It was after hearing that the nations of the southern countries had entered a temporary ceasefire that she decided to head south.
Heavy snow—something that rarely fell in the southern lands—had blanketed the region. For people unaccustomed to such cold, surviving the winter took priority over continuing the war. They had no choice but to endure the chill first and regain their strength for the next battle.
Even Frieren had no desire to involve herself in human wars of her own accord.
If she happened to encounter one, she might think, What would Hero Himmel do? and intervene in some way. But she would not willingly throw herself into such a scene.
──── I want to understand humans.
Even so, for that purpose, she judged that perhaps now—during this ceasefire—it wouldn't hurt to visit.
After Hero Himmel died, she had finally come to truly realize the happiness she had shared with him. But the one she wished to convey those feelings and words to was no longer in this world.
All that filled her chest was regret.
She knew it was too late for regret.
But she didn't want to leave it as mere regret.
──── It shouldn't be too late to learn, even now.
She hadn't truly known Himmel.
She had felt regret, but she didn't even understand what that regret truly was.
She hadn't even tried to know him. Of course she would regret it.
To regret without even trying—it was foolish.
Still, her life continued.
If she regretted it, then she would simply have to learn as much as she regretted.
...After watching Himmel's body laid to rest in his coffin, she resumed her journey.
Visiting the south was meant to be part of that.
Even in a ceasefire, people's hearts during wartime are worn and unstable. There was no telling what might happen.
So she entered the southern lands prepared, alert, and cautious.
"…Why are they even here?"
Several magical signatures forced their way into her senses.
They made no attempt to hide—rather, they seemed to flaunt their power brazenly.
In that direction, she saw smoke rising from what appeared to be a monastery.
Unlike churches, monasteries are often built in remote, harsh locations, as they serve as places for monks to study sacred texts and undergo training. Because of that, help would rarely arrive in time.
"…I hope I'm not too late."
Though the road was paved enough for carriages, there was no time to follow it leisurely.
Using flight magic, Frieren lifted into the air and flew straight toward the monastery.
As she approached, she saw demons encircling the building, blocking all escape routes as if determined not to let their prey slip away.
Was there something inside they were desperate not to lose?
Curious, Frieren assumed she would soon find out. She cast Zoltraak, cutting the demons down.
"—!?"
Caught off guard, the demons barely had time to react before turning into particles of mana and vanishing.
(They seem awfully fixated on whoever's inside. At this rate, I probably wouldn't have been noticed even without suppressing my mana.)
Suppressing her mana had long since become her default state, and she had no intention of releasing it unless necessary. Yet, uncharacteristically, that thought crossed her mind.
(…One large mana signature inside just disappeared. What is happening in there?)
Sensing the shift within, Frieren landed before the entrance and opened the doors.
Inside—
...she saw numerous human corpses further in.
And standing there, holding a sword while staring at them, was a demon in the form of a pink twin-tailed girl.
The moment Frieren recognized her as a demon, all hesitation vanished.
She would not ask why the monastery had been attacked.
Whatever answer came from them would be meaningless.
They were beasts that uttered words only as cries of deception.
She had intended it as a perfect ambush.
She erased her mana and cast Zoltraak without a shred of hesitation.
The girl was distracted by the corpses; Frieren had fired without any preliminary motion at the defenseless back.
Yet the beam was cleaved away in a single flash.
Frieren was surprised—but her expression did not change.
Then, in the next instant, she narrowed her eyes at the sword that had deflected her spell.
That shape—she could not mistake it.
A slender hilt like a tree branch, tipped with a thin, sharp protrusion. Slim enough for a woman's hand. With its sheath, it resembled a narrow cross. From that delicate grip extended a moderately long, slender blade, tapering sharply toward the base.
There was no mistaking that overall thin impression.
It was a sword once said to have been wielded by a famed demon, now kept as a family heirloom by a noble descended from the warrior who had slain that demon. A blade known to attract demons, stolen many times before.
A mage of Frieren's caliber would never mistake it.
She withdrew her earlier resolve not to question the demon. Keeping her staff trained on the pink-haired girl who had turned to face her, she asked:
"Why do you have that sword?"
She would accept no excuses.
"That sword was reclaimed by Himmel."
They had searched all the way to the summit of the Schwer Mountains before finally retrieving it. Though they never found the demon who had stolen it, they had successfully returned the treasured blade to the count.
