Arc 01
The Demon With Tears
Chapter 01
Promise Of A Lifetime
The woods were as Frieren remembered them — still, stubborn, almost arrogant in their refusal to change. Centuries had passed since she'd last walked beneath these same branches, yet the air smelled the same: damp earth, moss, and the faint sweetness of rotting leaves. She'd watched empires rise in splendor and collapse into dust; seen castles crumble into grassy hills and fishing villages swell into cities of marble. But some places… some places clung to themselves like a stubborn old man refusing to admit he's aged. The trees here didn't care about human history, didn't bow to the currents of time. They stood as they had for hundreds, maybe thousands of years, growing slow and quiet in a world that never stopped running.
Humans were different. Fragile, fleeting, always burning themselves up chasing something—glory, love, power, revenge. They fell, and they rose, and they fell again. But change, true change, always came. Even if it took a thousand years to arrive at your doorstep, it would still come knocking.
Her boots crunched against a bed of last year's leaves as she stepped into a small clearing. The oak tree stood there, impossibly wide, its roots coiling into the earth like the fingers of some ancient giant. It looked exactly the same as the last time she'd seen it — thick trunk weathered by storms, branches twisting toward the sky like they were reaching for something just out of reach. She stopped under its shade and, without ceremony, reached into her case.
The briefcase clicked open with the smooth, familiar sound of well-worn hinges. Inside was more than anyone could ever guess. Shelves of folded robes, spell components, books… and somewhere beneath all of it, a bottle of booze that had been traveling with her for longer than she cared to admit. She found it without looking.
The glass was cool against her fingers as she pulled it free, and she stood there for a moment, bottle in hand, scanning the clearing for a grave marker.
She wasn't here to mourn — not in the human sense. Death was nothing new to her. It had been part of her life since before most kingdoms had even been carved into the map. Friends, allies, even enemies, all came and went in what felt to her like days, weeks at most. Their lives were sparks in the dark: bright for a heartbeat, then gone. The grief had dulled centuries ago; what was left was… memory. And promises.
This was one of those promises.
But there was no marker. No weathered slab of stone, no wooden cross. Just the tree and the quiet. Her brow creased slightly. Surely they wouldn't have buried him without something to mark the spot. He'd been the Heiter — the greatest priest anyone had ever known. A man whose name would outlive entire kingdoms. Leaving him here, unmarked? That would be almost insulting.
She stepped closer to the tree, wondering if perhaps the marker had fallen, or been swallowed by moss. Or maybe she'd been wrong about the location.
She was crouching to set the bottle down when the sound came — soft, almost hesitant. Leaves shifting. Something moving through the underbrush.
It was small, whatever it was. The rhythm of its steps was light, quick. An animal, probably. A squirrel. Maybe a fox. Curious creatures always found their way toward strangers.
But then she felt it — that whisper in the air. That subtle ripple in the flow of mana.
Frieren straightened slowly, turning her head just enough to catch sight of movement behind her.
"Um, what are you doing here, miss?"
Not an animal.
A little girl stood there, half-hidden by the green tangle of ferns. Blonde hair fell in loose, uneven strands around her face, framing eyes so large and blue they almost seemed too big for her head. She wore a plain frock, the kind you'd see on a farmer's daughter, and in her hands was a wicker basket heavy with berries.
The expression on her face was… neutral. Neither warm nor wary. Just watching.
But the detail that mattered most wasn't her hair, or her eyes, or the berries. It was the small, curved horns that pushed through her hair. Not long — barely the length of Frieren's index finger — but unmistakable.
A demon.
"I was here to pour booze on my friend's grave," Frieren said, her tone flat, almost conversational.
The girl's head tilted slightly, curious. "Who is your friend, miss?"
"Heiter," she answered.
The girl blinked. "Um… Heiter-sama isn't dead."
The words hung there between them, absurd and impossible.
Frieren didn't flinch, didn't betray surprise. She'd killed enough demons to know better than to trust anything they said. And yet, she didn't draw her staff either. Not yet.
If this was a trap — and with demons, it always was — then somewhere nearby, others were waiting. Waiting for her to make the first move. The thought of Heiter's grave being tampered with gnawed at her. A human might burn with revenge over such a thing; for her, the feeling was different. Colder. Practical. Demons like this one didn't deserve to keep breathing. Killing them now would save countless lives in the years to come.
But if she killed this one here, without knowing where the others were, she might miss her chance to end them all.
So she let her expression soften just a fraction, tilting her head in mock curiosity. "I see," she said. "Can you take me to him?"
The girl's face brightened, if only a little. "Follow Naru, miss," she said, turning and walking deeper into the trees.
Naru. So that was her name.
