On the "Hill of Swords" beneath a dark night illuminated by the full moon, the ceaseless clash of blades rang out.
The earth was scorched black, and thin streams of dark smoke—like incense offered to mourn the dead—rose here and there. On distant hills, grotesquely withered trees grew in tangled clusters.
Trees that had forgotten how to color their leaves or bear fruit, now rotting away.
Back when she had lived in that village—or when she had spent her days with the ange—had those trees ever borne fruit, even for a fleeting moment? No one remained who could know.
This world was already dead.
Only the dazzling moonlight illuminated the corpse of a world.
It was not meaningless. And yet, neither could this scene accomplish anything now, nor bring about anything new.
This was a world where everything but swords had died.
Amidst universal death, only the iron heartbeat of clashing blades still lived.
A world that contained infinite swords.
Its name was "Unlimited Blade Works."
A world where nothing but swords existed—at the same time, it was also the culmination of Linie's journey thus far.
The labyrinths conquered one after another by the Hero Himmel.
She had followed in their wake, visiting the liberated treasure vaults, analyzing and imitating each sacred blade stored within, preserving them in this world. Even swords that had appeared in myth were no exception. …Ironically, while the Executor's activities had opened the path of Himmel's journey, Himmel's journey had in turn indirectly continued to grant power to the Executor. At that time, such a strange relationship of mutual benefit had existed.
Not only from labyrinth treasure vaults—she had traversed the battlefields between the human army and the Demon King's forces, and even the demonic swords forged from otherworldly materials created by demons. If it was a "sword," it was imitated and stored without exception.
Therefore, there existed no sword that was not present in this world. Even swords that no longer existed in reality were here.
"Ferkafesen — The Magic That Creates a Giant from Fragments of Earth."
Centered around the great mage Frieren, who floated in the air by magic, fragments of earth from the hill swirled upward around her.
Those rising fragments also served as defense against the surrounding sea of swords.
A defensive spell would be shattered instantly—it was obvious.
Whether famous or nameless, every sword contained magic and mystery. If they came flying at high speed, defensive magic would mean nothing.
Thus, Frieren lifted fragments of earth around herself as protection.
An act akin to causing a miniature natural disaster. Yet to perform such a feat so effortlessly while restricting her mana—that was what made her a great mage.
Still, Frieren understood.
—If her opponent truly wished it, she would already be finished even in the instant required to activate this spell.
The swirling fragments converged, forming the shape of a gigantic rock golem.
Landing atop its head, Frieren looked down upon her enemy.
"Dragate — The Magic That Turns Stone into Bullets."
The remaining fragments of earth were instantly transformed into projectiles and launched.
Massive boulders—far too large to simply call "stones"—were sent mercilessly toward her.
In modern magical warfare, where defensive magic against Zoltraak had become widespread, this was one of the simplest yet most optimal attack methods.
But to launch boulders of such scale as bullets—that was proof of being a mage.
Facing the oncoming swarm of massive rocks, the girl stepped forward without hesitation.
If what approached her was as heavy as a giant boulder, then she would respond with equal weight.
From among the infinite swords embedded in the ground, she took up one demonic blade—
"Revoltsvai, the Divine Skill Shattering Sword."
The "Divine Skill Shattering Sword" once created and wielded by the four-armed demon general through magic. This was a modified version, reduced to a size manageable to wield. Light as a feather when swung, yet heavy as a massive boulder upon impact—a convenient contradiction embodied in a single blade.
Combining it with a sword technique derived from Eisen's style that she had imitated and refined, she shattered the incoming boulders one after another.
The moment she crushed the final rock, she leapt backward before the spear of light that had closed in to strike her.
"Catastrovía — The Magic That Unleashes the Light of Judgment."
The launched boulders had been nothing more than a distraction.
From the gaps between the shattered rocks, unceasing arrows of light rained down.
Yet the girl lightly twisted her body midair, avoiding each one by a hair's breadth.
Her clothes fluttered as she spun—evading like a dancer in motion.
Having dodged the thousands of instantaneous light arrows and landed, the girl left a fleeting opening—and Frieren did not miss it.
"Judrajilum — The Magic That Unleashes Ruinous Lightning."
She had bought enough time. Created enough distance.
This time, she would finish it.
Dozens of pale blue bolts of ruin overlapped and surged forward.
The sight seemed unbearably unreasonable.
