Chapter 267

Frieren looked at Lernen and casually cast a detection spell.

Under her scrutiny, his mana felt like a blade that had been sharpened day after day and kept permanently drawn from its sheath.

His attitude also told her something else.

"So you really can see the fluctuations in my mana."

"Your skill as a mage is remarkably high. Almost too high for someone born in an age of peace."

Lernen showed no surprise that Frieren had seen through him.

"That’s right. Fighting is all I know. I’m a mage who belongs to an older age."

There was no self-mockery or resentment in his voice. He spoke as though he were merely stating an ordinary fact.

Yet Lernen had been born after the Demon King’s defeat, into an era of peace. He possessed skills that could have made him a fearsome force on the battlefield, but there was nowhere for those talents to truly shine.

"Lady Serie says the same thing quite often. She tells me that if I had been born during the war against the Demon King’s army, I might have gone down in history alongside the famous heroes of that age."

For the first time, a faint light appeared in Lernen’s eyes.

The truth was that he envied those heroes.

They had been given the chance to prove themselves on the battlefield and carve their names into history.

Had Lernen lived in that era as well, perhaps he too could have left a mark in Serie’s long life—something that even the passing centuries could never erase.

Frieren watched him, her confusion only deepening.

She could clearly feel the fighting spirit coming from Lernen, but she still did not understand why he had brought that determination to her.

"I see. So why did you come looking for me?"

Lernen did not bother with any preamble.

"Among Lady Serie’s disciples, only one has ever achieved a place in history—the legendary Great Mage Flamme."

When he spoke Flamme’s name, admiration entered his voice, accompanied by a trace of frustration he could not entirely hide.

Flamme had been Serie’s greatest student.

Her name had been written into the history of magic, passed down from generation to generation, and preserved forever in Serie’s memory.

But Lernen?

He was merely one of Serie’s many disciples, an ordinary mage whose greatest talent happened to be fighting.

Once he died of old age, perhaps it would not even take a century before the world forgot him completely.

"When I die, there will be one fewer person left who serves as proof that Lady Serie lived through this age."

For the first time, genuine unwillingness entered Lernen’s voice.

He did not want to disappear quietly.

He did not want Serie to look around in some distant future and discover that almost no one remained who remembered the life she had once lived.

"I don’t want her to be alone in the future."

Lernen did not truly care about fame for its own sake.

What he wanted was to leave something behind in Serie’s impossibly long life—something that could never be erased.

"Even if what remains is the infamy of being the mage who killed the legendary Frieren."

The instant those words left his mouth, Lernen’s fighting spirit erupted without restraint.

His staff was already in his hand.

Without hesitation, beams of concentrated mana shot directly toward Frieren.

They crossed the distance in the blink of an eye.

Frieren raised a defensive barrier, but she did not draw her staff.

It was obvious that she had no intention of seriously fighting Lernen.

Without a staff to serve as a proper medium, however, the barrier she hastily formed could only be so strong.

Dark-purple mana slammed into it.

A moment later, the defense shattered.

One of the attacks grazed Frieren’s right shoulder, tearing open a wound.

Lernen never took his eyes off her.

He looked at the blood staining her shoulder.

At the staff she still had not bothered to draw.

At the calm expression that had not changed even after she was injured.

Instead of feeling satisfaction at landing a hit, an even stronger frustration welled up inside him.

What he wanted was a true battle against the legendary Frieren.

Not this halfhearted exchange where she refused even to take out her weapon.

His grip tightened around his staff.

"Would you please fight me seriously, Frieren?"

"No."

Frieren rejected him immediately.

"Fighting you would just be a waste of time."

She looked at Lernen with an exasperated expression.

"Honestly, why are mages who only care about fighting always so awkward?"

Lernen was like this.

Serie was exactly the same.

"You don’t need to make sure your name survives in history."

"Serie remembers all of you."

Lernen froze.

"She’s terrible at being honest about how she feels toward her students. She really is like a child."

Frieren could not resist taking another jab at her.

Serie had watched countless people enter and leave her life over the centuries.

Yet she still remembered every one of her students—the magic they had used, the dreams they had carried, and the things they had wanted from life.

She simply never said any of it aloud.

Instead, Serie watched them follow their own paths in her own painfully awkward way.

The fighting spirit surrounding Lernen vanished completely.

His staff slowly lowered.

All this time, he had believed that the only way to remain in Serie’s memory was to become someone whose name survived through history.

It had never occurred to him that Serie remembered him already.

Haruto walked over and glanced at the wound on Frieren’s shoulder, which was still bleeding.

"Frieren, want me to heal that?"

The injury was not particularly serious, but if she left it to recover naturally, it would still take several days.

They would be traveling again soon, and there was little reason to carry an injury around unnecessarily.

"No need."

Frieren shook her head.

She raised her left hand and held it over the wound on her right shoulder.

A soft glow appeared at her fingertips and enveloped the damaged flesh.

The bleeding stopped almost immediately.

Before their eyes, the torn muscle and skin rapidly knitted themselves back together. Within moments, the wound had disappeared completely without leaving even the faintest scar.

Only the torn fabric of her clothes remained as evidence that she had been hit at all.

Frieren rolled her shoulder and moved her arm experimentally.

A pleasantly surprised smile appeared on her face.

"Huh. This healing spell is actually pretty useful."

Haruto watched how casually she had done it and felt a faint sense of defeat.

It had taken him a long time to learn healing magic well enough to cast it reliably.

Frieren had listened to his explanation once.

Less than two days later, she was already using it as though she had known the spell for years.

Then again, she was a legendary mage who had lived for a thousand years.

Her talent and accumulated experience were simply on another level.

At that moment, Fern finally finished the privilege-granting ceremony.

A faint smile she clearly could not hide lingered on her face as she spotted the others and walked toward them with unusually light steps.

"Frieren-sama."

Fern stopped in front of her.

Then her eyes landed on the torn fabric around Frieren’s shoulder, and her brows immediately drew together.

"What happened here?"

"Nothing much. Just a minor problem."

Frieren waved it off casually.

"It’s already taken care of."

Fern looked at her for another moment, then decided not to press the issue.

If Frieren said it had been resolved, then it had been resolved.