“Another one?” A faint gleam crossed Serie’s golden eyes.
Elves weren’t exactly common these days, but they weren’t unheard of either.
Running into one here, though, stirred a different kind of interest in her.
If this one turned out to be a younger elf — and this was dangerous ruins territory — If the girl’s temperament and talent happened to suit her, offering a bit of guidance wouldn’t be out of the question.
Serie stopped, got her bearings, and then spotted Frieren stepping out through a tent flap.
Her thoughts sharpened, focus narrowing as she looked Frieren up and down.
She didn’t need to get any closer.
Beyond Frieren’s own strength — Those two men…
the older one carried himself with a certain stiffness.
Judging by his clothes, he was either wealthy or well-connected.
Armor-type magic tools weren’t something an ordinary person could buy off the shelf — each one fetched upward of five hundred gold coins at auction, not a sum an ordinary household could produce.
Factor in the nearby human city as well…
Someone from a noble family, probably?
As for the younger one…
Serie found herself unable to place him at all.
His manner was casual, none of the caution an adventurer should have, none of the elegance of nobility either — if anything, he looked like he was here on vacation.
Vacation?
The thought made her pay closer attention to his magic power.
Her conclusion: a fairly strong human.
Stronger than Frieren, but not by much.
Compared to her, he wasn’t even close.
Could these two actually keep Frieren safe?
Serie mulled it over, then shook her head — clearly not.
A group like this might scrape by on the outer edges of the ruins.
But push deeper in, and it would end in a total wipeout.
“As I thought — elves shouldn’t spend too much time around humans, especially young ones.
They’re too easily led astray by human behavior.” Serie sighed, a note of certainty in her voice.
Seeing the three of them getting ready to head into the ruins, she stopped hesitating, dropped her crossed arms, and walked briskly toward them.
…
Outside the tent.
Frieren had just stepped out carrying a birdcage when her steps suddenly stopped.
Wariness flickered in her eyes as she warned Ronan: “Ronan, someone’s watching us.” Ronan nodded, signaling for Frieren not to worry.
“Don’t worry, I noticed too.
Doesn’t seem hostile — hear what people around us were saying?” “One of your own kind.” He wasn’t entirely sure if it was the same group of elves from the village, but if it was, all the better.
Traveling together meant they could look out for one another.
Except— The thought was dismissed almost as soon as it formed, because the newcomer was a female elf he’d never seen before.
About the same height as Frieren, but her presence was far more mature, her steps steady and composed.
To Ronan, it felt like some grizzled veteran had been reincarnated into a child’s body…
He wasn’t quite sure what to make of it.
Frieren had spotted her too.
“So strong.” Frieren said it with genuine awe — by her own sense of it, Serie’s total magic power was roughly equal to thirty of herself.
Beside them, Martin instinctively took half a step back, his body starting to tremble, his face draining of color.
Just a moment ago, he’d caught Serie glancing his way.
The weight behind that glance had felt like a blade, as if it might shatter his very soul.
—A relative of Lady Frieren’s?
Then why…
Martin drew a sharp breath, an icy chill sinking straight through him, and a sudden urge to flee welled up inside him.
The feeling was so intense that, for a moment, he genuinely believed his life hung by a thread, ready to snap at any second.
“You.
Not bad, human.
What’s your name?” Serie stopped in front of Ronan.
Arms crossed, her gaze swept over Frieren first before settling on Ronan, her voice cool and detached: “Meeting my eyes without a trace of fear — that alone proves you’re no nobody.” “You’re traveling with one of my kind.
What exactly are you after?” Ronan raised an eyebrow, thoroughly puzzled.
That phrasing…
Had she just attacked him?
Because he hadn’t felt a thing.
Still, catching sight of Martin out of the corner of his eye, Ronan started to piece together what she meant by “meeting my eyes.” Some kind of mental pressure, probably — something like killing intent.
Ronan motioned for Martin to step back, and Martin couldn’t have been more relieved to comply.
Once Martin had moved off, Ronan spoke, unhurried: “What am I after?
Isn’t that obvious?
Exploring the ruins.” “Are you Frieren’s elder?” “Frieren…
so that’s the child’s name.
A fine name.” The corner of Serie’s mouth lifted slightly, like a night-blooming flower unfurling in the dark.
But in an instant, her expression settled back into its usual coolness, as though the smile had never been there at all.
She got straight to the point: “That’s not what I asked.
I have no issue with you exploring the ruins.
But, human — you’re too weak.” “Hand Frieren over to me.
Taking her in there at your level of strength will get her killed for nothing.” “I’m not her parent, but I am, at least, one of her elders.” “And as an elder, I can’t just stand by and watch a younger one walk to her death.” Hearing this, Ronan found it more baffling by the second — but on second thought, it made sense.
She had no idea he possessed a cheat, after all, so of course she’d be worried sick about him accidentally getting Frieren killed.
With that in mind, being a civilized person, Ronan figured he’d try reasoning with the elf standing in front of him…
and if that didn’t work, he’d reason with his fists.
So what if her magic power was thirty times Frieren’s?
He had infinite mana and infinite HP, and he hadn’t said a word about that either.