...To see it stolen again by some unknown party, brought all the way to the southern nations, and used once more to kill humans—this was intolerable to Frieren.
"..."
The demon girl glanced at her for a moment.
Then, despite the staff pointed at her, she turned her gaze back to the scattered corpses in the chapel, her face expressionless.
Like a true demon, her eyes revealed no emotion.
Yet Frieren felt confused.
The girl had just deflected a killing spell and still stood under the threat of Frieren's staff, yet she paid no attention to it—fixating instead on corpses that should mean nothing to a demon.
(…What is she?)
Observing her more closely, Frieren grew increasingly suspicious.
It wasn't just her behavior.
She had been distracted by the sword at first, but now she realized something was strange about the mana she sensed from this demon.
(It's… fluctuating? Is she suppressing her mana? But this instability is crude. It might fool lesser demons, but not a general-class or a frontline mage. Yet… at her lowest output, the precision of her mana control is—)
──── Without question, superior to mine.
It wasn't the amplitude of the fluctuations that drew her eye, but the precision of the control itself.
Frieren felt unease churn within her.
Demons suppressing or erasing their mana was not unusual.
But when facing a mage, they would typically release it—that was their nature.
Proud of their magic, demons competed in mana first, measuring hierarchy among themselves that way.
Yet this demon stood before Frieren without releasing her suppression—and at times displayed control even more refined than Frieren's own.
That fact deeply unsettled her.
──── This one is dangerous.
Including that instability, the demon before her felt profoundly eerie.
"Answer me. Why do you have that sword?"
Even so, she needed answers.
When, where, and how had she taken it?
"How many have you killed with that sword?"
To Frieren, the girl was simply unsettling.
Yet she had to ask.
...The scent of blood clinging to the girl rivaled that of a great demon.
How many had she killed?
How many had she eaten?
Even knowing it was pointless to question a demon, she could not remain silent while the sword Himmel had reclaimed was in her hands.
Still, the girl did not so much as glance at her, continuing to stare at the corpses in the back.
Growing impatient, Frieren hardened her tone.
"If you do not answer, then—"
"…You're noisy."
Before she could finish, the girl finally replied.
...Her voice sounded utterly weary—irritated, yet faint.
At last, the demon's eyes turned back toward Frieren.
"I don't remember something like that."
"..."
At the demon's casual reply, Frieren quietly fixed her gaze, as if to say, I see, accepting it without surprise.
"I answered you, didn't I? So get lost. I've got… a lot going on. I can't sort out my thoughts. I'll let you go, so just disappear already."
"…I suppose. But—"
Saying that, Frieren tightened her grip on her staff.
"The one who's disappearing… is you."
The moment she released the light of Zoltraak—
…the demon vanished from her sight.
Instinctively, Frieren deployed a defensive spell behind her.
Crack.
The sound of something shattering.
She immediately took to the air, twisting her body as she turned. The demon stood where she herself had just been, sword swung down.
Glancing at the thin line of blood grazing her shoulder, Frieren looked down at the demon. The demon looked up at her.
"I told you to get lost."
Pulling the treasured blade free with a languid motion, the demon stared up at her. Frieren silently raised her guard another level.
──── She had completely misjudged that.
…Had the distance been even slightly shorter—
…Had this demon's mana control not been imperfect—
She would have had her undefended neck taken before she could even react.
Despite her appearance, this demon was not a mage-type.
She was a warrior.
(Deception is supposed to be my specialty. Even if it's rough, she's constantly suppressing her mana—and she's a highly polished warrior on top of that.)
Not the brute-force, giant general-class type.
This one attacked with speed and technique. Any lacking power was compensated by the treasured blade in her hand.
Even if defensive magic specialized against Zoltraak wasn't suited for physical attacks, that only meant in comparison to magical defense. It was not weak in absolute terms.
And yet—it had been shattered so easily.
Nor did she seem intoxicated by the blade's power.
(…This might be a terrible matchup.)
A mage must never fight within a warrior's range.
Close the distance before a spell is cast, and the mage dies helplessly.
But warriors must remember something as well.
──── Never give a mage time.
(You'll regret not finishing me with that strike.)
As she pointed her staff downward toward the demon—Rinie—multiple Zoltraak spell circles unfolded around Frieren.