And in response, the girl simply rose—without moving from her place.
On a distant hill, the swords that had lain dormant began to stir.
From hills across the land, greatswords with delta-shaped blades were pulled free, their number matching the lightning bolts exactly, tearing through the sky toward Linie.
They were faster than the lightning that had been unleashed first.
Reaching her, the greatswords intercepted Frieren's lightning and embedded themselves once more into the earth.
They did not shatter. One pierced the ground directly before Liniere.
Facing the lightning that had nearly struck her, Linie showed no fear as she looked up at Frieren atop the rock golem.
(Even this… isn't enough?)
She knew she was being held back against.
She understood that if her opponent truly intended it, she would already be dead.
Even so—now, while her opponent was engaging in a contest of magic, this was her chance.
And yet, she could not reach her.
At the very last instant, swords embedded in the earth obstructed her.
No matter how fast she fired her spells, the one who had already prepared the swords would always be faster.
(As expected… unless it's the rapid-cast Zoltraak… but even that Zoltraak…)
Frieren recalled the sight of her Zoltraak being crushed at the very beginning.
A gap of time that no mage could possibly react to.
A sword strike that pierced through that fleeting void of awareness—an instant that inevitably arises no matter how perfected one's magic.
"Not like you, mage."
At Liniere's distant voice, Frieren halted her thoughts.
A demon's words were nothing but worthless lies meant to unsettle her and exploit an opening.
…Even so, judging that having time to think was advantageous, Frieren listened.
"It's completely different from when I saw you from afar sixty years ago. The intervals between your spells. The impatience to kill me… I don't feel the composure you had back then at all."
"..."
Frieren remained silent.
She was aware of it.
But she would not be led by a demon's tongue.
"Are you afraid of being alone? Without the hero's party, you're just a solitary mage again. Everyone leaves you behind."
…Yes. After all, this one should be killed here and now.
A demon capable of understanding people this deeply—and provoking them—would deceive and devour many in the future.
She understands the concept of "loneliness."
Indeed, I am slightly irritated right now.
"But I think I understand, just a little. The backs of you heroes were that dazzling."
And one who speaks as though drawing close to her prey—
That is precisely why she is dangerous.
That is why she must be killed here.
"...That may be true, but—"
Frieren did not deny those words.
"Don't you dare speak of Himmel and the others."
That alone, she would not forgive.
Even she had only realized their radiance after losing them.
To tolerate this demon—who had merely watched their backs once from afar and now feigned understanding—was impossible.
"...You're right. I realized it far too late to speak of it."
Murmuring with something akin to resignation, Linie pulled the sword embedded before her from the ground with her left hand.
A nameless sacred blade, its golden hilt adorned with ornamentation, its blade engraved fully with crests.
Yet like the others embedded in this hill, it carried magic.
"In the end, I only understood after I lost it—"
"A half-hearted fool."
Pointing the blade toward Frieren, she declared it.
A sound—like something snapping—echoed faintly.
Frieren could not comprehend that Linie's words were self-directed scorn. Having discarded the premise that demons possess such hearts, she took the words as aimed squarely at herself.
And unfortunately—
they struck true.
"...I see."
Frieren lowered her gaze.
Quietly—forcing the words out—
"You demons really are monsters after all. I'll kill you without mercy."
An expressionless face is, in truth, the purest manifestation of killing intent.
Frieren raised her staff.
A spell that overwrites reality with the landscape of one's inner world—yes, it was powerful.
It irritated her to acknowledge demon magic, but a spell that surpassed human wisdom and reason undeniably carried weight.
In terms of scale aside—even by standard alone—it might surpass Aura's Auserlese, the Magic of Subjugation, or Macht's Diagoldze, the Magic that Turns All Things to Gold.
Those spells merely dominated or transformed what already existed.
This was different.
This rewrote the world itself.
If that was not beyond all standards, then what was?
Even so—if the spell operated on such a scale, the opponent's mana consumption could not be trivial.
(The real question is whether the maximum mana I sensed from her earlier truly matches what I detected.)
Even at that time, her precision in suppressing mana had rivaled Frieren's own. There was no certainty.
If her mana truly was as Frieren had sensed, then this world would not last long.
…Which meant the only indicator would be the opponent's behavior.