Frieren fell into step behind her, silent, her eyes tracing the small swaying movement of the basket in the girl's hand. She kept her mana low, as if she were just another wandering traveler. But in her mind, she was already imagining the spell that would end this demon's life — and the lives of her companions — in a single heartbeat.
She would let Naru lead her. She would see where this trail ended. And when it did… she would make sure none of them walked away.
—oOVOo—
Frieren's pace matched the child's without effort, her presence folding into the woods like mist. She moved without snapping a twig, without disturbing a single fern frond, her every sense stretched wide to take in the terrain. To any normal traveler, this was just another pretty stretch of forest, but to her it was a living map—every curve of the path, every shadow cast by the canopy above, each sound and scent cataloged with the quiet precision of a hunter.
The underbrush here was thick in some places, deliberately thinned in others. The tree trunks bore no unnatural scars, no obvious warding sigils, but that only deepened her suspicion. A demon's stronghold was rarely marked by something as crude as a fence or a patrol. No—true predators worked in misdirection, painting safety over their snares.
The girl ahead, Naru, seemed unconcerned, bare feet padding soundlessly over the soil. Her little basket of berries swayed with each step, the gesture almost disarmingly mundane. Almost.
After what felt like a measured eternity of weaving through the woods, the path widened and bled into a small, hidden clearing.
It was… idyllic. A ribbon of water spilled down a moss-streaked cliff face, catching the light in flashes of silver before breaking into foam and vanishing into a quiet pool. The sound of it—constant, clean—cut through the hush of the forest, a strange and almost intrusive beauty.
At the clearing's heart stood a cottage. Rough timber walls, a pitched roof with just enough sag to suggest decades of use, a slow curl of chimney smoke winding into the air. There was a garden plot to one side, rows of vegetables so neatly kept that Frieren immediately distrusted them. A line of laundry fluttered between two trees: a white shirt, a pair of trousers, perfectly mundane in every detail.
It was too perfect. Every angle, every patch of earth, arranged with a storyteller's care. The kind of thing mortals put in picture books to comfort children before sleep. And that… was wrong.
Naru padded up to the door, turned the handle, and let herself in without a word. Frieren's hand twitched, and in the next breath her staff shimmered into being in her palm, summoned from nothingness with the ease of muscle memory. The mana around her flared, quiet but sharp, like a knife sliding free of its sheath. The rest of the demons had to be inside. She couldn't sense them—but that was nothing new.
Naru paused just inside the threshold, turning to look back at her. "You can come in, miss."
Frieren answered by raising her staff. Light coiled around its tip, condensed, then shot forward in a clean, unhesitating blast of mana aimed squarely at the child's chest.
The impact never came.
Instead, a faint ring of light shimmered into being in front of the girl—translucent, golden at the edges—absorbing the spell with a low hum before fading into nothing. Naru blinked, as if more surprised by Frieren's choice of greeting than by the attack itself.
Frieren's eyes narrowed. Divine magic? That was… not what she expected. A demon, deflecting her attack with magic designed for priests and saints. That should have been impossible.
"Now that's a dramatic entrance, old friend."
The voice pulled her attention from the girl to the doorway.
An old man stepped into view, framed by the warm shadow of the cottage. He was bent now, his shoulders rounded with age, the lines in his face deeper than she remembered. But the eyes—those clear, sharp eyes—were unmistakable.
"Heiter," she said, flatly.
"She—" she began, but he lifted a hand, the motion quiet but commanding.
"Now, now," he said, tone light, almost scolding. "You've come to see me after twenty years. Come in, Frieren."
She stood still, measuring him. The demon girl had moved, slipping closer to his side until she stood just behind him, her small hands clutching at the fabric of his robes. Her expression hadn't changed—still that unreadable, slightly vacant calm—but her eyes tracked Frieren with a predator's patience.
Why was there a demon standing under Heiter's protection?
Had she gotten to him? No—hypnosis and charms wouldn't work. Heiter was immune to such things. That left force. He was far from the man she'd fought beside in the Hero's party, and in his frailty, perhaps a demon could have cornered him. That was possible.
If that was the truth, then there was only one outcome here. Himmel would have freed him, without hesitation. So would she.
She stepped inside, her grip on the staff tightening, every muscle ready.
"Naru, can you make some tea for our guest?" Heiter asked, his voice warm, almost paternal. The girl nodded once and padded toward the kitchen without a word.
Frieren's eyes didn't leave her until she disappeared through the doorway. "Heiter," she said, her tone cutting through the air like glass, "why is there a demon with you?"
Heiter met her stare without flinching. "Isn't that the big question, Frieren? But let's talk about that later. Have some tea—"
"Heiter," she repeated, sharper now.
