After a tug-of-war with Milli, Ash tossed Frieren back onto her bed, temporarily ignoring the elf who refused to wake even with her skirt flipped up.
Giving up on waking Frieren, Ash followed Milli out of her room to her wine cellar, or rather, her home.
The sight of countless wine barrels in the stone house made his scalp tingle. "Why so much wine?"
"Hmph." Milli didn't answer, instead pulling out a bottle, proudly introducing it. "You know, this is Emperor's Wine."
"Don't know."
"Emperor's Wine was offered to the emperor of the vast empire ruling most of the continent." Milli smirked slyly, handing it over. "It's divine nectar. Want a taste?"
"A taste? You first." He took the bottle, opened it, but suddenly grabbed the elf's face, pouring the wine into her mouth like filling a gas tank.
"Pfft!" Milli choked, spraying wine everywhere.
The room filled with the stench of cheap alcohol.
Just the smell made one question the wine's quality.
Milli, face drenched, glared furiously. "You made me drink this awful stuff again. Have you had Emperor's Wine before?"
"My sister makes that same face when she's up to no good."
He didn't quite understand why other demons were stoic, yet Aura was so expressive. Was it his influence?
Even now, he couldn't figure it out. Milli looked annoyed. "Someone beat me to it?"
"So, it really tastes bad?"
"It's not about the taste. It's precious! Real Emperor's Wine!" Milli insisted angrily.
He hesitated, eyeing the bottle. "If you say so, I'm a bit curious."
"Try it!"
"Won't it kill me?"
"You just poured it down my throat. Am I dead?"
"Fair point."
He nodded, not too concerned, and took a swig.
There was no smoothness. A bitter, sour, pungent taste hit his throat, the acidity overwhelming, with a stinging smell that instantly soured his mood, making him grimace. "Awful."
"Yeah, I think so too. So before I came to this village, I carved a stone tablet praising its taste."
"Your personality's worse than this wine."
"Thanks for the compliment, but you don't seem much better." Milli nodded nonchalantly, flashing a grin. "We might get along well."
"I just want to learn magic."
"No rush. We have plenty of time."
"Don't use human time scales."
"Fine, a few years, and we'll start formally..."
"No years! Today! Now! Immediately!"
Unable to stand the elves' sense of time, he grabbed Milli, shaking her until she surrendered.
But even after agreeing, Milli dawdled, frustrating him.
After much prodding, she reluctantly prepared, meaning she ate breakfast and mentally readied herself to teach, but the magic was for growing better wheat.
This useless spell infuriated him. He chased the gleefully escaping Milli, wanting to tie her up and force proper lessons.
Before catching her, around noon, he saw Frieren emerge from her house, lazily stretching in the sunlight.
"She feels like an old granny..."
Her head snapped toward him at his muttered remark.
Her expression screamed displeasure, maybe anger, but he ignored it.
"What's wrong? Shouldn't young people sleep early and rise early?"
Unlike 21st-century youths staying up with phones or computers, why were these bored medieval villagers so lazy? Ash couldn't fathom it.
Frieren, face stern, retorted, "There's plenty of time. What's the big deal?"
"Fine."
He had plenty to say but, realizing he needed her help, held back.
Frieren, ready to argue and condemn him for lifting her earlier, felt like she'd punched cotton, unable to vent.
In this atmosphere, Ash's life of learning in the elf village continued steadily.
Elf life in the village was the epitome of mundane.
So mundane, every elf exuded a listless laziness, making Ash feel even Serie had more drive.
Though Serie sat around "molding," she at least had a knack for stirring trouble. Her cleaning magic kept her from actually molding.
In contrast...
"It's evening. Not resting yet?"
Seeing Ash barge into her room, standing boldly by her bed, Frieren, already tucked in, looked exasperated, regretting agreeing to teach him magic.
Compared to Frieren and the village elves, Ash's diligence made Frieren wonder if humans died before a hundred from overwork.
But now, realizing the issue, Ash wouldn't let her back out.
She wasn't the only one frustrated. Ash was annoyed too. "It's barely dark, and you're talking about rest?"
"Find Milli. She's probably drinking, so she has time."