(How ironic. In a sense, it's something even I cannot achieve. By introducing fluctuation into precision itself, she creates a far more effective misdirection than simply refining it. It's not a single deception—she keeps repeating it, throwing me into confusion.)
The more knowledgeable a mage was about mana suppression—cowardly and meticulous like Frieren—the more effective that deception would be.
The amount of mana she had sensed from Liniere could not serve as proof.
(That composure—the confidence that she can kill me anytime… I have to admit it. This world is a natural enemy to mages—especially to me.)
Then she would have to exploit that complacency.
The less time the opponent had, the more serious she would become.
Conversely, if the opponent truly resolved to kill her, that would indicate her time and leeway were shrinking.
If she could seize that impatience—perhaps.
—Therefore, only basic offensive magic would do.
Even if Zoltraak was slow in this world, it was still the fastest option available.
That was why she had formed the golem from earth fragments—to gain a foothold farther from the swords embedded in the ground.
If she simply remained airborne with flight magic, the swords would shoot her down—and she had no idea how she would be pressed afterward.
Thinking so, she aimed her staff at Linie—
And attempted to release Zoltraak.
Only to realize that even that calculation had been naive.
Until now, the infinite swords had only been embedded in the earth.
But the instant Frieren activated the Zoltraak formula, countless swords suddenly appeared in the air around her—surrounding her completely—each blade pointed directly at her.
"—!?"
"That Zoltraak is troublesome, you see."
Dozens of treasured blades descended at once from above.
Leaving trails of purple, gleaming mana, they shot straight toward her.
Counterfeit crystallizations of humanity's ultimate wisdom—yet now wielded by the demon Liniere, arriving as bullet-like blades aimed at the human Frieren.
Each one alone could not be stopped by defensive magic.
A rain of sacred swords.
Seeing her Zoltraak's light—deployed in far greater numbers than before—being erased, Frieren leapt instantly from the golem's head to evade.
The treasured swords streaked past her.
But they were not aiming for Frieren.
Their target was the massive golem beneath her.
It was sliced apart—shattered—reduced to dust in an instant.
And then—
She detected a surge of mana directly above her.
"—!?"
Reflexively, Frieren deployed defensive magic in that direction.
But while her barrier excelled against magic, it was comparatively weak against pure physical force.
Unable to deflect it, overwhelmed by sheer physical pressure, Frieren was slammed into the ground—barrier and all.
An explosion of dust and shock erupted from the impact point.
The force that shook the earth expelled the air from her lungs, making her cough—but she avoided a fatal wound.
In that split second, she had also deployed defensive magic beneath herself to cushion the fall.
Meanwhile, the barrier that had blocked the descending strike still clashed with the sword's tip, sparks and mana scattering as they pushed against each other.
"When I first ambushed you at the monastery, timing it with your Zoltraak, I felt something was off."
"—!"
Pressing her treasured blade against Frieren's barrier—forcing her into the earth—Linie spoke calmly.
Using fragments of the shattered golem as footing, Linie had leapt higher than Frieren, then plunged downward with her blade aimed straight below—a surprise attack.
"And after observing the flow of your mana, I was certain."
Frieren's expression remained composed, but her brows tightened faintly.
Unfazed, Liniere continued, pinning Frieren down with the blade pressing against the barrier.
Moments ago, Frieren had been the one looking down.
That dynamic had reversed in an instant.
"You lose mana detection for the briefest moment when you cast a spell."
"..."
So she had noticed.
Frieren's frown deepened.
"In this world, I hold absolute advantage in the opening move against mages. No matter how fast you activate your spells, I've already prepared my swords. I'm always one step ahead."
Frieren knew that well enough.
"But your flaw makes it even more fatal. Compared to other mages, this world bares its fangs more harshly at you."
Cracks spread across the defensive barrier as Linie spoke.
Though resilient against magical attacks, it was weak against physical force. With Liniere's swordsmanship and treasured blade—tempered through countless battles—she could shatter it at any moment.
Yet she restrained her strength, just enough to keep Frieren immobilized.
Frieren had long known this.
Her weakness. Her immaturity.
She understood it more painfully than anyone.
That was why she had trained for years, refining herself to reduce that gap as much as possible.
Though common among apprentice mages, her lapse was microscopic—so small that most mages could not even perceive it.
And yet—even that infinitesimal gap became fatal in this absurd world.
Even Frieren, a great mage, could never have anticipated facing such a world as an enemy.
