With Frieren supporting him, the replica was immediately forced into a corner.
Its twin blades whirled so tightly they formed an airtight net, but it still had to keep dodging piercing magic at just the right moments.
And in the split second it dealt with the ranged pressure—
Ren was already in its face.
"Got you."
He gave up defense entirely. His twin swords crossed into an X, then came down with a crushing, tidal-force swing.
This strike contained the maximum power he could currently bring out.
BOOM!
The replica's twin blades were blown away the instant they made contact.
Ren's swords followed through, carving down and sinking deep into its chest.
"Now! Frieren!" Ren roared.
A sharp glimmer flashed across Frieren's otherwise still, ancient eyes. At the tip of her staff, an impossibly pure white light burst forth.
Thup!
The beam pierced perfectly through the wound Ren had opened, punching straight through the replica.
Crackle.
The replica shattered completely, dissolving into a storm of black fragments that drifted through the dim royal tomb.
Ren slid his swords back into their sheaths—his hands shaking faintly.
That kind of high-intensity burst was still a strain for him.
"Are you okay?" Laufen hurried over, worry plain on her face.
"I'm fine." Ren let out a heavy breath, then looked at Frieren and blurted, "Thanks, you old fossil."
Frieren's brow instantly furrowed. She clearly hated being called old.
"Say that again and I'll do this to you next time…"
As she spoke, she lifted her staff and, with one clean strike, shattered the Water Mirror Demon.
…
Three Days Later.
Äußerst – Magic Association.
The notice for the third round had already been issued. All examinees who passed the second round gathered in the spacious waiting hall.
"For this examination," said the young man with glasses—Falsch, "the examiner will be Great Mage Serie in person."
The moment that name left his mouth, the hall fell into dead silence.
Serie.
A living legend.
An elf who had survived since the mythic age—said to possess nearly every spell recorded in human history, and hailed as the closest being to omniscience and omnipotence.
"This is going to be a pain," Frieren muttered under her breath.
Ren stood near the back of the crowd, unsurprised.
This was exactly how things went.
Because Frieren had entered the exam, Serie had taken a whim and decided to oversee it herself.
And the content of this round was blunt and simple.
An interview.
Or, more accurately…
Whether she liked you or not.
"The exam will take place in the garden," Falsch announced. "You'll go in one at a time, in the order your name is called."
He finished explaining and stepped aside.
The candidates began entering one by one.
The first few returned—every single one of them failed.
Even Lawine and Kanne came out looking devastated.
Fear began to spread.
A test with no standards, decided purely by the examiner's mood, was even more despair-inducing than monsters inside a labyrinth.
"…Frieren."
"Next, Fern."
"Next…"
"Next, Ren."
Falsch read each name aloud.
Ren adjusted his collar and straightened the twin swords at his waist.
Finally. My turn.
He pushed open the heavy wooden door, and a rich floral scent rushed over him.
The garden was in full bloom—flowers competing in color and brilliance. At its center lay a meticulously trimmed lawn.
At the far end of the grass, a small figure sat cross-legged atop a stone platform.
She looked like an elf girl of fifteen or sixteen.
Long golden hair spilled loosely down to the ground.
A simple sleeveless white robe exposed her slender, smooth shoulders.
She wore no shoes.
Her pale, delicate feet didn't touch the stone at all—they hovered slightly in the air, maintaining a cross-legged posture that looked casual… and strangely divine.
It was the ancient relic who had lived who-knew-how-long.
Serie.
Ren walked in and stopped about ten meters away.
The air here felt thick.
Even without releasing any pressure, the sheer difference in existence made people want to bow instinctively.
Serie propped her cheek on one hand. Her pale-gold eyes swept lazily over Ren.
Utterly emotionless.
As though she were looking at a weed. Or a rock.
"A warrior?" Serie's voice was cold. "This is a mage's examination ground. Who allowed you to bring blades in here?"
"The Association's rules say anyone who can use magic may participate," Ren replied evenly. "They don't say weapons are forbidden."
Serie's fingers tapped lightly against her cheek.
"How dull."
She withdrew her gaze. "You don't carry the scent a mage should. You reek of blood and iron."
"Fail. Leave."
Ren didn't move.
If he'd come this far, he had no intention of leaving empty-handed.
Fern passed because she could see through the fluctuations in mana.
Ren didn't have that absurd level of mana sensitivity.
But he'd seen the "script."
If he just repeated Fern's lines, he could probably scrape out a pass.
After all… only the result mattered.
"Serie-sama."
Ren stepped forward, meeting the gaze of the progenitor of mages. "Before you decide… I want to say this: your mana… is wavering."
The air solidified.
Serie's tapping finger stopped.
Slowly, she turned her head.
For the first time, focus appeared in those once-empty golden eyes.
A chill—sharp with offense.
Had he guessed right?
Or guessed wrong?
Serie stared at him for a full five seconds.
Then she smiled.
Not a smile of praise,
but a cold, mocking sneer laced with disdain.
"Wavering?"
Serie leaned forward. Her bare feet lowered gently to the ground as she walked toward him, step by step.
She stopped directly before him.
That doll-like face who looks perfectly sculpted, was now less than half a meter away.
"You can't see my mana at all."
Serie pierced straight through Ren's disguise.
"There is no reflection of mana flow in your eyes."
"You're a warrior. Perhaps you learned some crude, clumsy spells—but you know nothing of mana's true nature."
Her gaze sharpened, as though reading him inside and out.
"And you don't even realize you're under the effect of a troublesome spell."
Then her expression shifted—faint interest blooming in the coldness.
"But that makes this interesting…"
Serie raised one pale finger and gently pressed it to Ren's chest.
"If you can't see it... why did you say that?"
"Who told you?"
The corner of Serie's mouth curved into a dangerous arc.
"Frieren? No. That idiot wouldn't teach someone to cheat."
"That purple-haired girl? Doesn't seem like her either."
She leaned close to Ren's ear and whispered softly.
"Either way… trying to slip through with such a sloppy lie takes some nerve."
"But…"
Her tone changed.
"If you can touch information from that level, then you must have some tricks."
"I don't dislike ambition."
"And I don't dislike liars—so long as the lie is good enough."
She closed her eyes again and flicked her hand dismissively.
"But unfortunately…"
"Your lie is terrible."
"Fail."
Ren stood there, his palms slick with cold sweat.
This… wasn't how this was supposed to go.
And what did she mean by "a troublesome spell"?
Was she talking about being brought into this world by goddess magic?
Or something else entirely?