"The amount of mana I can detect doesn't match the amount flowing inside your body. …How underhanded."
"!"
──── She noticed?
Even as surprise flickered at Rinie's words, Frieren did not relent. She fired Zoltraak in rapid succession.
But at the same time—
Black light of the same kind surged toward her.
It precisely canceled her Zoltraak, then continued forward. Frieren instinctively began to deploy a defensive spell—
—and instantly abandoned it, choosing instead to fly aside, evading while countering the pursuing light with her own Zoltraak.
Defense was not an option.
Evasion and cancellation was.
(A demon using humanity's Zoltraak… No, that's not the issue.)
She looked down again.
At some point, a white bow had appeared in the demon's left hand.
Frieren recalled what the earlier Zoltraak had truly been.
(More precisely—it was an arrow wrapped in Zoltraak. A demon modifying a human spell and integrating it into her own weapon…)
That was why she had chosen cancellation over defense.
A normal Zoltraak could be blocked.
But one imbued with mass would easily shatter defensive magic.
By embedding mass within Zoltraak, she broke through defenses. By coating arrows in it, she achieved limited tracking.
An entirely rational improvement.
If not for the fact that it was done by a demon.
"…What are you, really?"
"…?"
The demon muttered hoarsely, as if forcing the words out. Frieren kept her staff trained, wary.
"I don't have time for this… But killing you won't fix anything… It won't bring them back… What am I even supposed to do…?"
The girl-shaped demon lowered her head and scratched at it irritably.
"Nothing's changed from that day… The only difference is that I can fight now… But that's not it… That's not what I wanted to redo… That day, or now, it doesn't mean anything… It's already too late… So why…"
──── Am I fighting someone like you?
The words made no sense to Frieren.
Demons' words had no meaning.
Not because they lacked structure—but because they were lies. Tools for deception. Mimicry of humanity.
Even if there was no meaning for the listener, the speaker always had intent.
But this monologue… it wasn't aimed at her.
And demons did not do meaningless things.
"…Enough. None of it matters anymore."
The demon lowered her right hand weakly.
At the same time, the white bow in her left dissolved into black mana particles.
Then—
Frieren saw something impossible.
Black mana gathered in the demon's lowered right hand—
—and took the exact form of the Treasure Sword of Dacha.
Not a hair's difference.
And it didn't stop there.
Around the demon, four more clusters of black mana materialized, each shaping into a different sword, floating in place.
(What is this…? No—this can't be possible.)
For the first time, Frieren's eyes widened in visible shock.
The magic before her was utterly abnormal.
(She didn't retrieve them from storage magic. Each one is being generated from scratch…)
──── Every single one of them is real.
Not just the Treasure Sword of Dacha she and Himmel had once reclaimed.
The four floating blades—Frieren had seen them before, in dungeon treasuries.
They were identical to the originals.
And that wasn't even the worst of it.
(She's not using a special spell formula. It looks like the same basic weapon-creation magic demons use all the time… Yet the output is on a completely different level. The mana invested and the mana contained in the weapons are completely disproportionate. Even accounting for suppression, this imbalance is impossible.)
As a mage devoted to understanding magic's infinite possibilities, Frieren could not easily accept something that violated even the principle of equivalent exchange.
Only someone of her caliber could perceive the depth of the anomaly.
But she had no time to dwell on it.
"──── I'll kill you first… and think afterward."
The demon declared it, purple-dark eyes fixed on Frieren.
And in that instant, Frieren realized—
Until now, this demon had not truly been trying to kill her.
(…It goes against my master's teachings. But perhaps I'll test it.)
Her mana suppression had already been seen through.
However the trick worked, the demon clearly possessed some other means of measuring mana beyond ordinary detection.
The question was how much she could perceive.
So—
Frieren released her mana suppression for just a moment.
A pressure so immense that even a great demon would kneel descended upon the girl.
Yet—
The demon merely glared at her lazily, unaffected.
(Even knowing it's a bluff, she doesn't so much as flinch? Does a demon like this really exist?)
Had she fought someone of equal mana before?
Or grown accustomed to battling those far stronger?
Either way, it contradicted demon nature.
Demons were, in their own way, simple creatures.
Cunning—yet easy to read.
That was why they fell for Frieren's suppression. Why their behavioral principles were straightforward.
But she had gained nothing about this one.
