds like a dying accordion!" Boris defensively replied.

"I'll have your head mounted in my—." Vexley sputtering.

His threat dissolved as he slipped on a patch of duckweed, arms windmilling comically before face-planting into the moat beside Boris. The swan, now thoroughly offended, attacked both men in a flurry of wings and vengeful pecks.

Evangeline claps.

"Bleh!" Translation, "This is the greatest morning of my life."

The servants' hall buzzed like a kicked beehive. Head Maid Gertrude stood atop a table, chalk in hand, updating the Celestial Betting Board with manic glee.

"200 coins on 'Boris Joins the handsome bards! Did you hear his high note? Haunting. Like a goat possessed by a soprano!" Gardener Flora slamming coins on the table.

Chef Marcel bursting in, kimchi-stained apron flapping.

"Where's my cauldron?! That broth was a 20-year starter! I was this close to recreating ramyeon!"

"Priorities, Marcel! The prophecy mark just projected a image of Vexley's face onto the chapel wall! It's captioned 'Cursed? No, Just Ugly.'" Mage Alaric said rolling his eyes.

A junior maid sprinted in, waving a parchment.

"The townsfolk are selling 'I Survived the Noodle Assassin' shirts! They've added a swan mascot!"

Gertrude cackling. "Add 'Merch Empire' to the board! 10:1 odds!"

In the nursery, Evangeline's brothers gathered like a council of war—if war involved diaper changes and teething rings.

Cedric tossed a dagger into the crib.

"She needs combat training. Now. Start with grip strength."

"Mmm!" Translation, "Tastes like victory." Evangeline gumming the blade.

Lucien scribbling in a journal says.

"Fascinating. The prophecy mark adapts to threats.

Note: 'Holographic defense mechanism triggered by incompetence."

Dante grinning. "I've recalibrated her rattle. Next intruder gets that bard group 'Tempo' at max volume. Let's traumatize professionally."

Theo peers into the moat and told his brothers.

"Can I have a swan? I'll name it Sir Quacksalot and feed it treasonous nobles!"

In the courtyard, Lord Whiskerton held court atop a barrel, his fur glinting in the sunlight like molten gold.

A crowd of starry-eyed servants knelt before him, offerings of tuna and cream piled at his paws.

Lord Whiskerton tails flicked regally.

"You witnessed my magnificence. The assassin? Crushed. The duke? Clueless. The broth? Mine."

Stableman Jax places a jeweled collar on the barrel.

"A tribute, Your Feline Grace! Forged in the fires of devotion!"

Whiskerton sniffs the collar.

"...Adequate. Now, fetch me the chef's secret kimchi stash. I crave spice."

A kitchen maid fainted.

"He spoke! And he wants kimchi! It's a miracle!"

Beneath the abandoned Temple of Noodles, shadows clung to the walls like living smoke. The hooded figure stirred a cauldron of glowing ramyeon broth, its surface bubbling with malevolent intent.

The ramyeon elemental writhed within, its noodle-limbs thrashing as it hissed in a language older than time.

A mysterious figure echoed his voice.

"Soon, my spicy child. The Evernights will choke on their arrogance. Their 'Child of Moon and Shadow' will kneel before your umami wrath."

The Ramyeon elemental gurgle.

"FEED ME… FISH CAKES… AND THEIR TEARS…"

On the wall, a stolen portrait of Evangeline hung crookedly, her prophecy mark circled in blood-red paint.

The figure traced the mark with a clawed finger, their hood slipping just enough to reveal a glimpse of scarred lips twisted into a smile.

"Your reign ends here, little Kraevia. The age of ramyeon rises… and I will season the world in fire."

By noon, the nearby village had transformed into a festival of absurdity.

In a perfume store a placard was put up. Sold "Boris's Kimchi Tears" perfume ("Eau de Failure"), "Whiskerton Prayer Candles" "Guaranteed to summon tuna!", and handsome bard's vs. Noodle Assassin" fanfiction scrolls.

The Bard's ballad association composed song belted "Ode to the Swan Savior" outside the tavern, accompanied by a lute made of ladles.

—

Sis's Letter in earth's timeline.

"P.S. Your cat doppelgänger here peed on my EX' ACT lightstick. Again. I'm charging him rent."