"Master, I'm so glad you're alright!"
Flamme tightly embraced Frieren's somewhat petite frame, her eyes welling with tears. The joy of their long-awaited reunion soothed her soul. The scent was so familiar, as was the presence— "dependable amidst her laziness."
"It's all over now."
The silver-haired girl smiled and patted her apprentice's head, only to realize that Flamme was now about her height, perhaps even slightly taller.
Currently in a period of rapid growth, she would surely become a tall, stunning beauty in the future. That was for the best. Long limbs were crucial for a warrior.
If not for her elven age being insufficient and the need to control her power, Frieren herself would have grown a bit taller as well.
"So many terrible things were piling up, I was so scared… I truly thought you weren't coming back, Master, or that you'd sleep for longer than my lifetime."
"It's finally over. I'm so glad."
Flamme's genuine emotions showed, tear tracks staining her lovely face, yet a smile graced the corners of her mouth.
"You all must have faith in me. Even if the demons and the Old Gods scheme together, they cannot break me. They have forgotten what makes the strong strong: an unshakeable will. The moment they chose conspiracy and schemes, they had already lost to me. The conclusion has only just now been realized."
Frieren rarely made such declarations. Her aura, radiating from within, was awe-inspiring, compelling an instinctive belief in certain victory.
Had she grown stronger?
In Flamme's eyes, her master had gained a new layer of fighting spirit after the great battle.
But Miriadel, her constant companion, understood the change more clearly. In the past, her childhood friend couldn't feel—or couldn't be bothered with—the concept of responsibility. She was strong, but not someone who could lead others. Now, she was increasingly becoming a pillar of strength, with a commanding presence.
It was the trials of another world that had forged this transformation. This was good. The elven race, having repeatedly endured hardships, truly needed a cornerstone.
"You really put us through the wringer. You'll have to treat us."
"And we can celebrate Flamme passing the Great Mage examination at the same time."
Miriadel's suggestion brought a smile to the silver-haired girl's face, and she naturally nodded in agreement. This rare life-and-death battle had brought her gains as well, a welcome change worth celebrating.
Fortune and misfortune are intertwined.
After this battle, Frieren could ensure her resistance to Miquella's charm, and the fusion of her different powers had advanced even further.
It was thanks to the inclusivity of the multiple Great Runes; otherwise, blending such varied energies would have been far more taxing. Perhaps the Lands Between was the place to resolve her own hidden troubles, but that was a matter for long-term consideration.
"Of course. But first, let's head back to the workshop."
With a wave of the silver-haired girl's hand, the fish-like monsters parted to form a path.
The previously aggressive Fisherfolk now became docile, appearing completely harmless—if one could ignore their狰狞 and terrifying appearance. In short, they no longer posed a threat to the party.
Even the most mindless monster understood that the true master of Yharnam had returned. Whether as the final, strongest Hunter, or as the strongest Old God who ascended using three Umbilical Cords, she was not to be provoked.
They scurried away.
Before the group had even approached, the Fisherfolk had vanished. When Frieren was asleep and in mortal danger, they had acted with abandon, eager to destroy the city. Yet, upon her awakening, they tucked their tails between their legs and tried their best to appear humanoid, clearly showing their submission, daring not to oppose the absolute ruler.
Furthermore, the silver-haired girl carried a wisp of the First Flame's aura. It would be disastrous if they were used as kindling.
After the great battle, the Fishing Hamlet had become a tranquil place, with only the waves, wooden huts, and decaying fishing boats remaining. It was a rare moment of peace. Without the Orphan of Kos, the coast could almost be called… beautiful?
Regardless, this was the first time that Flamme, who hailed from the inland, had ever seen the ocean.
And she strongly suspected that the only ocean her two seniors had ever seen was the 'Sea of the Birth of an Old God.' After all, elves were either wandering the world or absolute homebodies.
This pair of childhood friends belonged to the latter category.
"What's with that curious look in your eyes? What are you thinking about?"
"Master, Yharnam holds many marvels of craftsmanship that are ahead of their time. I was wondering if they could be recreated in reality?"
"I've noticed them, but they aren't much more convenient than magic."
"Why not?"
"For example, those steam-powered washing machines are far inferior to something like 'Magic to Clean Clothes,' and the steel smelted in factories isn't as good as magic like 'Rapid Heating or Cooling.' Most of them can be replaced by utility magic. To me, popularizing magic is more meaningful than dwelling on Yharnam's craftsmanship. Besides, a person can only pour their heart into one thing at a time. If you bite off more than you can chew, you'll accomplish nothing."