The logic governing every demon Frieren had known did not align with the girl before her.
She was uncanny.
(Still… considering the nature of her magic, it makes a certain sense.)
Frieren recalled how the girl had created a blade filled with overwhelming power using almost negligible mana.
(To her, raw mana quantity probably isn't much of a measure. Even against someone who uses ten mana to produce ten power, she can create ten weapons with one mana and match them.)
That explained her lack of fear before overwhelming mana.
Even so, her complete indifference to instinct remained deeply unsettling.
──── She must be a rare type of demon.
Not one who refined a self-created spell—
But one who honed a fundamental spell, something so basic most demons wouldn't even call it magic.
With that provisional conclusion, Frieren prepared herself.
A mage who had mastered the fundamentals.
Reframed that way—
Yes.
She was troublesome indeed.
"Judarajirm — The Spell That Unleashes Ruinous Lightning."
The instant Frieren leveled her staff, dozens of blue bolts of lightning dominated the entire chapel grounds.
It was the merciless thunder of the great mage Frieren—so blinding that the flashing alone could sear the eyes of anyone who witnessed it.
(I've already figured out I'm at a disadvantage in a rapid-fire Zoltraak exchange.)
That didn't mean her skill as a mage was inferior.
It was a matter of the difference in how each wielded Zoltraak—and above all, the fact that she was fundamentally a mage, while the opponent was also a warrior.
The enemy wasn't casting Zoltraak as a conventional spell. She was firing arrows imbued with the Zoltraak formula. In other words, in the contest of speed leading up to the moment of release, the one applying warrior techniques held an overwhelming advantage.
No matter how suited Zoltraak was for rapid fire, in a face-to-face shooting match it was self-evident that someone with a warrior's reflexes would be faster.
Normally, the difference between their Zoltraaks would favor Frieren—her opponent required arrows to fire. If she ran out, the advantage would shift. But since she could generate arrows from mana itself, that weakness was practically nonexistent. Frieren's edge was, in truth, nearly zero.
(The maximum mana I occasionally sense from her is below mine—and below that of the great demons. In other words, my only real advantage right now is overwhelming her with raw power.)
The more she thought about it—
The worse this matchup is.
Even as she calmly cursed the situation inwardly, Frieren noticed several distortions within her lightning barrage.
She immediately understood the cause.
The demon had launched the swords she had deployed around her into the air, using them as lightning rods.
(A normal rod would've been destroyed long ago… but those are treasured blades, each filled with mana and mystique. Destroying them outright would be difficult.)
And Frieren knew the demon wouldn't fail to exploit the stagnation created by that interference.
However, what came flying at her was unexpected.
What rushed toward her was not arrows wrapped in Zoltraak like before—
…but twisted treasured swords themselves.
Naturally, defensive magic would not suffice against such objects.
(These aren't true treasured blades… They're swords of that otherworldly substance demons create?)
Dodging by a hair's breadth, Frieren resumed her lightning barrage as suppression and analyzed the blade embedded in the wall behind her.
(No mistake. They're the same special swords I've seen demons create with magic. Not only existing treasured blades, but even those otherworldly constructs can be copied… and furthermore…)
At last, Frieren could not help but feel bewildered by the abnormality of this demon's magic.
(So many different types of demon blades—and even though they've left the caster's hands, they still retain their form. Weapons made of that otherworldly substance normally require enormous concentration and mana control to maintain their shape. And yet… these swords haven't collapsed despite being separated from their creator. The original drawbacks have clearly been bypassed.)
These demon blades, which could exist only through mana control—
…were behaving like ordinary physical swords, as though permitted by the world itself to exist as true matter.
A creation-type magic utterly disproportionate to its mana cost. Some even bypassed the original disadvantages entirely.
Not only the magic—but even her bearing—deviated from any demon Frieren had known.
Frieren had already resolved not to approach this opponent by comparing her to demons she knew.
But she now had to admit—that resolve had been naive.
Defensive magic could not block her.
Lightning was neutralized by treasured blades.
Cursed demon swords flew like arrows.
What was meant to corner the enemy had instead cornered Frieren.
The demon approached her with the Treasure Sword of Dacha in hand—
But a battle-hardened great mage like Frieren would never allow a warrior to close in so easily.
"Volzanbel — The Spell That Summons the Hellfire."
