On the edge of the battlefield, Fern circled the perimeter.
She had abandoned high-output spells that required long casting times, opting instead for rapid, continuous harassment using high-speed attack magic.
Her incessant interference made things exceptionally difficult for Lügner.
Every time he attempted to launch a powerful strike at Frieren or cast wide-area blood magic, a beam of attack magic would strike precisely at his vitals or the nodes of his magic circles.
Lügner was becoming increasingly agitated, feeling like he was being bitten by a nimble mosquito that prevented him from committing his full strength to the fight.
The aftershocks of the battle had already leveled the nearby stalls and houses, though fortunately, the civilians had long since fled.
The stalemate did not last much longer.
Frieren was intent on minimizing further destruction to the town.
After parrying a blood whip and using defensive magic to shatter a cluster of blood spikes lunging from the side, the light atop her staff suddenly shifted.
It wasn’t just one beam, but four “Ordinary Attack Magic” strikes, their trajectories calculated with absolute precision, bursting forth almost simultaneously!
One curved through the air toward the back of Linie, who was currently locked in combat with Stark.
Another arced around a wall of blood to strike Draht, who was busy manipulating his threads.
The remaining two sealed off all of Lügner’s escape routes, aiming straight for his core.
The speed was terrifying.
Rohan, who was still tangled in a struggle with Draht, broke out in a cold sweat.
He was grateful she was an ally; one moment he was in the middle of a heated exchange of offense and defense, and the next, the enemies were simply dissolving into mana ash.
Linie let out a shrill cry as the beam pierced through her, and her mana-constructed body began to crumble.
Draht’s thread defenses were obliterated instantly, his physical form annihilated in the light.
Lügner roared, detonating his remaining blood to form a shield, yet a beam still punched a hole through his chest.
He staggered back, looking up at the white-clad figure in the air with disbelief.
In his fading vision, an image he had almost forgotten finally surfaced.
“It’s you…
Frie—”
Before he could finish, the bodies of the three demons disintegrated into gray ash simultaneously.
Only the ruins and broken walls of the street remained to bear witness to the battle.
Rohan, who had intended to swoop in for a “kill-steal,” lowered his staff in frustration.
“…You could have at least left one for me,” he muttered under his breath.
As the dust settled, the group gathered before Graf Granat, who sat slumped on the ground, his hands still bound.
The Count’s eyes were hollow, as if he hadn’t yet processed the conspiracy and the bloody slaughter that had just unfolded.
“Stark,” Frieren said, stowing her staff, “untie him.”
“Eh?
Why me!
You really like bossing people around…” Stark complained, his hands still trembling slightly from the fight with the demons.
Nevertheless, he stepped forward and used the edge of his axe to clumsily but carefully sever the heavy ropes.
Even once the ropes fell away, the Count didn’t move.
He simply stared blankly at the corpses of his headless guards and the spot where the demons had vanished.
A deathly silence hung over the street, broken only by the distant, muffled sobs and gasps of townspeople.
The embers of battle and the dregs of mana slowly settled in the cold air.
Rohan ignored the traumatized Graf Granat.
His eyes were immediately locked onto the spots where the three demons had dissipated.
There, three treasure chests etched with purple patterns hovered in the air.
Two were a pale violet, while the one belonging to Lügner glowed with a deeper, almost dark purple light, nearly rivaling the chest from the Red Mirror Dragon.
He stepped forward quickly, touching each one in turn.
The purple chests from Linie and Draht opened in succession.
[Obtained: Refined Mana (3 Years)]
[Obtained: Refined Mana (5 Years)]
[Intelligence: 12 → 14]
A cool, abundant torrent of energy instantly surged into his mana pool.
Not only was the mana he had spent during the fight replenished, but his maximum capacity increased as well.
His mind became exceptionally clear, and his perception of the surrounding mana sharpened by a fraction.
Eight years’ worth of mana, combined with his usual cultivation, felt like a solid leap forward.
While the amount was nowhere near the thirty-year hoard of Qual the Elder Sage, it was a steady, grounded growth.
When Lügner’s deep purple chest opened, it revealed an irregular crystal wrapped in a pulsing, dark-red film of light.
It felt warm to the touch, carrying a faint, life-like throb.
[Sanguine Restoration (Single-use)]
[Quality: Blue]
[Uses the caster’s own mana as a catalyst to drive the target’s blood activity, accelerating cell regeneration and tissue healing.
Can stabilized and heal non-fatal moderate injuries (e.g., severe puncture wounds, large-scale lacerations, most fractures, and moderate internal organ damage).
Ineffective against curses or mana erosion.]
[Effect: Requires continuous mana channeling.
The more severe the injury, the greater the consumption and the longer the time required.
The patient will feel significant itching and heat during the process.]
[Origin: Collision World H-07]
“A healing item…
and it’s blue quality.” Rohan tucked it away carefully.
