In the end—
Saidat still received the magic he sought.
Through Serie's spell of "Memory Transference," she handed over her understanding and experience of the spell directly into his mind.
True to his words, the soldier of the Empire did not stay for a single moment longer.
Even though the sky had begun to darken, his figure vanished into the streets of Äußerst, making haste toward the far northern edge of the Empire.
Outside the hall, Gut watched Saidat disappear into the distance. Unnoticed, Lernen had stepped up behind him.
"Senior brother, I just remembered who that man is."
"Hm?" Gut turned to look at Lernen, puzzled.
"That man, Saidat—Denken once mentioned him to me. He's known as a battle hero on the Empire's borderlands. But like me, he doesn't understand social finesse. Despite dedicating his whole life to that frontier, all he ever received were medals—never any true promotion or recognition."
"Is that so? Doesn't understand social nuance... But I didn't feel that at all. The way he spoke to Master Serie just now—it was earnest, and quite impressive."
Lernen paused a moment, then responded quietly.
"Perhaps… that's just sincerity."
"Saidat might not know social graces, but he's honest. He says what he truly feels."
"And besides, Denken's evaluations of people are always spot on. I trust him."
"I see…" Gut murmured. "To speak sincerely… to lay bare what's truly in your heart…"
...
Meanwhile, inside the hall—
"Come here."
Serie, seated on the dais, beckoned her disciple Gumieis over with a soft wave of her hand.
"Master…"
Gumieis stood at her side, head lowered, breath unsteady.
"Come, lay your head here."
Serie uncrossed her legs, sat upright, and gently patted her thigh, signaling Gumieis to rest there.
"Mhm…"
Lowering her head, Gumieis knelt beside the chair and rested her face against her master's lap, softly sobbing.
Serie said nothing—she simply ran her fingers gently through her disciple's hair and brushed away a few crumbs of bread from the corner of her lips.
Unlike Frieren, who remained somewhat clumsy in the realm of human emotions, Serie had walked alongside many human disciples through the long rivers of history—and bid farewell to each of them in turn. She knew how to feel with them.
After Saidat's emotionally charged words, how could Gumieis, who herself was a survivor of a home razed by demons, not be reminded of her past?
The warmth of moments with family… the joy of playing with friends… the more beautiful the memories, the colder the pain.
For survivors like Gumieis, every tender memory only added more fuel—icy fuel—to the fire of revenge. Until the blaze grew strong enough to engulf the demons of her past, only then could she begin to lay her burdens to rest.
Serie remained silent, continuing to comb her disciple's hair. As she looked at the rough, loosely tended strands, she couldn't help but smile gently, then removed her own hairband and tied it in Gumieis's hair.
But just as she was about to braid it, Serie's hand paused for a moment—then resumed.
"Tch… Whether it's the hatred toward demons or this quietly growing strength… even her hair texture is just like Flamme's…"
"So be it."
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Powerstones?
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