From her staff erupted a torrent of flames far too fierce to be called mere suppression.
It was hellfire itself, burning hot enough to incinerate everything.
Yet before the inferno could fully engulf the area, the demon had already escaped.
Reading the flow of mana within Frieren's body and predicting the attack, she had leapt upward.
(So she jumped. That makes this easier.)
Frieren concentrated mana in her palm.
When she opened her clenched hand, a rapidly spinning elliptical object appeared.
A black sphere at its core, wrapped in blazing orange energy, rotating at high speed as it left her hand.
It began pulling in the rubble scattered by battle, as though possessing gravity.
And Rinie—still in midair—was being drawn in along with it.
It was as if she had created a palm-sized star.
Yet the demon showed no agitation.
(Escaping that gravity is impossible. Then I'll use it instead.)
Not knowing what would happen if she were absorbed, the demon chose to deal with it beforehand.
She created numerous treasured blades around her once more—then released them without holding them in place.
One by one, the blades were drawn into the black core.
No need to aim—the sphere would swallow them on its own.
All that remained—
"Exfantasma — The Spell That Detonates Mana."
Let them explode inside the core.
The black nucleus vanished under the concentrated detonation of the absorbed blades.
The explosion of contained mana and mystique destroyed even that transcendent magic with ease.
"—!"
This time, Frieren's eyes widened.
She had intended to draw in more—consume the demon entirely—and obliterate her.
Instead, the demon had struck first, detonating the core preemptively.
The fact that she could turn her created blades into explosives was shocking enough—
But that she could break through in such a way had never even crossed Frieren's mind.
The unexpected timing threw her off balance, forcing her to shield herself with defensive magic.
From the violent mana fluctuations she could easily pinpoint the demon's position—
But even so, being immobilized, even briefly, was fatal.
"Steel is my body, and fire is my blood."
"—What?"
The demon's voice echoed through the air.
Frieren tensed.
In the direction of the mana's presence stood the demon—eight Treasure Swords of Dacha clutched between the fingers of both hands.
At this point, Frieren no longer showed surprise.
If she could create many, creating identical ones simultaneously was hardly strange.
The next instant, the demon flung both hands outward, hurling the eight blades to circle around Frieren.
"I have created over a thousand blades."
Again, that voice.
Words unknown even to Frieren, an elf who had lived over a thousand years.
At the same time, the demon created a ninth Treasure Sword of Dacha.
"…."
Blades circling her. The demon approaching with one in hand.
Which should she address first?
As she made that calculation, Frieren's eyes suddenly widened.
(My mana detection is being disrupted… The surrounding blades are resonating. …No, that's not it!)
Her detection wasn't severed—it was being scrambled.
She instantly grasped the nature of the blades—and the enemy's intent.
(They're absorbing mana from one another. Between the eight blades, magical power is being drawn and redrawn, moving at high speed without pause… deliberately throwing off my senses!)
"Unfaced to darkness."
Hidden in smoke, beyond sight, the demon continued chanting.
"Nor faced to light."
Suddenly, the mana in the eight blades vanished.
Frieren's mana detection returned—
But it was already too late.
The ninth blade in the demon's hand glowed with dense mana, expanding beyond her own height.
The density of power was overwhelming.
Even the demon blades embedded in walls and floors—fired earlier as arrows—were dissolving into mana dust and converging upon the blade in her hand.
(The blade's effect of attracting demons was secondary… Its true power is gathering and binding surrounding magical energy.)
No wonder demons kept stealing it.
Such an object was never meant to be a lord's family heirloom.
Eight blades disrupted Frieren's mana detection through resonance.
Hidden in smoke, the ninth gathered all surrounding magical power into a single bundle.
Then close the distance—and finish her.
That was the demon's strategy.
By the time Frieren understood—
The demon girl, wielding a blade of condensed magical light, was already before her.
(…Checkmate, perhaps.)
Resignation crept into Frieren.
This distance belonged to a warrior.
And the density of mana within that blade—
There was no blocking it.
No evading it.
(Himmel… wouldn't give up until the very end.)
She tightened her grip on her staff and prepared to meet the demon head-on.
And then—
Something changed.
"—!?"
Both of them reacted at the same time.
Their gazes shifted sideways.
There—
Rubble, loosened by the battle, was collapsing—about to crush the fallen human corpses beneath it.
