Twenty years after the death of Hero Himmel. Outskirts of the holy city of Strahl, Central Countries.
The forest was a maze of overgrown foliage, each step a battle against tangled roots and whispering leaves. I'm no stranger to navigating woodlands, but this place always throws me off. The terrain blends into itself, an endless repetition of green and shadow. That's part of it, sure, but today's different. My heart's racing, a rare flicker of urgency I can't quite shake. With a deep breath, I push the feeling aside and focus, reaching out with my senses to detect mana. It's a basic skill every mage masters, but precision varies. Talent plays a role, of course, but the best mages excel at this. I'm confident in my own ability—yet I'm struggling. Whoever I'm tracking is a master at concealing their mana.
How long has it been? Hours, maybe. Finally, I stumble into a clearing and spot her. A young girl, small and delicate, clutching a staff far too large for her frame, sitting quietly in the grass.
"Found you at last, Fern. Morning!" I call out, stepping free of the underbrush.
It took longer than I expected. Yesterday was the same—tracking this girl is always a hassle. I should've asked where she was training, but no use dwelling on it. At least I made it. Or so I thought, until—
"Good morning, Lady Frieren," Fern replies, her voice calm and even. "Though it's already past noon."
"…Sorry."
Of course I didn't make it in time. It's my fault entirely—I overslept, despite promising to train with her this morning. Fern's expression is blank, unreadable, as she states the fact. Yet somehow, that calm delivery makes me apologize before I even realize it. There's something about this girl. I shouldn't get on her bad side. I'll have to be more careful.
"Uh… want some candy?" I fumble, pulling a secret stash from my pocket. It's both an apology and a peace offering—emergency rations for an adventurer, and something kids usually love. Maybe it'll smooth things over.
Fern tilts her head. "That's fine. You really are Master Heiter's friend, aren't you? He used to give me candy all the time."
"Yeah, I got plenty from him too," I say with a chuckle.
So much for that. Heiter's influence runs deep—Fern's too sharp for my recycled tricks. I remember getting candy from him on our travels, back when Himmel teased me about being "motherly." I stopped accepting it out of embarrassment, but maybe Fern feels the same way.
"What were you doing?" I ask, clearing my throat to shift gears.
"Training in mana control," she replies, still seated. "You said it was important yesterday, Lady Frieren."
I glance at her. The mana flowing around her is nearly invisible, tightly restrained. Mana control—the foundation of any mage's craft, and a key to mastering long-range spells, as I taught her yesterday. But this level of skill? At her age? I'm almost speechless.
"Well done," I say, nodding. "That's impressive for someone so young."
Her proficiency—no, her talent—is staggering. I knew it yesterday, but seeing it again, I can't help but marvel. How much effort has she poured into this, all on her own? What heights could she reach as she grows? She's a prodigy, plain and simple.
(Was this how Flamme felt? Or Zerie?)
My thoughts drift to my own master and her master before her. Fern isn't my apprentice, not officially, but teaching someone this gifted must be what it feels like to have a brilliant student. It's different from honing your own skills—there's a strange joy in it. I remember Flamme's oddly cheerful mood when she took me to meet Zerie. Maybe this is what she felt. If I ever take an apprentice, will I feel the same? I could show them to Zerie, though she'd probably just scowl at me. Come to think of it, I haven't seen her since we defeated the Demon King.
"Anyway," I say, snapping back to the present, "your immediate goal should be refining the three elements of long-range magic. But there's other stuff you'll need to learn too."
"Other stuff?" Fern asks, her tone curious but measured.
"Right. Magic isn't just about fighting. Do you want to be a mage who only specializes in combat?"
Mages wield immense power in battle, feared by humans and demons alike. I was no different, honing my magic to exact revenge, to eradicate demons. But the Demon King's era is over. The need for battle-focused mages may be fading. I need to know what kind of mage Fern wants to be.
She hesitates, then answers softly, "I… don't know. But I want to become a full-fledged mage as soon as I can."
Her response is vague, yet I understand. Like me, Fern loves magic—not for herself, but for someone else. For Heiter. She's a new generation of mage, different from us.
"All the more reason, then," I say with a grin. "Knowing all sorts of magic is useful. It helps in everyday life, and honestly, it's just fun."