"To think that on my first use, it would suit you this perfectly. What a coincidence… Fate is amusing."
With a sharp crack, the barrier shattered.
The treasured blade sliced across Frieren's right shoulder.
Blood burst forth.
She immediately sealed the wound with a membrane of mana to stop the bleeding—but the injury itself could not be undone.
Creating distance at once, Frieren tried to fire Zoltraak at Liniere—
But before she could—
Once again, the surrounding treasured swords obstructed it.
The gap between activation and release.
For Frieren, an added lapse in mana detection.
And this time, the swords aimed not only at the Zoltraak formula—but at Frieren herself.
Unable to react, unable to detect—
The blades tore into her body mercilessly.
"—!"
Her face twisted.
Yet contrary to the pain, the wounds were not deep.
"Katzbalger, the Skin-Flaying Cat Sword. A treasured blade specialized in peeling skin. Its direct lethality is low, though."
Unspoken, the message was clear: she had held back.
Frieren saw strips of her own peeled skin fall to the ground.
Exposed flesh glistened painfully beneath—but had those been other blades, she would surely be dead.
"Petty little shots like that are troublesome. What I want is a real magic duel—with you at full strength. If you refuse to fight seriously—then the moment you try to fire that again, I'll sever your head without hesitation."
"—!"
Zoltraak—the only spell capable of matching this world in speed.
And Linie told her to discard it.
To cast it aside, exposing an even larger gap.
It was tantamount to offering her neck.
She should already be dead, if her opponent truly wished it.
Yet Linie prolonged her life—for the sake of a "magic duel."
And then Frieren understood.
Ah… how convenient.
For the brief time before this world drained your mana dry, I'll indulge you.
She steeled herself—
Until Linie's next words froze time.
"Relieved?"
Frieren looked up.
Her widened eyes trembled in disbelief.
Liniere sighed faintly.
"Why that expression? Despite standing in a position where I could kill you at any moment… you're relieved by my very demon-like insistence on a full-strength magic duel, aren't you?"
At those words—seeing straight through her—spoken in a voice that seemed to mock and laugh at her absurdity, Frieren lost her own.
For demons, such arrogance was natural.
Taking advantage of that very trait, Frieren had deceived them and crushed them head-on time and time again.
While fighting this demon, she had often feared that her usual assumptions might not apply.
So normally, this shouldn't have been something that reassured her.
It had simply been the most efficient way.
It had simply been common sense.
And yet—now that the demon before her had shown the very arrogance that fit that mold…
She had felt relieved.
In other words, that relief meant—
Acknowledging that this demon's act—trying to protect the corpses of that nun and the children—had not been genuine.
If it had been Himmel…
He would have surely stopped in that moment.
And yet she had fired without hesitation.
Telling herself it was only natural.
Reassuring herself that—not Himmel—but she was the one who was right.
—And in doing so, you kill Hero Himmel.
Just as you did with the other humans you spent time with but never tried to understand—you will repeat the same mistake again.
It felt as though someone had said that to her.
Under normal circumstances, Frieren would not have taken it this seriously.
But after being forced again and again to confront the irregularity that was Linie—after having her very foundations shaken—
Those words struck deep.
"…Shut…"
Covering the flayed part of her skin with a membrane of mana, Frieren poured both magic and strength into her staff.
"Shut up!!"
Something inside her finally broke.
Until now, no matter how shaken she was, her expression had remained frozen like ice.
Now—
Her face twisted in earnest fury as she lunged at Linie.
"Shut up, shut up, shut uuuup!!"
She swung her staff wreathed in flames and attacked.
Of course Frieren knew close combat.
It was true that mages were helpless if warriors closed the distance—but only when facing warriors who exceeded their reaction speed.
Even surrounded by ordinary fighters, Frieren could react, evade, and counter without magic through sheer martial discipline.
But the warrior before her was Linie.
The flaming staff was easily blocked by the jeweled sword.
Linie retreated.
And in response, Frieren's body dissolved into mana.
The instant she vanished, she teleported directly before Linie—staff already charged with the light of Zoltraak, aimed point-blank.
It was unlike Frieren to fight this way against a warrior who sought distance.
Even so, for most fighters—even seasoned veterans—suddenly appearing before them with such light thrust at their face would be impossible to handle.
But before the light could swallow Linie—
Frieren's vision darkened.