They didn’t have a priest in the party yet, and one could never have too many reliable healing methods.
This was undoubtedly a valuable life-saving card.
Though the quality wasn’t higher due to his limited contribution to the kill, it was still a welcome surprise.
As he finished stowing the items, his mind—sharpened by his increased attributes—involuntarily replayed the images of the battle.
Specifically, he recalled the way Linie and Lügner had moved at high speeds.
It wasn’t the glow of the “Levitation” spell; it was a more fluid, agile form of flight.
A delayed sense of wrongness suddenly seized him.
He turned toward Frieren, who was checking on the Count’s condition, and asked directly: “Lady Frieren, I noticed earlier…
the way those demons flew was different from our Levitation magic.
No, it was completely different.
When I see you and Fern fly, it’s smooth, but seeing them…
it felt more like an ‘instinct,’ or an entirely different system.”
Hearing this, Frieren slowly straightened up and brushed off non-existent dust from her hands.
She turned her head, her thousand-year-old eyes looking at Rohan calmly.
The corners of her mouth seemed to twitch upward ever so slightly in a curve that barely qualified as a smile.
“Oh, so you noticed.” Her tone lightened, carrying a hint of subtle pleasure, like a teacher whose student had finally asked the right question.
“For most demons, ‘flight’ is like humans walking or fish swimming—it’s a natural application of magic.
It’s driven more by instinct; it’s highly efficient, and the mana form is better suited to their nature.” She paused, as if choosing the right words.
“Human flight magic is actually just a forced imitation based on the demons’ flight.
We don’t fully understand the underlying principles; we just force the magic to work.
That’s why demon flight magic consumes less mana and allows for finer control.”
Rohan was stunned.
“So…
the ‘Levitation Magic’ you taught me from the beginning…”
“Mm-hm.” Frieren nodded slightly, showing a rare spark of academic interest.
“Teaching it to you back then was partly because we needed to move things while cleaning the beach, but the second reason…” This chapter is updated first at g.com.
She tilted her head, her white hair sliding over her shoulder.
A glint appeared in her eyes that Rohan recognized—the look of a researcher seeing a rare specimen.
“I also wanted to see if your body, which possesses the essence of a ‘monster,’ would undergo any interesting changes while using the Levitation spell I analyzed.
For instance, whether it would ‘evolve’ on its own toward a form closer to the demons’ instinctive flight.”
She watched Rohan’s widening eyes and stiffening expression, adding the final blow in her usual steady voice.
“I saw you flying around with Levitation later and saw you were adapting quite well.
Although it’s still far from ‘instinct-driven,’ your control was improving, so I didn’t bother teaching you Flight magic specifically.
After all, back at the beach, I only said ‘if you practice this spell well, you can make yourself fly.’ I never actually said ‘this *is* Flight magic.'”
She paused, her eyes—which seemed to see through a millennium—gazing at Rohan with an almost “innocent” look as she asked softly.
“You’ll…
forgive your big sister for being a little inquisitive, right?”
Silence.
On the street, there was only the moan of the wind through the ruins and the distant, faint weeping.
Rohan looked at the petite, white-haired elven mage with her pure gaze.
He listened to her say “just a little inquisitive big sister” in the flattest tone possible.
He remained silent, taking a slow, deep breath, and then exhaling slowly.
His right hand clenched involuntarily, his knuckles letting out a soft *crack*, before he forced himself to relax.
His fists tightened.
But it seemed there was nothing he could do about it.
Finally, he squeezed a sentence out through gritted teeth.
“Lady Frieren, you really do tailor your teaching to the student…
You’d better teach me actual Flight magic later.”
“Yes, thank you.
I will,” Frieren agreed naturally, reacting as if she had just received a genuine compliment.
It gave Rohan the powerless feeling of punching a ball of cotton.
Frieren turned away, her gaze returning to the despondent Count.
“Now then, we should deal with this noble’s situation.”
Fern stood to the side, silently organizing their luggage that had been scattered by the battle, her shoulders shaking almost imperceptibly.
Stark looked at the frustrated Rohan, then at the nonchalant Frieren.
He scratched his head and decided it was better to focus on inspecting the edge of his axe.
“You two are definitely trying not to laugh!”
The northern wind seemed to grow a few degrees colder.
The Count’s hollow voice broke the brief silence.
“Then…
what about you?
Are you a demon as well?”
Rohan realized the question was directed at him.
“Me?” He turned around, his voice flat.
“Sort of, and sort of not.
I’m a Mimic with memories of a past life as a human.
Don’t worry, I have no interest in ‘living’ like they did.” He pointed toward the traces where the demons had vanished.
Something flickered in the Count’s clouded eyes, but it quickly dimmed again.
Rohan didn’t offer any further explanation.
He looked back at Frieren.
“Frieren, what now?”