“No.” Just as Serie had felt certain Frieren would agree — or at the very least hesitate — a flat, unequivocal answer cut through the air instead.
Serie blinked, disbelief flickering in her eyes.
She’d actually been rejected?
Kids these days…
Before she could dwell on it further, Frieren’s calm voice continued: “I do know you.
I do love magic.
And human lives really are as short as you say.” “But none of that is reason enough for me to go against what I want.” She paused, her tone softening slightly.
“For what it’s worth, I don’t dislike you.” From that brief exchange, Frieren had already pieced together why Serie had attacked Ronan and wanted to take her away.
She understood why.
But deep down, she simply couldn’t accept the way Serie had gone about it.
Frieren looked at Serie, lowering her staff, her voice cool and clear: “I can tell your power is immense.
If I became your disciple, I’m sure I’d learn far more magic.” “But magic isn’t the only thing in my world.” “I trust Ronan.
Because he’s the Hero.” Since Serie’s outburst of magic power, the crowd nearby had already fled in fear.
So no matter how sensitive their conversation, no one else was around to hear it.
Serie froze again at Frieren’s words.
She rubbed her ear reflexively, wondering if she’d misheard.
Hero?
Who?
Him?
This brat was the Hero?
No way was that possible.
Sure, he cared about Frieren, he was strong, and he wasn’t intimidated by power…
Fine — by those standards, he fit the bill.
But Serie still didn’t buy it.
Either way, she felt thoroughly annoyed.
Serie narrowed her eyes, a sharp glint flashing across them.
She brushed a hand through her golden hair, took two barefoot steps forward, and looked Ronan up and down, her gaze piercing as she asked: “Is what Frieren said true?” “Kid, if you’re really the Hero, where’s your Hero’s Sword?” Ronan didn’t like showing off, so he’d kept his Hero’s Sword tucked away in its sheath.
Facing Serie’s challenge now, he calmly turned to the side, revealing the sheath hanging at his waist, and gestured toward it.
“This, you mean?” “Even I’m not sure I’m actually the Hero.
She says I am, so I guess I am.” “What’s it to you?” Serie looked at the sword, hidden away with only the hilt showing, and suddenly smiled.
Her eyes were sharp enough that even a glimpse of the hilt told her it was the real thing.
The Hero, disguising himself as a weakling — did this kid have no shame at all?
Although…
fine, she had to admit, playing the pig to eat the tiger had worked well enough — she’d just been humbled by it herself.
But the Demon King…
The corner of Serie’s mouth curled up, her eyes glinting with amusement.
“Kid, I’ll admit it — you’re the most interesting human I’ve come across in nearly three hundred years.” “I’m no goddess, and I’m no weakling either, so it’s not my place to criticize you.” “But a human’s prime lasts only a few short decades, and word that the Hero’s Sword has been drawn will spread fast — the demon race will know soon enough.” “When that happens, the Demon King won’t let you off easy.
I hope you’re still this confident then.” “Frieren.” Serie turned to look at Frieren, her voice returning to its usual coolness.
“It’s fine that you turned me down.
You’re still young, and you have a long road ahead — our kind lives for near eternity.” “So I’ll give you a second chance.” “When the time comes, make your choice then.
I’ll be waiting.” With that, without waiting for Frieren’s agreement, Serie turned and walked off.
She walked off as though every second she lingered cost her a bit more dignity.
Ronan smiled faintly, took Frieren’s hand, and immediately followed after her.
Hearing footsteps behind her, Serie’s expression darkened.
She spun around, hands on her hips.
“You two — why are you following me?” …
…
Some distance away.
Martin couldn’t hear what the three of them were saying, but from Serie’s earlier outburst of magic power and the tense atmosphere, he could tell things had gone badly.
Some elf, appearing out of nowhere, with a terrifying level of strength.
Even dozens of meters away, his legs had gone weak, nearly buckling beneath him.
Absolutely terrifying.
Certain a fight was about to break out, he’d kept putting distance between himself and them.
By the time he’d run a hundred meters, the suffocating pressure finally faded, and he let out a breath of relief.
But then, instead of fighting, the two of them seemed to be getting along just fine.
And right after that, he watched them head off toward the ruins together.
Martin was stunned.
Wait — you two made up, and you’re just leaving me behind?
He wanted to chase after them, but the fear from moments ago had turned his legs to lead, refusing to obey him.
All he could do was watch helplessly as they grew smaller in the distance, until they vanished from sight entirely.
Seeing this, Martin’s composure completely crumbled.
He could already picture how things would go once he got back to the estate.
But what was done was done — no use regretting it now.
All he could do was find some way to make up for it…
He’d wait.
A day, two days, however long it took.
He had to be there when they came back out.
And he still hadn’t given his gift!
At the very least, he needed Ronan to remember him — those two gold coins hadn’t been spent for nothing.
…
Unaware of any of this, Ronan had no idea what Martin had prepared for him.
Right now, he was pushing deeper into the ruins alongside Serie.
Having lived as long as she had, Serie surely knew these ruins inside and out.
Following her meant they’d avoid plenty of wasted detours.
A pathfinder bird was nothing compared to a living, breathing elf.
Even if said elf had a bit of a temper.
“Hey!” Compared to Ronan’s easygoing composure, Serie was thoroughly annoyed at having people tag along on her route.
But with Frieren right there, she couldn’t well lose her temper — on the surface, at least, they were just traveling together, nothing wrong with that.
So Serie resorted to hinting, hoping to talk the two of them out of it: “I’m going to fight those demons.
Are you two really planning to follow me into that?” “You’re the Hero, and you’re still worried about getting lost?
Then what were all those pathfinder birds for?” “Even the Hero is still human.
Humans lose their way sometimes.
I bought the birds for when it really matters.” Ronan didn’t seem to catch the complaint buried in her words.
He just smiled.
“Might as well let the capable carry the load.
You can take us deeper in, so of course we’re sticking with you.” “Each pathfinder bird costs ten silver coins, and there’s a limited supply — can’t exactly burn through them all in one run.” That much was true, but Serie still felt irritated about it somehow.
As if she’d just been put on the same level as some cheap little bird.
She was about to ask why he’d entered the ruins so unprepared.
Before she could say another word, Frieren suddenly stopped.
Serie stopped too, the air instantly tightening.
Ahead of them, a monster had appeared.
It was — a Mimic.