At the same time Linie deflected the staff with her jeweled sword, she used the momentum of that rotation to leap upward—
A kick slammed toward Frieren's face.
The exposed, flayed flesh was struck directly.
Frieren's body was blown away.
She hit the ground and continued sliding, carving a long scar into the earth through sheer impact.
Dust rose high.
Through the haze, Linie simply watched calmly.
"…As expected. Those with a lot of mana are tough."
She spoke flatly.
As the dust cleared, she saw the staggering silhouette rise.
When the haze finally dispersed, Frieren stood there—tattered and battered.
"…Enough. I don't care about any of it anymore."
Brushing dirt from her clothes, Frieren muttered hoarsely.
Ironically, it was the same phrase Linie had spoken at the beginning.
"I'm going to kill you. Even if it costs everything I am, I will kill you here."
Linie's existence had become something Frieren could not allow.
Something that must be denied at any cost.
Something that could shake her very foundation.
Even if she had to shake that foundation herself—she would erase Linie completely.
This was no longer about victory or defeat.
If she could not deny everything about this demon—
She felt she would never be able to move forward again.
She released her mana restraints.
At once, an overwhelming torrent of magic burst outward—visible even to Linie.
A storm of mana and killing intent.
Before such a force, an ordinary demon would fall to their knees and beg for mercy—or flee without hesitation.
And yet—
Linie smiled like a demon.
—Good. Now I can finally fight you at full strength.
It had been worth provoking her while holding back, careful not to kill her.
Even if Zoltraak was the optimal solution against the world—
It would not break Frieren's heart.
Zoltraak was a modern spell. For a long-lived being like Frieren, it was not truly her magic. Even if she had taken it from its creator, Qual, studied it, and spread it to humanity—
That fact would not change.
No matter how many times Linie shot it down, Frieren's pride as a mage would not break.
Therefore—
She had to shatter the magic Frieren was truly familiar with.
—But time is short.
—This is the decisive moment.
Frieren, restraints lifted.
"Live unnoticed, Frieren."
"You are a mage meant to live in times of peace."
First—
She killed the teachings of her master, Flamme.
Then—
She killed Himmel's will.
Even if she had to twist herself beyond recognition—
She would annihilate Linie without leaving a trace.
The door to unknown magic opened.
Spells even Linie could not comprehend.
Wind. Flame. Water. Light. Darkness.
No—
Magic that transcended even such concepts assaulted her.
Linie swung the jeweled sword embedded in the ground, sweeping the spells aside.
With every few swings, the blade shattered.
Each time, she pulled forth another jeweled sword and nullified the attack.
Step by step, she was driven backward.
Judging the distance sufficient—
A massive magic circle appeared behind Frieren.
Not a single grand formation, but multiple systems intertwined—complex, layered spell structures woven together.
Countless smaller magic circles connected and entangled, forming one colossal sigil that covered the sky.
A true Grand Spell.
Worthy of the title "The Mage of Funeral."
The very magic that had buried more demons than any other bared its fangs at Linie.
Before it could fire—
The jeweled swords on the distant hill stirred once more.
To Frieren's eyes, they looked like shooting stars.
Just before the grand spell activated—
Even if one formula were destroyed, others would compensate and regenerate. Destroying ten or twenty would not stop it.
And yet—
Dozens of jeweled swords burst from the hill, leaving trails of violet mana as they flew.
Simultaneously.
Precisely.
Without missing a single one—
They shot down every magic circle that formed the grand spell.
And together with that meteor shower—
Linie ran.
And leapt.
Her decisive spell destroyed, Frieren unleashed another storm of magic at the demon charging toward her midair.
Light and steel clashed.
Blades rang ceaselessly.
Within that storm, Linie seized a treasured battle-axe, spun her body in midair, and pressed forward.
Breaking through the first wave, she landed briefly—
Then, focusing all remaining mana, sprinted at full speed toward Frieren.
A long-hafted axe in her right hand.
Naturally, Frieren tried to retreat—leaping into the sky.
But the jeweled swords would not let her.
The instant she used magic, her mana detection would falter—and the blades would pierce her without mercy.
Easily foreseeing that outcome, Frieren had no choice but to cease casting mid-motion.
It was, perhaps, an inevitable result from the moment a mage stepped into this battlefield.
As she leapt through the air, the blades grazed her.
