They continued their brief conversation for a while longer, confirming that Ronan really was the true Hero.
Though it wasn’t entirely clear why he felt such unusual resistance to being called the Hero.
Still, the elder elf warmly invited him into the elven village.
As they walked.
Ronan suddenly noticed Frieren’s gaze, tinged with a hint of suspicion.
Turning his head to look, he saw Frieren’s brow furrowed slightly, her eyes full of doubt.
“Are you really the Hero?” Frieren, noticing his gaze, asked quietly, her expression unchanged, “Shouldn’t a real Hero be upright, brave, and kind, with defeating the Demon King as their calling?” “Why are you so resistant to it?
Can you tell me why?” Even though she’d only spent a short time with Ronan—just a few dozen minutes—Frieren could tell that Ronan wasn’t the type of human to be timid.
Confidence radiated from his every movement, and his strength was clearly no ordinary thing; his speed alone made that obvious.
If he wasn’t afraid of the Demon King…
Then why…
“You might have gotten something wrong.” Ronan’s expression remained calm, his gaze lowered slightly, his tone carrying a touch of nonchalance: “The word ‘Hero’ originally just meant someone brave, decisive, and courageous.” “‘Defeating the Demon King’ is just a stereotype that people attached to it later on.” “Just like how you all assume elves are immortal, pure, and all have pointed ears.” “But in truth, among the other races I know of, there are some with pointed ears too.” “As for defeating the Demon King…
if the opportunity presents itself, I’ll act.
But it’s not exactly a career.” If there was one thing Ronan hated above all else, it was work—whether in his past life or this one.
He already had Infinite Wealth—so why would he need to toil away morning and night just to fight the Demon King?
If the Demon King came looking for trouble with him, well, then he’d only have himself to blame for seeking death.
As for everything else…
never mind that.
With that said, Ronan fell silent, quietly admiring the lush, verdant scenery around them, his heart settling into a calm he hadn’t felt in a long while.
Hearing this, Frieren nodded lightly, a flicker of thoughtfulness passing through her eyes.
Though she hadn’t fully grasped the meaning behind Ronan’s words, she understood one thing clearly—this was simply not the Hero people imagined.
But then again…
thinking it over carefully, it wasn’t wrong either.
Before the Demon King ever appeared, the word “Hero” truly hadn’t been coined to defeat him.
Wait, no…
Frieren nearly got tangled up in the logic.
Whatever the word “Hero” originally meant, what Ronan was describing was all in the past.
Nowadays, the Hero existed for one purpose alone—to defeat the Demon King—not to mention the fact that he’d obtained the Hero’s Sword…
Besides, what exactly did he mean by “if the opportunity presents itself”?
The way he said it made it sound like he saw the Demon King as some random demon on the roadside, to be killed on a whim.
The man was the sovereign of the demon race, standing at the pinnacle of the continent for a thousand years—his strength was leagues beyond anything comparable to a human emperor.
—So complicated.
Frieren’s still-developing little mind seemed on the verge of shutting down entirely, her thoughts a tangled mess.
And within that chaotic jumble of thoughts, the only thing that left a deep impression on her was Ronan’s words, confident to the point of arrogance.
Head lowered, she struggled to sort out her thoughts.
By the time Frieren realized she’d already arrived at her own doorstep, Ronan had already parted ways with the elder elf—that is, the village chief.
The sky had grown late, the horizon dyed orange-red by the setting sun.
He was following behind her, and Frieren turned back to look at him: “You’re staying here tonight?” “Yeah.
I asked him to free up an empty house for me, but he said there wasn’t one.” Ronan held a grimoire in his hand, raising his eyes to look at Frieren: “Also, that old man said you have quite a talent for magic, and that all the grimoires in the village are currently in your possession.” “If I want to learn magic, he suggested I come to you first.” “Aren’t you a warrior?
Why would a warrior need to learn magic?” Frieren tilted her head, blinking, looking somewhat puzzled.
Though her thoughts had wandered a bit just now, she’d clearly heard that Ronan didn’t know any magic.
That astonishing speed of his was purely the result of his own physical prowess, forced out through sheer bodily strength.
What a terrifying human.
“Come to think of it…” Though she still felt a certain amazement inside, Frieren remembered something and looked at Ronan.
“Have you ever tested your magical aptitude?” “If this is just some passing whim, I can’t guarantee you’ll be able to learn it.” Ronan’s lips curved upward into a confident smile: “How would I know unless I tried?
I have plenty of confidence in my own talent.” “Because…” As he spoke, Ronan silently activated Infinite Talent.
Frieren, watching him, felt a moment of disorientation.
Somehow, she sensed Ronan’s very presence had shifted.
It grew wiser, more profound, carrying the aura of an elven scholar.
A faint stir of magic power rippled through the air.
This…
Frieren found it hard to believe, her eyes widening slightly.
—Was that just her imagination?
“What’s wrong?” Noticing her strange expression, Ronan paused briefly, then asked softly, “Do you not believe what I’m saying?” “That’s fair, I suppose.” “If I were in your position, I probably wouldn’t easily believe that a human warrior could learn magic either.” “But then again, anything is possible.” Ronan’s composed tone made Frieren involuntarily recall the things he’d said that afternoon about defeating the Demon King.
She took a deep breath: “No, I believe you.
After all, you were able to pick up the Hero’s Sword.” “For a Hero, nothing is impossible.
Come in, then.” “I should mention beforehand, my own grasp of magic is quite shallow—I only know a few offensive spells.” “They were passed down by our ancestors thousands of years ago, to fight against the demon race.” With that, she opened the door.
Stepping inside, she lit an oil lamp, its soft glow illuminating the finely crafted wooden decorations within.
Frieren, barefoot, hurried into the room, while Ronan waited a while in the living area.
He glanced around and noticed a number of unusual plants placed about the room, giving off a faint, pleasant fragrance.
“Heave-ho~” Then she emerged, carrying a stack of books nearly half her own height.
Only then did he hear her say: “These are the theoretical foundations of magic.
Read through all of these and master them first—only then, in theory, will you be able to learn magic.” “It took me nearly ten years to master this knowledge myself.” “Are you planning to stay here for ten years?” Hearing the number ten years, Ronan’s brow furrowed slightly.
No wonder the village chief had suggested he stay here for now, and even had him move into Frieren’s house.
At first, he’d assumed it was simply out of courtesy, a gesture of thanks.
But now, looking at it again…
This was probably the chief’s way of urging him to hurry up and get to work.
If he were an ordinary Hero, he surely wouldn’t be able to stay long before having to set off to fight the Demon King.
Because studying theory was far too tedious.
—Thankfully.
He wasn’t ordinary.
Ronan let out a soft chuckle: “Ten years?
No need.
Just hand me a pen, and I can work a miracle in a single night.” “Just watch.”