"Precisely," Ronan affirmed, nodding slightly. From the selection of the target to the release of the spell, the entire process had unfolded in less than a second. To an outside observer, it would have seemed instantaneous, yet to Frieren, the impact was profound. Several seconds passed before she could fully process what she had witnessed, her eyes wide with astonishment.
—What?
The question rang loud in her mind, repeating itself like an echo bouncing off the stone walls of an ancient temple. She blinked again, her gaze drifting from Ronan to the charred remnants of the leaf, still curling slightly as it cooled. What had she just seen?
Why had the leaf spontaneously combusted?
There had been no incantation, no elaborate gestures. Not even a hint of ambient mana disturbance. It simply… ignited. No flare of energy, no shimmer in the air, no rise in temperature before the flame burst forth. Just a soft snap of the fingers, and then flame.
Had there been a mana fluctuation?
Frieren reached inward, trying to recall the precise moment—the fraction of a second when the spell was cast. She probed for the signature of magic, the familiar ripple it always left behind. But there was nothing. No magical scent in the air, no pressure on her skin, no resonance in her ears.
She strained harder, her brows furrowing in concentration. Had Ronan done this?
Her surprise was entirely understandable; Ronan's spellcasting had been devoid of any discernible prelude.
Most mages required structure to their spells—verbal, somatic, or at the very least, a concentration of mana. Even the most accomplished among her people had visible tells when they cast. It was a truth accepted by all practitioners: powerful magic left traces. And yet, Ronan had left none.
Drawing a slow breath, Frieren's gaze, now brimming with curiosity, settled upon Ronan. "How did you do that?" she asked, her voice laced with wonder. "Ignition point… what is that? You learned this spell… in such a short time? If I recall correctly, you only received this book this morning. How is this possible?"
Her words came in a rush, faster than she had intended. For an elf, such rapid questioning was rare, almost taboo. They were creatures of patience, of centuries. But the curiosity burned too brightly within her. She needed to understand.
Her mind was abuzz with questions. Elves, while not naturally loquacious, were capable of expressing themselves when the situation demanded it. Her innate fear of darkness and enclosed spaces, for instance, necessitated a lit lamp for sleep; the absence of light in such circumstances would inevitably trigger a torrent of tears.
She had always been ashamed of that fear, though she'd never admit it. But this—this was different. This wasn't fear. This was awe. And confusion. And a dawning realization that the human before her might be something beyond ordinary.
"Fast?" Ronan responded with a smile, his tone calm and self-assured. "It's merely adequate. If I hadn't been focusing on minimizing mana usage while remaining undetected, I could have been much faster. As for the ignition point… well, your understanding of that particular concept is somewhat limited, and a full explanation would require considerable time. Perhaps a more efficient approach would be a reciprocal exchange of knowledge: I will instruct you in these principles, and in return, you will share with me the magic you have mastered. After what you've just witnessed, I believe you'll agree that I possess a certain aptitude for magic. A mutually beneficial arrangement, wouldn't you say, my dear?"
There was a flicker of charm in his tone, a subtle lightness, but the underlying proposition was sincere. His confidence wasn't arrogance—it was simply the truth, stated plainly. Frieren hesitated, a thoughtful expression gracing her features.
Indeed, Ronan's aptitude was unlike anything she had ever encountered. In a mere few hours, he had grasped a spell that she might have spent a lifetime attempting to master. Logically, she should accept his proposal; magic was her life's passion, a pursuit for which she would readily sacrifice any material possession.
A trade of knowledge. Such a simple idea, yet one that had never crossed her mind. Elves were long-lived; they shared knowledge slowly, cautiously, afraid of misinterpretation or imbalance. She had never imagined offering what she knew in direct exchange.
But a reciprocal arrangement? This was a path she had never considered. Ronan's talent was so prodigious; what if she proved inadequate as a teacher? The thought filled her with apprehension. Yesterday's conversation had been casual; today, the stakes were immeasurably higher.
She chewed on her lower lip, fingers curling slightly into her sleeves. She had taught before—sparingly, with caution—but never someone like him. Never someone whose progress might eclipse her own.
Her heart felt heavy with indecision.
Ronan, observing Frieren's internal struggle, refrained from any pressure. He knew that this was not a matter to be rushed. He simply folded his hands, sitting quietly on the animal-skin sofa, patiently awaiting her response.
The silence stretched long, but not uncomfortably so. Outside, a breeze rustled the trees, and somewhere in the distance, a bird chirped its solitary song. Time in the elven village seemed to move slower, more contemplative, as though even the winds respected the weight of decisions made within its bounds.
After a protracted silence, Frieren finally raised her head. She drew a deep breath, then nodded firmly.
"Very well," she said, her voice resolute. "I agree. However, I have a condition. As the Hero, you will undoubtedly not remain here for long. Therefore, on the day of your departure, when our arrangement concludes, we shall both relinquish any magical knowledge we have acquired during this time. Is that acceptable?"
She paused, her voice faltering slightly. "If not, it's alright. You'll surely find a superior teacher; I understand that." Her voice trailed off. "Your talent is unparalleled, even…"
Before she could complete her sentence, Ronan's voice, laced with both reassurance and affirmation, cut through the air.
"Agreed, Frieren. You mustn't undervalue yourself. In my estimation, you are already the finest teacher I could hope to find."
For he had encountered only her, thus making her, by default, the best. And as for his own aptitude, honestly, even if he were to study independently from a book, the outcome would be no different from learning from Frieren. The teacher-student dynamic was merely a pretext, a convenient fiction. Learning from a beautiful elven maiden was, after all, infinitely more agreeable than poring over dusty tomes alone.
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You can read advance chapters in my: p@treon.com/Veora
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