Dozens of cuts already covered her body.
Yet she did not lose balance.
Which was precisely why—
Having closed the distance—
Linie released the axe.
Seized a demonic sword along her path—
And leapt again.
Using the flying jeweled swords as footholds, she vaulted higher—
Looking down at Frieren struggling midair among the blades—
She reversed her grip on the demonic sword.
Took aim.
And—
"Pseudo · Pseudo · Divine-Era Shattering Sword — Schwer Volke III"
While releasing the power of the demonic sword in her hand at the lowest possible output, she hurled it with all her might—using a technique she had mimicked from a spear-throwing warrior.
Wrapped in a violent gravitational wave, the demonic blade surged forward. As it passed by Frieren, it dragged her—caught within the radius of that gravitational field—down with it and pierced into the ground.
Amid the billowing dust, Frieren was smashed into the earth once more.
Switching back to her treasured axe, Linie charged.
Unable to move, facing a warrior steadily closing the distance—
Even for a mage of Frieren's caliber, it was a desperate situation.
And yet—
Frieren raised her face, her eyes staring straight at Linie.
"—!?"
Linie's eyes widened.
She felt nothing.
No threat whatsoever.
Just a direct gaze. Nothing more.
And yet—
Even if she could not feel it… her eyes clearly captured the flow.
Suddenly, with a violent shock, Linie's body was blasted high into the air.
This time for sure—she thought—it was decided.
"—!?"
Now it was Frieren's turn to widen her eyes.
A magic circle had been deployed at her feet and activated.
She had intended to mercilessly blow Linie—within her sight—far away and finish her off.
Frieren looked up in the direction she had sent her flying.
A world where only swords lived.
A desolate, scorched earth.
Lonely black smoke rising into the air.
And even in such a world, the full moon shone brightly, gently illuminating everything.
With that moon at her back—
The prodigy stood there.
"—'Leaf Mirror of the Demonic Flower That Enacts Retribution — Roa Chaos.'"
From her outstretched right hand toward Frieren on the ground, gigantic translucent leaves unfolded, layered like a shield and glowing faintly.
Through that radiant barrier, Linie gazed down coolly at Frieren.
(As I thought… you're incredible.)
Watching cracks spread across Chaos's shield, Linie inwardly admired the astonished Frieren.
This shield was supposed to be her ultimate defense—capable of reflecting any magic.
And yet instead of reflecting it, it had failed even to nullify the impact, launching Linie herself skyward.
(Neither I nor this shield could even recognize that as magic. As expected—you stand far above any mage I've ever met.)
Her admiration for Frieren deepened.
…Precisely because she had longed for someone like her, she could not afford to stop here.
Chaos's shield could not reflect Frieren's "magic that could not be recognized as magic." It couldn't even nullify the shock and had sent Linie high into the air.
And yet—
She had defended against it.
Even if she couldn't perceive it as magic.
Even if she couldn't detect its mana.
Just before it was cast, she had seen the flow inside Frieren's body change—and sensed that something was coming.
Frieren stood stunned.
If Frieren did not cease her spell, Chaos's shield would shatter, and Linie would be blasted away and killed.
But—
This world would not permit that.
The treasured swords embedded around them stirred and attacked Frieren, targeting her wounded and exposed body.
To deal with them… she inevitably had to release the spell binding Linie.
"—Tch."
Forced to fend off the incoming blades, Frieren clicked her tongue.
Freed from restraint, Linie fell—Chaos's shield still deployed before her.
Mid-fall, she mimicked the sword in her other hand.
Now close enough that she no longer needed the shield, Linie dispelled it and leapt from above toward Frieren.
In her hand—
The sword of Himmel.
And the movement she used—
Was one she had once seen Himmel perform.
Frieren's breath caught.
Her understanding could no longer keep up. Overlapping Himmel's image with Linie's descending strike, she stood frozen.
Even if she tried to respond—
A mage could never match a warrior in such a moment.
"—Ah."
The instant she landed, Linie mercilessly severed Frieren's right arm—the one holding the staff—with Himmel's sword.
With the passing shock, the strike of the man who had once traveled beside her, who had made her want to understand humans, became a blade of despair that stole her arm.
Frieren glanced at the severed cross-section, a powerless voice escaping her lips.
Without hesitation—
Linie discarded Himmel's sword and switched to another demonic blade at hand.
A bone sword.
