Chapter 39 — The Pinnacle of Power
Cold morning mist drifted silently across the forest floor.
Frieren felt a prickling sensation on her cheeks—
—but after witnessing that scene, her entire body felt frozen solid.
Only her eyes trembled as she stared blankly at the old man before her…
or rather, at the Meteorite Birds perched on him.
"One, two… three, four… five, six, seven, eight."
Her vision wasn't playing tricks on her.
Eight Meteorite Birds.
Eight creatures she had waited months—months—to lure.
And now they were standing obediently on the old man's shoulders like tame house pets.
The next second, one even hopped onto his balding head and bounced cheerfully across the shiny patch like it owned the place.
Why…?
Why was this happening?
The goal she had poured blood and sweat into accomplishing—
the trial she had nearly died completing—
was something this random wandering old man could do without even trying?
Then what did all her effort amount to?
Or… perhaps this old man was not the ordinary eccentric she assumed he was?
Elias once told her:
If a mage could suppress their external leakage of mana to one-tenth, they were already considered talented.
Only the strongest of mages—
the true elites among elites—
could suppress their mana to one-percent, weak enough that even an Meteorite Bird couldn't sense them at all.
Could it be…?
Could the mysterious old man before her be one of those pinnacle-level existences?!
The thought alone made Frieren straighten her posture, her earlier irritation vanishing completely.
"Grandpa… I apologize for my earlier disrespect. Please forgive me."
No sooner had she spoken than all eight Meteorite Birds fluttered off the man's body and disappeared back into the forest.
"Aiya… really now. Such adorable little birds, frightened off by a single word from a young girl."
"My apologies!" Frieren blurted instantly.
"Because my Mana Restriction is still unstable… even leaking a tiny trace scares the Meteorite Birds away."
The old man stroked his beard, squinting with dry, wrinkled eyes as he looked at her.
"Meteorite Birds, hm…?"
"What an amusing name."
"But in these old eyes, they're nothing more than a bunch of slightly fast-flying critters."
"…S-sorry, what?!"
Frieren nearly jumped out of her skin.
Even Elias—mighty demon of the mythic age—had expressed genuine admiration for the Meteorite Birds' impossible speed and strength.
Yet this old man…
This strange, frail-looking elder…
To him, those terrifying creatures were nothing but birds that fly kind of fast?!
Just what was he?
Could he be…
even more terrifying than the ancient demons of legend?
Frieren shook her head violently.
She refused to believe such a wild idea—
She swallowed nervously and was just about to ask him directly when the old man spoke first.
"Hehehe…"
"I know. Right now, your heart must be full of questions."
"But the life of a mage… is precisely the process of unraveling them."
His dull, calm eyes drifted over her from head to toe.
"You—still so young—spent several months training inside that little circle… and in the end, you didn't even grow a single centimeter."
"A mage as mediocre as you—do you really think you possess the qualification to unravel anything?"
"Or perhaps you come here every morning simply to relax your mind and body like I do? Hmm? Hehehe…"
The old man turned with a chuckle, his dismissive silhouette carving itself into Frieren's mind like a scar.
"Too weak…"
"Yes… far too weak."
"I must be getting old. To think I wasted so many words on a mage with no qualifications."
"How laughable…"
And when the last trace of his voice faded, Frieren collapsed inside the training circle.
Her body trembled uncontrollably, her face completely numb.
Only when a single tear slid down and fell onto the soil did the heavens seem to respond to her despair—
and rain poured down in sheets.
"So that's… what I am."
"So weak…?"
"No matter how hard I push myself, in the eyes of the truly elite, I'm nothing but mediocre."
"A mage like me… even a thousand years wouldn't make me great."
"And defeating the Demon King… that dream is nothing but a joke even a passing stranger would laugh at."
The white-haired elf forced herself to stand.
She bowed her head, letting the rain wash over her like a dead soul, and walked home with heavy, dragging steps.
---
The moment the door lock clicked, both Elias and Flamme looked up.
Flamme immediately stood, her face blooming into a warm smile.
"Frieren! Today you—hmm?"
Her voice caught in her throat.
Her precious student was drenched from head to toe, shoulders slumped, eyes empty.
She didn't even glance at the two of them—
just walked straight up the stairs, leaving a trail of waterdrops behind her.
"…What happened to her?"
Across the table, Elias casually stirred his coffee with a spoon, unbothered.
"I told you already, Flamme."
"That girl just can't accept the reality that she's far weaker than me."
"Looks like after forcing herself for days, she finally hit her limit…"
"—Elias!"
Flamme snapped, brows lifting sharply.
"Frieren is that devastated, and instead of comforting her, you sit here saying snide things?!"
"Comfort?"
Elias blinked, eyes drifting left and right.
"And that is… what exactly?"
"If one wishes to comfort someone… what kind of emotions are required?"
Flamme: (≖_≖'')
"Elias… are you pretending to not understand, or do you really not understand?"
Elias took a deep breath and gave a bold, unapologetic smile.
"As a demon, offering kind words to the weak is… difficult."
"And besides, you already know the real answer, Flamme."
"Even after knowing me for eight years…
your killing intent toward me still hasn't faded."
---
Three Thousand Years Before the Mythical-Era
Central Continent — Korithi Region
The blazing midsummer sun scorched the streets.
Inside an elegant restaurant, Serie stared at the mountain of desserts piled on the table, her golden eyes sparkling with curiosity.
"So this is called Mango Shaved Snow?"
"It's frozen, yet it's shaped like flower petals. Such a bright yellow too—just looking at it makes me hungry."
"One must admit… humans may lack magical talent, but when it comes to food and drink, they truly excel."
Across from her, Aivis sat with an expression full of wounded pride.
Her gaze drifted resentfully toward the golden-haired elf.
"Ahem… Serie. Some humans are very talented at magic too, you know…"
Meanwhile, Elias scanned the restaurant.
His eyes caught a faintly familiar moon-grass pattern carved into the wall.
Mango Shaved Snow…
Ah. That memory.
A few decades ago, he had passed through this city and casually demonstrated a freezing technique in front of a pastry chef.
He never expected it to become the restaurant's signature dessert for decades.
Serie, unable to restrain herself, scooped up a spoonful and tasted it.
«(✧∇✧)» "Mmm~~~!"
"So refreshingly cold!"
"In this blazing summer heat, eating something icy like this feels absolutely divine!"