Flamme fell silent. She had originally thought her master was so focused on magical academia that she had overlooked these things, but it seemed she had underestimated her.
Clearly, Frieren had given it careful thought, had her own insights, and ultimately made a choice.
One should not underestimate the deliberation of a long-lived race.
"Right. But I feel like your sense of time and your busy schedule have delayed any attempts… Whether it's popularizing magic or learning from Yharnam's craftsmanship, I want to try. There must be a way."
"Do you think such an undertaking is that simple?" Miriadel interjected. "My head is about to explode just from managing the winery and the treasury. How much trouble would it be to promote something like that?"
"I know that."
"Many kingdoms only accept magic due to the pressure from demons and Frieren's prestige. Their actual aversion to it hasn't changed. We can only wait for the stubborn ones to die off, which will take at least half a century. And now you want to introduce craftsmanship that's even stranger than magic? Wouldn't that just make them more paranoid? The way I see it, it'll be difficult."
"That may be so, but aren't you managing things well, Sister Adele? You have to at least try."
"You can. I'm not actually opposing you, I just think it will take time. There are things more worthy of your investment, things Frieren has higher hopes for, right?"
The red-haired girl looked toward her master.
"Try whatever you wish, Flamme. Geniuses cannot be judged by ordinary standards."
"Master, you're always calling me a genius. Aren't you afraid I'll become arrogant?"
"First of all, you are actually reserved, steady, and very thoughtful. You're not someone who can be easily swayed by praise, unlike the carefree Adele. A few empty compliments and a toast, and she'll make concessions."
"Hey, why are you suddenly talking about me!"
"Secondly, you have seen and mastered the powers of more than one world. When a person has a broader perspective, they won't be arrogant. This is how I'm raising you. You have a much greater future ahead."
Frieren looked directly into Flamme's eyes, and the latter nodded with renewed vigor.
"Since you said you want me to broaden my horizons, Master, could you tell me about Yharnam? I want to hear it."
"Well, in the beginning, I was much like you, waking up on an operating table…"
Treating it as satisfying a child's curiosity—and since the brilliant Flamme had likely guessed much of it already—she told her everything.
There was nothing to hide. She explained the entire story of humanity's plea for the power of the Old Gods to her apprentice.
It was a warning. The pursuit of uncontrollable power will inevitably bring a curse. This is very important for a genius in their formative years. Fortunately, the girl took it to heart.
Frieren was very pleased. One can always find geniuses—Serie has a whole bunch of them under her—but disposition is more important.
If she didn't participate in her apprentice's growth, she wouldn't be able to raise a top-tier genius.
They chatted idly along the way.
With a relaxed mindset, one could discover the beauty of Yharnam. When the streets were free of wandering monsters, it could perfectly be treated as tourism.
Frieren was kind-hearted; she couldn't bear to see patients of the beast plague on the streets.
Once the nightmare city put away its nightmarish side, it was a metropolis built with the utmost craftsmanship—towering and majestic, the pinnacle of human effort and resources. It lacked extravagant decoration; instead, the social system of the city's construction itself was its most luxurious core.
"Can humans really achieve this?"
Flamme couldn't believe it. The more her master explained, the more incredible it seemed. She feared that even concentrating the wealth of the entire continent couldn't build a single Yharnam—of course, that was limited to ordinary people and average mages, excluding those with transcendent powers.
Because she didn't know what the level of the Age of Gods was truly like.
Excluding the strongest tier of beings like Frieren, Serie, and the Demon King, the limits of manpower and resources were very low. In her view, popularizing magic and advancing craftsmanship were ways to raise that baseline.
Unfortunately, Yharnam only offered experience in craftsmanship and technology.
How does one create a magically prosperous society? There were no references. It could only be built by human hands.
"If the demons disappeared, magic would surely enter a golden age, right?"
"Quite the opposite. I, the vice-president, would probably be out of a job. The Association would be suppressed from all sides, and we might even return to an era where magic is banned."
"Huh?"
"Don't be surprised. The strength of mages today is inseparable from the demon invasion. War brings much slaughter, but as long as it's within a controllable range, it's worth utilizing. You have to look at it dialectically. We are the beneficiaries, and we must think from the position of beneficiaries."
"Yes, that's so true."
Miriadel nodded like a pecking chicken. "Without the threat of demons, why would the nobles bother to deposit their money in the village? What would happen to the towns that we've worked so hard to develop?"
"Frieren, the demons should be exterminated, but not too quickly. Don't get a hot head and inflict Scarlet Rot on them. We elves still rely on the threat of demons to do business."
The silver-haired girl rolled her eyes, causing Miriadel to give an embarrassed smile.