Her staff and arm blown away.
The distance closed.
Frieren stood at the edge of despair.
And yet—
Her eyes had not lost hope.
(Soon… If my judgment is correct… very soon…!!)
Retreating before the approaching bone blade—
The moment its edge bit into her side—
Cracks burst through space itself.
And with a resounding fracture—
That world came to an end.
◇
The world returned to normal.
Silence once again filled the ruined chapel of the monastery, and the two faced each other once more.
Linie, uninjured but collapsed from mana exhaustion.
Frieren—missing one arm, blood-soaked, barely breathing—raised her retrieved staff and pointed it at the fallen Linie.
Radiating from Linie were cracks in the ground—perhaps the shock of activating that world, or perhaps the world's own scream.
Frieren didn't care.
She had a sliver of mana left.
Her opponent had none.
(I… won…)
She had won the gamble.
Though she had risen to the provocation and fought at full power—
She had never lost her final composure.
Her sole chance of victory from the beginning had been to endure that world until Linie ran out of mana.
"This… is the end…"
Frieren spoke quietly.
Inside, her heart was filled with hollow joy.
At last, she could erase this hateful demon.
And yet—
She felt as though she had irrevocably betrayed something.
But now that it had come to this—
She was the one who was right.
…Or so she thought.
The next instant—
Her vision wavered.
As if mirroring Linie, she too dropped to her knees.
"W-What…?"
Pain suddenly surged.
Tracing it—
The wound in her side where the bone blade had bitten pulsed and screamed.
A black mist began to pour out, invading her wounded body.
"—Tch!?"
Suppressing the spreading black haze with her remaining mana, Frieren thought desperately.
—A curse… could it be that bone sword?
Looking up, she glared at Linie, who was also gasping on the ground.
A faint smile curved Linie's lips.
"The bet… is mine."
"You… that blade… haah…"
Clutching her side in agony, Frieren writhed.
"'Bone Blade of the Dark Dragon'… a counterfeit. It was too difficult to handle, so I only used it once before. But it seems within that bounded world, the curse can be controlled to a degree. Perfect for a finishing move."
The true curse of that blade was far too dreadful to be fully reproduced within that world.
It wasn't that the forged sword replicated the curse—
The curse itself took root even in the counterfeit.
Within the "Infinite Sword Creation," the curse had been incomplete—weak enough for a mage like Frieren to ignore.
But now—
Cast outside the barrier—
It transformed into the genuine article, devouring her.
With the spreading black mist, the invaded parts of her body began turning into scales like those of the Dark Dragon.
With her remaining mana, she barely resisted.
But at this rate—
She wouldn't even be able to kill the demon before her.
A once-in-a-lifetime chance—wasted.
Trembling with frustration—
"Still… there's time."
"…?"
Though wracked by the curse, Frieren looked up at Linie.
Rising to her feet, Linie looked down at her.
"This area is right on the border between the Southern Nations and the Central Nations. Many who fled the war passed through the checkpoints and took refuge in the Holy Capital."
"…!"
Frieren understood.
But she could not accept it.
"That capital's church should still have your former companion—the priest. If you hurry there while enduring the curse with what mana you have left… your arm and the curse might still be saved."
Linie spoke gently, almost kindly.
The earlier hostility was gone.
She truly intended to let Frieren go.
"…Why…?"
With ragged breath, Frieren forced out the question.
Why would a demon spare her?
After all the hostility?
Why let her live?
"Do you have time to ask that? I still have enough mana to forge one more blade… Or would someone like you really wish for a demon's mercy killing?"
"…."
Frieren stood.
She realized she would get no answer.
Slowly, she picked up her severed arm, staggered toward the monastery entrance, and stepped outside.
Linie watched her retreating back—heavy with defeat.
After a while, she too stepped outside.
The real moonlight illuminated her in the cold night.
"Even if I told you… you wouldn't believe me."
Partly for the sake of that crucial first step toward her ideal.
Partly because she didn't want to kill the Frieren she admired.
But above all—
Turning her gaze sideways, she saw the charred orchard.
The farm she had cultivated with Ange and the others, along with her own growing emotions.
…Looking at a single apple that had survived the flames, slightly scorched but still intact, Linie murmured her answer.
"—Consider it thanks for putting out the fire in the orchard."
Looking up at the moon—
Linie gave a faint, self-mocking smile.