"No way, I refuse!" He shot down the idea, making Frieren sit up, glaring. "Why not? She's traveled outside. She should know plenty of magic."
"She does, but she's obsessed with wheat, teaching spells to grow better wheat or make it sprout faster. She insists I master those before anything else, even after I drank her prized wine."
Frieren gaped, genuinely impressed. "That's ruthless. That was six-hundred-year-old wine, her treasure. You just drank it?"
"It still tasted awful."
"She didn't kill you? You're worried about taste? Behave. At least I can teach you the secret to elven longevity."
She lay back, pulling up her blanket, turning away, and said casually, "Just take it easy. Being so anxious, you won't live hundreds of years."
"Normal humans can't live that long anyway." He grabbed her blanket, trying to pull it off, but Frieren clung tightly.
"Not necessarily. Humans are always rushing, so they rarely pass a hundred."
"What nonsense? Living like you is just wasting life."
"How do you know your limits without trying?" Frieren argued, seemingly hoping he'd test it for a century, making him sweat. "Using your life as a cost, isn't that harsh?"
"But passing life ignorantly, isn't that worse?"
"Not at all!"
"It's just a hundred years. What's the big deal?"
"We're getting off track. Get up, don't waste your life."
"You're the one who should let go."
That night, Ash and Frieren argued while tugging at her blanket, resulting in...
The next day, Frieren didn't wake until noon, somehow rolling onto the floor, wrapped in her blanket.
Meanwhile, Ash, using her pillow, took over her bed, sleeping soundly, though without a blanket.
Milli, puzzled by the village's unusual quietness, came over. Seeing this, her expression turned odd.
But, preferring to avoid trouble, she closed the door, pretending nothing happened.
Though days were calm, there were slight ripples.
For the village elves, Ash stirred up plenty of waves in their tranquil lives.
He dragged every free elf into magic discussions.
Sometimes, he lay under a village tree, quietly reading, studying, and practicing from Serie's stolen magic books.
After their daily magic training, Milli and Frieren sat nearby, idly watching this "human" who'd been in the village for two years.
"Milli, look at him, always so busy. Feels like he won't live past a hundred."
"What are you saying, Frieren? Humans usually die quickly anyway."
"Seeing such a busy human, don't you, always idle and daydreaming, feel anything?"
"Feelings?" Milli, holding a wine glass, thought briefly, then glanced at her friend. "You've started calling me Milli lately, not Millialde."
"Have I?" Surprised, Frieren showed a rare startled expression.
Milli smiled, nodding, watching Ash with keen interest. "Such an interesting human is rare."
"Don't get too attached. Humans die if you're not careful."
"True."
Milli nodded knowingly, not focusing too much on Ash, chatting and sipping wine with Frieren as usual.
But that night, while others slept, Ash alone continued practicing in his stone house.
As clouds hid the moonlight, darkness silently enveloped the usually peaceful elf village. For some reason, it was eerily quiet, even the birds and beasts silent, a terrifying stillness.
In the dead silence, only the cold candlelight glowed, highlighting an unusual, profound quiet that chilled the heart.
At the village's edge, in the lush forest, a different scene unfolded.
Moonlight dappled through the treetops, revealing cloaked figures.
Like ghosts in the night, they were wrapped in various robes, their heads distinctly non-human, many with horns, like legendary demons.
Glowing eyes peered from the dark, watching the village, waiting for everyone to sleep to strike.
But Ash, up late, sensed the abnormal atmosphere. He stepped out of his room and kicked Frieren's door with a bang, toppling the already dilapidated door, kicking up dust.
"What's wrong now?" Startled, Frieren shot up from her bed, glaring fiercely. "I worked hard tonight. Why'd you break my door?"
"Not the time for that."
"No! Explain, or I won't let this slide!"
"There's danger. Probably an enemy attack."
"Enemy attack? At this hour? Here?"
A term unheard of in her years here made Frieren wonder if his battlefield days left him paranoid, like veterans always on edge.
This world didn't name "post-traumatic stress disorder," but like ancient times, its absence from diagnosis didn't mean it didn't exist.
Having read about similar cases, she gave him a sympathetic look. "How about a sleep spell?"
"You... Forget it, come outside."