The first to move was the demon.
In an instant, she redirected the tip of the treasured blade that had been aimed at Frieren and swung its blade of light toward the falling debris.
The blade itself did not reach the rubble—
But the violent gale born from it blew the debris away just before it could crush the girl and the children's bodies.
That action—
Was fatal.
Because she was a warrior.
Because she reacted first.
Because she left that opening.
"Compressed… 'Zoltraak — the spell that kills demons.'"
From the staff already aimed at her, white light burst forth—
And swallowed the demon whole.
She turned instinctively toward Frieren to counter—
But she was too late.
"—Ah."
The demon's body, engulfed in light, was blown into the rows of seats lining the chapel.
The smoke cleared.
Looking down, Frieren saw her—
Half of her left chest gouged out, heart included, collapsed among the shattered pews, drenched in blood.
Her gothic-style serving dress was torn in places, exposing a pitiful ruin.
The ribbon tying her twin-tails—matching the girl she had spent time with—had come undone.
Her glossy pink hair now hung lifelessly down her back.
The treasured blade she had held—
As if its former brilliance had been a lie—
Crumbled weakly into dust.
At the same time, the demon girl's body began to disperse into black particles.
"I'm glad I was able to kill you here."
Having seized that fleeting chance and succeeded in finishing the demon, Frieren slowly descended to the floor.
She looked down coldly.
"I've never met a demon like you—one I couldn't read at all. Even your final action… I never understood it. That's precisely why I'm glad I was able to end you here."
They were her honest words.
In some ways, Frieren had found this demon more troublesome than many great demons.
An opponent against whom the anti-demon knowledge passed down from her master—and refined by herself—might not apply at all.
That was why she was relieved she could exploit that final opening and defeat her.
Her only regret was that she would never learn the mechanism behind the demon's strange magic.
But killing her made it irrelevant.
This demon would threaten humanity no more.
That was enough.
Closing her ice-cold eyes, Frieren accepted it.
◇
(…So I lost.)
Within her fading, hazy consciousness, Rinie understood.
Her hands would not respond.
The treasured blade she had held had dispersed—
And as if to prove it had been one with her, her body too was dissolving into black dust.
…She had known it was a meaningless battle.
She could guess who had orchestrated this situation.
Frieren had likely just happened to be there.
Frieren was not Ange and the others' enemy.
For Rinie, Frieren had been someone she had no reason to fight.
Frieren had directed killing intent at her, so self-defense was justification enough—
But even if she had won, Rinie had no idea what she would do afterward.
It was true she found Frieren irritating.
Her thoughts were already in disarray—
And Frieren's intervention had allowed her no time to sort them out.
Bad timing, perhaps.
But to Rinie, Frieren had been unbearably intrusive.
(But… now…)
Looking at her crumbling body, she thought—
(…Maybe this is fine.)
Strangely, she felt no despair.
No—
She had already given up.
(After making mistake after mistake… wanting to start over… was that itself a mistake? …Was it arrogant of me?)
Even the wish to return to that village one more time—
Even if nothing remained—
Was that too something she was not allowed?
Perhaps this was happening precisely because she had no right to it.
If that were so—
Then perhaps it was only natural that Frieren the Slayer, a member of the hero's party, was the one to deliver her end.
It was the ending meant for her.
Rinie opened her eyes and looked up.
Through her fading, mosaic-blurred vision, she could see the distant figure of the white mage looking down.
The moment she recognized her—
She realized her mouth was trying to say something.
—I'm sorry.
—Please forgive me.
—I won't do it again.
—Please save me.
The instinct of a demon reflexively tried to force those words from her throat—
But even her mouth would no longer move properly.
They did not emerge as sound.
Yet in inverse proportion, the instinct's command only grew stronger.
—Save me!
—I was only being threatened!
—Save me!
—I'm begging you, save me!
Her mouth tried to obey—
But it would not move.
(…So noisy.)
Rinie's heart was already weary even of that instinctive voice.
She glanced sideways.
In the distance lay Ange and the children, asleep in pools of blood.
(Shut up… I'm… already tired…)
Contrary to her instincts' screams, her heart had already lost the will to live.
She would simply disappear and be at ease.
There was nothing left to fear.
—Save me!
—Save me!
