The village of the elves was a place where birds sang and flowers bloomed, bathed in the gentle light of spring. Frieren leaned against a tree, enjoying the shade. A few of her kin were scattered nearby, some even having slumbered soundly in hammocks for several days straight.
This leisurely pace was apparently thanks to a peculiar magic that "reduced energy consumption through sleep." A profound sense of ease—or perhaps, apathy—was the village's defining trait. Trapped in a cycle of repetitive, uneventful days and years, the elves had long ago lost track of time, abandoning the practice of marking years. Their main form of entertainment was dabbling in magic, something Frieren happened to excel at.
Furthermore, her specialty was a secret, unlike any known form of magic. Frieren called it—Game Magic. Decades ago, a strange interface had appeared in her mind: a dark screen displaying cryptic phrases like "Start New Game," "Load Game," "Load MOD." She hadn't understood it at all back then.
Only through experimentation did she grasp its nature. It literally immersed the user in game worlds, allowing them to experience different lives—a hunter, an undead, and more—each with their own story. These worlds shared a common theme: ruin. Most were realms teetering on the brink of apocalypse, starkly contrasting Frieren's beautiful reality, filled instead with death, decay, and mutation.
Fortunately, she occasionally encountered online teammates, people she could even communicate with. They often spouted strange phrases like, "My Ring build won't lose!" or rambled about "Miyazaki's story time," nonsense that had even started rubbing off on her unconsciously. Still, their presence offered a flicker of warmth amidst the desolation. The realism of those worlds was intense, perfectly simulating even death. Playing too much had side effects. I'm starting to lose track of what's game and what's real.
Anyway, back to the point. Initially, Frieren entered these games randomly, at unpredictable times. Later, through dedicated study, she discovered she could use save files and engage in multiple playthroughs (New Game+), becoming increasingly adept. Over the years, she achieved full completion in many, experiencing all sorts of endings. By the standards of her "Game Magic," she had more or less mastered them. What a rush it had been.
Apocalyptic as those worlds were, their unparalleled immersion provided rich experiences vastly different from the monotony of the elf village. Without them, she might have become as emotionally detached and perpetually listless as her kin. Strangely enough, it was this Game Magic that had gifted Frieren a life filled with vibrant, legendary adventures.
Of course, she hoped the thrilling turmoil remained confined to the games. Real-world commotions would be troublesome. But things are already changing, aren't they? For some reason, the magic she experienced in the games worked here too, and the stats she'd accumulated had tangibly improved her physical condition... Could it be that my Game Magic is actually a form of cultivation? That would truly be unheard of.
"Did you hear? The demons have been rampant lately."
"Doesn't matter, does it? Happens some years. Nothing new."
"No, this time... they're searching specifically for elves."
The conversation between several elves caught Frieren's attention. A sudden, inexplicable sense of crisis made her restless.
Just as they were talking, two or three stretchers were carried in from the village entrance. They bore the dead and the gravely wounded, barely clinging to life. The lingering demonic energy on their wounds clearly belonged to the Demon Clan, confirming the frightening rumors. Were they truly targeting elves?
"Injured here!"
"Told you not to wander off! Can't you just stay safely in the village?"
"Stop arguing! Helping them is the priority—"
Amidst the rising clamor, the silver-haired, green-eyed elf stood up. The crowd quieted instantly. Silently, Frieren walked over to the wounded and cast a healing spell. Flesh began to knit back together at a visible rate.
The elf who had been gasping for breath moments before began to breathe more steadily. The light radiating from Frieren's hands grew even more brilliant, dazzlingly bright even under the daytime sun. Miracle: Sunlight Heal. It was the highest-potency healing ability from the world called Dark Souls 3 – slow to cast and costly in terms of FP, but perfectly suited for the current situation.
Bathed in that radiant light, the injured elf was pulled back from the brink of death, restored to perfect health—better than ever, even. The villagers witnessing this were unfazed; they'd long since forgotten when Frieren started displaying magical prowess far exceeding her age. Though only a few centuries old, she was leagues ahead in mana control and power output, constantly training. What's her hurry? Even more impressive was her endless repertoire of spells, like this healing ability that could only be described as a miracle. How did this village, defined by its lethargy, produce such an overachiever?
Still, it was fortunate. Thanks to Frieren, they had repelled several monster attacks, and she had even slain demons before. Besides her combat skills, she excelled at healing, just as she was demonstrating now.
Letting out a long breath, Frieren brushed the dust from her clothes. Her mana had already recovered. Neither the game worlds nor reality alone offered such efficient mana regeneration. But what if they stacked as separate multipliers? The combined effect was remarkable; a cost like that was negligible. As a level 802 max-level Ashen One, combined with the innate power of a mighty elf, casting Sunlight Heal once was hardly a challenge.
One of the rescued elves murmured, "General Azalt, serving the Demon King, he's slaughtering elves out there. This place isn't safe anymore. We need to leave."
Frieren addressed the villagers, "The injured are stable now. As for the deceased, let's give them a proper burial. Everyone, stay alert. This region is likely dangerous."
Hearing this, the villagers began to move. Even though Frieren wasn't the village chief, her prestige was enough to command respect. Given the grim evidence, everyone understood the need for heightened security. Some even started discussing relocation plans... Unfortunately, the vast majority remained deeply indifferent, utterly unconcerned even if the sky were falling. They had simply given up.
Frieren didn't push them. This apathy was perhaps one of the prices of longevity. Elves like her, fortunate enough to have something like the Game Magic to maintain their passion, were exceedingly rare. She couldn't force it on others. She gazed towards the village entrance, lost in thought for a moment.
"Even if elves prefer not to venture far, the era itself is changing violently. Eventually, we all face the rushing tide."
Her experiences in numerous decaying worlds had taught Frieren that history changes regardless of desire. Plenty wished to resist change, but did their wishes matter? It couldn't be stopped. It was like Linking the Fire when the world's flame was already destined to fade—ultimately futile, unable to avert catastrophe.
As an elf, she could take the long view. Reality had also seen ages of gods and eras of constant war, yet powerful individuals always endured, like the legendary Serie.
The demons were about to begin a large-scale slaughter. Therefore, she needed to become stronger.
With this resolve, Frieren returned to her room and lay down on her bed. She needed to be in optimal condition for her "training" to absorb the maximum knowledge from the games, gaining more ways to protect herself and her kin.
Activating the Game Magic, she noticed the startup screen seemed different this time. It displayed several golden rings, an image she'd never seen before.
"Woosh!"
Before she could get a closer look, the scene shifted rapidly, and a solemn, ancient voice echoed:
"The fallen leaves tell a story..."
Wait, what? Is this still Firelink Shrine? Where has it sent me this time?
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