The Future Timeline:
Serie wasn't particularly bothered by the results.
In the history of the First-Class Mage Exams, the passing rate was never fixed. It fluctuated wildly depending on the proctor and the chosen trial. Sometimes a dozen passed; sometimes, none at all.
While a 100% survival and pass rate was unprecedented for a combat-oriented trial, Serie recognized the reality of the situation. A First-Class Mage was the pinnacle of their profession. They required not just raw power, but the absolute resolve to shatter adversity. Against the apocalyptic threat of the Blazing Black Dragon, these candidates had demonstrated exactly that. They had broken their limits.
"Notice: The contract between this unit and yourself is now fulfilled," the clone stated, its voice devoid of the exhaustion that plagued the mages below. "This terminal will deactivate and depart in precisely one hour."
"I see," Serie said, resting her chin on her hand. "So, your main body's only objective for sending you here was to harvest the magic of this new era?"
The clone simply nodded. There was no need to hide it.
"Before you go, I have one last question," Serie murmured. Her golden eyes drifted over the crowd of celebrating mages below, finally landing on a familiar head of silver hair. Frieren was quietly discussing the battle with her purple-haired companion.
Sensing the gaze, Frieren looked up, her expression as blank and unreadable as ever. Serie looked away, turning her attention back to the clone.
"That absurdly difficult trial you designed," Serie began, a knowing smile playing on her lips. "Did you set the bar that high because of her? Because she is your apprentice?"
…
The Past Timeline:
Ping.
The data packet transmitted from the future clone finished downloading into my Main Unit's memory banks.
I sat quietly in a wooden chair, processing the conversation. A slight, almost imperceptible delay occurred in my logic circuits.
Frieren? My apprentice?
I looked across the room at the silver-haired elf in question.
To the outside world, my relationships appeared highly skewed. Flamme frequently called herself my student, and now, even the future Serie assumed Frieren was under my tutelage.
Analysis: Illogical. I have only ever officially accepted one apprentice: Takson.
Everyone else simply tagged along or borrowed my resources. However, human and elven perceptions were inherently flawed, shaped by assumptions rather than data. I decided it was an irrelevant misunderstanding and deleted the thought from my active processes.
It was noon on our second day in the Elven Village.
Yesterday, while foraging in the outer woods, Frieren had stumbled across our party. Seeing me, her "new friend," return so soon had elicited a rare display of genuine surprise and mild happiness from the stoic elf. She had immediately escorted us through the barrier and secured lodging for us in one of the village's guest houses.
The accommodations were simple but elegant, woven directly into the living wood of the ancient trees.
Currently, the house was quiet.
Takson, unable to sit still, had gone outside hours ago to find a clearing for his daily physical conditioning. Flamme, burning with curiosity about the legendary, secluded home of the elves, was out exploring the village.
That left only Frieren and me in the room.
Frieren sat at the wooden table, deeply engrossed in a thick, leather-bound grimoire. She had noticed the massive library of books Takson carried in his pack and, with typical elven bluntness, had asked to borrow one. Takson, generous as always, had handed it over without a second thought.
Neither of us spoke. For two beings with virtually infinite lifespans, companionable silence was the most natural form of communication.
I raised my right hand.
"Endo Armament: Activate"
"Pseudo-Endo: Rasiel"
A soft, golden luminescence filled the room. A heavy book, its cover adorned with intricate gold filigree, materialized in my grasp.
The sudden flash of light caught Frieren's attention. She lowered her borrowed book and looked over, her pointy ears twitching with curiosity.
"What's that?" she asked.
"Answer: A grimoire," I replied flatly.
It wasn't a lie. Rasiel was, in essence, the ultimate grimoire of this universe.
I opened the cover. Instead of paper, the pages were screens of pure, scrolling light.
[World Analysis: Pseudo-Rasiel... 100%]
[Notice: Analysis complete. Full access to current universal data parameters granted.]
The moment had arrived. The progress bar I had been monitoring for years was finally full. Every spell, every concept, every hidden truth of this world's magical foundation was now available in my database.
The future was secured. The data was collected.
My purpose in this world was officially concluded.
I didn't hesitate. I opened a secure comms channel to the two tracking terminals I had issued.
"Notice: Takson. Flamme. Return to the designated coordinates immediately."
With the recall order sent, I looked down at the glowing book in my lap. I began to flip through the pages. It was a pointless gesture, a residual habit from my past life as a human. Reading with optical sensors page-by-page was laughably inefficient.
After a few seconds of this useless pantomime, I closed the book. It dissolved back into golden light.
[Activating Plugin: Rasiel Direct Link]
[Initiating root data transfer. Downloading...]
The mechanical device resting on the side of my head clicked, its plates shifting and unfolding slightly to accommodate the massive bandwidth.
A torrent of data rushed into my neural network. My optical sensors flared to life, compensating for the processing load. The artificial human irises of my Pseudo-Haniel disguise were entirely eclipsed by the blinding, golden light of my true, mechanical eyes. Bright streams of digital code reflected in the air in front of my face.
Even with the human disguise active, the sheer intensity of the machine operating at maximum capacity could not be hidden. In the dim, sun-dappled wooden room, my glowing eyes were like twin spotlights.
The sudden, intense light caused Frieren to stop reading entirely.
She stared at me, her usual relaxed posture tightening just a fraction.
"Stell," she said, her voice laced with confusion and a hint of concern. "Your eyes... what's wrong with them?"
….
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