(…I said, shut up…)
She was about to curse the increasingly frantic instinct—
When that voice—
Triggered another voice in her mind.
—Save me!
—Help me!
(—What?)
Her consciousness froze at the sudden, different voice.
(…No, that wasn't my instinct… that wasn't my voice…)
—Help me!
—Someone, please!
—Papa, Mama… no!!
—Isn't there anyone!?
—Please, at least spare this life—!
—Run… Rinie-chan!
"—…!"
That last voice—
The voice of a neighbor who had once worried for her—
And once again, Rinie's vision was engulfed in flames.
"…Where is this…"
Rinie opened her eyes.
The sight before her—
Was that unforgettable hell.
The burning village.
People crying for help.
"…Did I come back?"
Before that endless sea of fire—
Rinie could only stand there, stunned.
Flames roared.
Screams echoed.
Then—
A small shadow suddenly passed by her.
Footsteps pattered past.
"…That just now—"
There was no mistaking that retreating figure.
No mistaking that small back.
It was unmistakably—
The Rinie of that day.
(…Her steps falter, just slightly…)
No one else would notice.
But Rinie could see it clearly—
Each time she heard cries for help, that small back slowed for just a moment.
But only for a moment.
Without stopping, that back kept running.
Unable to bear watching—
Rinie stepped forward to chase after her—
"Hey!"
A voice called out from behind, stopping her.
.
"Beyond that lies hell, you know?"
It was a boyish voice—innocent.
Different from the resigned, almost enlightened tone of the one in the red cloak—this voice sounded genuinely concerned for her.
"…I know. But I have to go."
And with that, Linie began to run as well.
She had to know.
That was why she had intended to return to this village in the first place.
What had she wanted to do?
—I should have wanted to help.
—Yet I shook off those cries, even that hell.
—What were you running for?
Holding that question in her heart, she retraced the path she had run that day.
This time, to understand.
She reached the outskirts of the village.
In front of a burning farm stood two human corpses.
And a demon man looking down at them.
And herself, from that day.
"…Ah."
She arrived in time to witness it again—
Herself, incited by the demon man, baring her fangs toward the two bodies.
"Stop!"
She reached out—but couldn't touch them.
As if blocked by something.
As if forbidden to change the past.
An invisible wall rejected her.
"Stop… don't eat them, please…"
She collapsed before the barrier.
She couldn't stop it.
Her younger self's fangs finally sank into the corpses and began to devour them.
Hungrily.
Desperately.
Crunch. Tear.
As if to force the sight upon her present self.
"…Ah… so that's…"
Realizing she couldn't stop it, Linie muttered.
"…It was just… that simple…"
Fighting down the surge of nausea, she understood.
It really had been that simple.
And yet—
She chose wrong.
"…So this is the hell Lady Linie experienced?"
A familiar voice spoke behind her.
She didn't need to ask who it was.
"…Lady Linie tried, in her own way, to protect her parents."
"…."
"But her unrecognized emotions, mixed with demonic instinct, led her to this act."
"…."
"Because she couldn't make it in time. Because she couldn't protect them. So at least, so they wouldn't be taken… so no one else could touch them… she tried to take them into herself."
"…Ugh…"
"That was the only way you could protect your parents' dignity, wasn't it?"
"That's not true!"
She shouted, cutting off the voice.
She knew the voice was right.
But she couldn't accept that as her "best" choice.
"If I had really thought that—
Even knowing I couldn't win—
Even knowing they wouldn't come back—
Even if everything was meaningless—
As their daughter—
I should have faced it!"
"…Lady Linie…"
"It's so stupid. I ran because I wanted to help… but I wasn't in time… and I dropped everything… it's so stupid…"
She had wanted to overturn this hell.
Instead, she had helped perpetuate it.
Failed her family. Failed those who cried for help.
And survived by stepping over that hell.
"…But then, you wouldn't be here now, Lady Linie."
The voice replied.
"I wouldn't have met you. The children wouldn't have met you."
"But because you stayed with me… you all…"
"If you hadn't saved us, none of us would be here either. What's right and what's wrong… we can't possibly know."
The voice spoke gently.
"Lady Linie… have you found what you want to do?"
"…I…"
She lowered her gaze.
She already knew.
Each time she saw the settlements she'd helped.
When she saved that parent and child—how fulfilled she had felt.
"This time, I…"
"…I see."