"Business opportunities can always be found, but the matter of the racial war is urgent. When I say that some of our current benefits rely on the demons, I mean that you need to be prepared to lose them and face a new situation."
"My words were a bugle call for total war. How did you interpret that as me planning to proceed with measured restraint?"
"This matter has only one outcome: until one race completely loses the minimum threshold population required for procreation."
The two nodded with solemn expressions.
Miriadel and Flamme exchanged a look, their pupils constricting again as a chill went down their spines. At this moment, Frieren's silent authority was nerve-wracking.
For an emotionally blunted elf to interpret her will with such intensity spoke to the gravity of the situation.
She was angry.
That Frieren, who had cultivated herself to this state, could still be provoked was a testament to the demons' talent for antagonism. Of course, annihilating the demons wouldn't happen overnight. It was simply that the planning, the final resolve, had to begin now.
"Flamme, that's why I said you should experiment as you wish. The era needs magical progress."
Hearing this, the red-haired girl gave a serious reply. Her master, a person of high status and great power, had decided to strike back hard against the demons, a decision destined to shake the world. As her direct disciple, she could not possibly remain uninvolved.
"You're still young, just 16. It's enough for you to be a practitioner for now. As for the allied kingdoms, the development of magic, and the changing times, leave those worries to Frieren and Serie's level. In another 20 years, when you are in your prime, renowned and respected, you will have the foundation to stir things up."
"Alright, I will research carefully. But Master, if there are any battles with the demons, you must call me."
"Of course."
Chatting as they walked, the three finally arrived at the Hunter's Workshop.
The cathedral doors were wide open. The Doll, dressed in her long stockings, stood with her hands crossed on the steps, bowing slightly in a welcoming posture: "Welcome home, good hunter."
"Thank you for everything this time. The splinter soul here will be replenished later. Did protecting everyone's mental projections go smoothly?"
"Everything went smoothly. You may begin using the healing to counteract that golden state at any time…"
Compared to their professional exchange, Flamme was more focused on their rapport. They were truly familiar with each other, that telepathic connection was palpable, which explained their ability to act so intimately.
And she now knew the Doll's origins as well. On the way, Frieren had made a point of introducing the Doll, who was once created by the workshop's former master, Gehrman.
Someone who came over from another side?
Not as good as herself, who had followed her master from the very beginning, with unwavering loyalty.
Beside them, Miriadel yawned, her weariness unconcealed. She was the first to shed the tension of battle.
Now with alcohol in her system and slightly tipsy, a silly grin hung on her lips.
"It's all settled. You all guard the workshop's surroundings while I go rescue everyone. Because there are quite a few, it might take some time."
"Right, which method did you choose?" Miriadel was most concerned about this.
If anything else went wrong, she would never be able to escape her self-blame.
"I can use a splinter soul's protection, using the mechanism of refreshing the physical state with the soul to awaken everyone. But don't forget that when we return to reality, the demons will also awaken, including Macht."
"That's true. If he uses Diagold again, we'll just have to repeat the process. Can't we kill him in reality first, then save everyone?"
"No. The mental projections are most complete as they are now in Yharnam. If we delay, they might be lost to decadence."
…
As expected of the most troublesome curse.
It was a stalemate. This meant that even if they used this method, fought in reality, and then dispelled Diagold, they might still inflict mental damage on the victims. If the entire elven race went through that, what kind of after-effects would emerge over the long years?
It was unthinkable, an endless disaster that absolutely could not be allowed.
"So I'm choosing the safest method: to crack Diagold and bring this curse under my own control."
"What do you mean?"
"This is what I mean—"
Frieren raised her right hand, which gradually turned into shimmering gold. Then she reversed it, repeating the process several times as if liquid gold were flowing over her skin.
The other two watched, dumbfounded. That was possible? Moreover, Macht himself had never shown any ability to reverse the process, yet the imitator had managed it first. Wasn't that a disgrace for him as a mage?
And the curse's reputation for being unsolvable and unknowable was also refuted right here. The first curse in history to be broken had appeared.
Conversely, if Frieren were to use it, wouldn't it be more controllable than her own famous destructive spells? It would absolutely be enough to make the demons suffer. Reversing the goldenization of the elves should also be easy.
"I'm going to begin. Just stand guard for me. This might be faster than anticipated."
Before she finished speaking, the silver-haired girl held up a ball of golden light. It suddenly blossomed, illuminating Yharnam and reflecting countless mental projections—the manifestations of the elves in the spiritual world.
Seeing this, Miriadel, Flamme, and the Doll formed a protective circle around her.
_____
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