I'm talking about civilian magic—spells ordinary people associate with mages. In a way, these are the heart of magic. To be a mage and not know them? That's just wasting potential.
I pull out my bag with a flourish. "Ta-da! My collection of grimoires. Pick any you like—I hand-selected the best ones."
Fern's eyes widen, blinking rapidly as she stares at the stack. She's probably overwhelmed, torn between choices. I can't help but fidget, wondering which she'll pick. Maybe I should choose for her?
Finally, she reaches out, tentative. "This one."
"'The Spell to Catch Birds,' huh? Solid choice," I say. It's a practical spell, perfectly suited for her current level. It also ties into the targeting and capture skills needed for long-range magic. Did she pick it intentionally, or was it just luck? Knowing her, she's probably holding back, too polite to grab something flashy.
"By the way," I add, curiosity piqued, "do you know any spells already? If you do, I'd love to see them. It'll help me gauge your skills."
Civilian magic relies heavily on imagination as much as technique. Seeing her cast something will tell me how far along she is.
Fern nods, closing her eyes to focus. Mana swirls around her, taking shape.
And then—blue flowers bloom across the clearing.
I catch my breath. No, I forget to breathe entirely. The flowers are breathtaking, their petals dancing in a warm, almost otherworldly glow. It's like standing in a lake of blossoms, a dreamlike scene that envelops everything.
Two memories flood back. The first: my late master, Flamme, teaching me her favorite spell. The second: a flower field I saw with my companions, a silly, joyful moment. They praised my magic, those foolish friends of mine.
Flamme's legacy. The spell that led me to Himmel.
The Spell to Conjure a Flower Field.
"Lady Frieren?" Fern's voice pulls me back. I must've been staring, lost in the moment, as if waking from a dream.
"Sorry, I zoned out," I say, laughing to cover my daze. "Fern, that was—"
"'The Spell to Conjure a Flower Field,'" she says, a hint of worry in her voice. "Did I do something wrong?"
"No, not at all. It's perfect."
Her spell was flawless, a testament to her skill beyond mere talent. She'll master other spells effortlessly, I'm sure.
"Those flowers are beautiful," I say, picking one up. "But I've never seen them before. What are they called?"
I've studied countless flowers to conjure them, but this one's new. Maybe it's native to this region?
"They're called Blue Moon Grass," Fern says. "They're beautiful, aren't they? I was surprised when I first saw them."
"Blue Moon Grass…" I repeat, staring at the flower in my hand.
The name hits me like a thunderbolt. Blue Moon Grass—the flower Himmel told me about, native to his homeland. He promised to show it to me someday. To think that promise would be fulfilled like this, by chance.
(It's beautiful, Himmel. Way more than you ever were.)
I smile, recalling his narcissistic boasts about his own "beauty." We never saw this flower together, but I feel like I've learned something new about him.
"Does it grow around here?" I ask.
"No," Fern says. "Master Heiter told me it went extinct decades ago."
"Then how did you conjure it? You can't create a flower you've never seen."
Magic is both image and technique. Conjuring an extinct flower should be impossible. So where did Fern see it?
"Well…" she begins, hesitating. "I saw it when someone taught me this spell. Her name was Aura."
The world stops.
"Aura?" I echo, my voice tight. "A human mage?"
Surely it's a mistake, a coincidence. Just another mage with the same name. But Fern's next words shatter that hope.
"No, a demon."
The truth crashes over me. There's only one demon named Aura I know—Aura the Guillotine. And Fern, oblivious to what demons are, speaks of her so casually.
"She was here?" I press. "Why?"
"She had business with Master Heiter," Fern says, watching me cautiously. "They seemed close. She stayed here for about a month with her entourage… Do you know her, Lady Frieren?"
Her words are unthinkable. Heiter, a priest of the Hero's Party, deceived by a demon? Impossible. And yet, I remember—Aura's power, her ability to manipulate minds.
"Lady Frieren?" Fern calls again, but her voice fades into the distance.
I am no longer the Frieren who teaches. I become something else—Funeral Frieren, the mage who exists to slay demons. My staff is in my hand, mana coursing through it. Without mercy, without hesitation, I point it at Fern.
"…What?"
Funeral Frieren unleashes an inescapable spell—