Sensing her answer, the voice smiled softly—sadly.
"I always had a feeling. That's why I wanted to change you. To be happy with you."
The voice stepped in front of her.
A nun's habit.
Then the burning farm vanished.
They stood alone in darkness.
"But even dreamlike times must end."
She turned.
With a flower-like smile, eyes glistening faintly, Ange spoke.
"It seems I have to go now."
"Wait…"
Linie reached out.
"Don't go… please…"
"Lady Linie."
"…I lied. I wasn't ready to part with you. I haven't repaid you anything—"
"You already made me happy enough."
Linie looked up.
"Meeting you. Being saved by you. Being protected by you. Seeing your smile. Everything was happiness."
"…Ange…"
"It was a miracle. And now it's time to pay for it. So you don't need to worry."
"I hate that…"
Ange shook her head gently.
"Please be happy, Lady Linie."
A light appeared behind her.
She was slowly drawn into it.
The children stood behind her, smiling.
"I'll always pray that one day, you'll regain your smile… and your happiness."
"…Ange."
As they disappeared into the light, Linie never looked away.
"Goodbye, Lady Linie."
"…Yeah."
Watching her vanish, Linie stood.
"Goodbye, Ange. I'll never forget."
And she too was swallowed by light.
◇
Linie, dissolving into black dust.
Frieren intended to watch until she vanished completely—
But then—
A brilliant light flared.
"…?"
Before Frieren could react, the body that should have been dispersing into dust was wrapped in light.
"Wha—"
A gentle, pale green glow.
Frieren knew that light well.
"This light… healing magic? And a powerful one at that."
There was no way the demon had cast it herself.
Demons using the Goddess's magic? Unheard of.
And even if they could, no ordinary healing spell could mend such mortal wounds.
Only Heiter came to mind as someone capable of such recovery—but he certainly wasn't here.
Frieren quickly traced the source of the magic.
And what she saw—
At the back of the chapel, among the corpses—
The holy scripture held in the arms of the fallen nun had opened to a page—and was shining on its own.
"…Impossible!"
Magic that continues until the caster dies exists.
Even barriers that remain after death exist.
But magic that activates after the caster's death?
She had never heard of such a thing.
Most likely, the nun had imbued the scripture beforehand with mana and a trigger condition—so that when the conditions were met, healing magic would activate automatically.
Such talent…
And it was used on a demon.
The wind of healing magic brushed past them, strong enough to stir their clothes.
(And of all beings… it had to be used on this demon.)
What had the nun been thinking?
It was pointless kindness.
Demons would only exploit it.
Frieren glared at Linie again.
◇
(…This light…)
As her consciousness returned, Linie saw the healing glow enveloping her fading body.
She realized immediately what it was.
(…I see. Ange knew…)
She remembered.
That day, after Ange had tied her hair.
When she'd dozed off in the chair.
Half-asleep, she'd felt Ange open the scripture and cast something on her.
A delayed-activation healing spell.
(…Thank you, Ange. I'll try a little longer.)
Rising slowly, her body stopped crumbling.
Wounds closed.
Missing flesh restored.
Though blood still stained her, she was healing.
"…You—"
Frieren's irritated voice reached her.
Ignoring it—
"—My body…"
Fully healed, she summoned black mana to both hands.
And—
Formed from swords.
A massive beam of Zoltraak shot toward her—enough to swallow her whole.
She gripped the replicated jeweled sword of Däch in both hands.
"I can't end here yet."
With a single slash—
She cleaved the beam apart.
The shockwave forced Frieren to shield herself.
"I don't know if this is right. But I have to move forward, Ange."
The sword in her hand now glowed—not with concentrated killing intent—
But with a strong, gentle light.
Frieren pointed her staff at her.
"So you even deceived the priest here. You really are dangerous. That's why I'll end this—"
"No."
Linie interrupted calmly.
"I didn't deceive her. I received her wish."
"…What?"
"The dead cannot raise their voices. And the living cannot conveniently hear them."
Frieren's grip tightened.
"So we have to live—and carry their wishes forward."
"You… what are you saying?"
"Step aside, mage. The enemy I must defeat isn't you."
She aimed the tip of the jeweled sword straight at Frieren.
"If you still stand in my way, then I'll strike you down first."
The prayer offered to the stardust would endure forever.
It would never be forgotten.