He sighed, the sound soft but heavy, as if this was a conversation he'd known was coming for years. "Well," he said finally, "it can't be helped, I guess."
—oOVOo—
It's been nearly three years, Frieren, since I first found her.
You remember how it was after the Demon King fell. We thought it would be the start of peace—that maybe the rivers of blood would slow, the fires would stop burning. But the attacks didn't fade completely. They became less frequent, yes, but quieter? No. When the demons struck now, they did it like cornered animals—vicious, without restraint. And there were always villages in need of healers afterward.
The clerics' order sent word they needed someone to oversee a group of rookies in the south, and for my sins, I accepted. The southern province… quiet country on the surface, but close enough to the frontier that trouble was always a few steps away. I stayed in a small village—simple folk, half their homes made of timber and clay. My days were spent tending to feverish children, setting bones, blessing fields when the farmers asked. It was honest work.
Then that night came.
It was late when I woke, not to the cock's crow or the wind, but to screams. Not the panicked yells of drunks in the street—real screams. Pain, terror, the kind that rips the sleep right out of you. And under it, the crackling roar of flames.
I pulled on my robes, grabbed my staff, and stepped outside into chaos. Houses were burning, the thatch roofs collapsing in showers of embers. Shadows moved against the firelight—demons, cutting people down without a thought. The smell… burnt wood and flesh.
I didn't think. I never do in those moments. The divine magic came as easily as breath. Arrows of light cut through the dark, slamming into the shapes moving in the streets. A few others—soldiers, some of my rookies—had rallied and were fighting back. In minutes, we began to turn the tide.
Once the worst of the fighting was handled, I moved to the survivors. Pulled the wounded from the streets, bound wounds, closed gashes. I left the younger healers to handle the easier injuries while I kept my focus on those fading fast. It wasn't long before the organized defense was back in place and the fires were being pushed down.
That's when I heard it—one voice, distinct from the rest. A scream, sharp and desperate, from somewhere past the square. I looked around. Every other soldier and medic was occupied—patching up burns, chasing down the last fleeing demons. No one was going to answer that scream but me.
So I went.
I followed the sound to the edge of the village, where one of the smaller cottages had half-collapsed. And there, in the firelight, I saw it—a demon, tall and thin, standing over an old woman pinned beneath her shattered door frame. She looked about my age, her hair white, her hands bloodied from trying to push the weight off herself.
The demon's back was to me. I didn't waste words. My staff glowed, and a divine arrow shot straight into its spine. The light burned it from the inside out before it even had a chance to turn.
I stepped forward, ready to pull the woman free—
—and that's when something hit me.
It wasn't enough to knock me over, but it was sudden enough to make me stumble. A blur, small, fast, and stubborn. I looked down, and there she was—blonde hair, blue eyes shining with tears. A demon child.
I've seen demon children before, Frieren. I've watched them wail and cry in perfect mimicry of human suffering, all to make you hesitate. I don't hesitate anymore. My first thought was to end it before she grew into something worse.
But before I could act, she stepped in front of the trapped woman, standing between us. Her face was unreadable, almost blank, but the tears in her eyes were fresh, real. I couldn't tell if she was trying to claim the woman as her prey or simply keep her for herself.
And then the woman spoke. "Please… spare her."
That stopped me for all of a second. The tone in her voice wasn't one of fear—it was pleading. I reached out with my senses, checking for illusions. Nothing. No manipulation, no mental tampering. Was she delirious from the pain? Hysterical? Perhaps.
Either way, my mind was made up. I'd seen too many die to the kindness they thought they saw in demons. This one would die before she got the chance to repay mercy with murder.
The girl must have felt my intent, because she shoved at me again, little hands pushing against my robes. Even old as I am, I was still much stronger than a child—especially a non-adult demon. I brushed her aside and loosed a small spell, one meant to be quick, clean, and final.
It should have been enough.
But the girl… she blinked, shook her head, and stepped forward again. No smoke, no burning, no dissolution into ash. My divine magic—light meant to scour evil from the world—had failed to kill her.
A child demon.
She didn't attack me in retaliation. Instead, she did something stranger. She crossed her index fingers, forming an awkward little gesture, and in a puff of smoke, a second version of her appeared at her side.
The duplicate didn't come for me—it ran to the woman and began tugging at the broken door frame, straining to free her. The original stayed where she was, blocking me, pushing weakly against my staff with both hands as if her tiny weight alone could hold me back.
It didn't make sense.
Why would a demon… help a human? I'd seen them play elaborate games before—pretend to save a hostage only to claim them later—but this felt wrong. There was no calculated grin, no cold glint in the eyes. Just a stubborn, desperate sort of determination.
If it was an act, it was perfect.
And that's when I thought about what Himmel would have done in that moment. He wouldn't have struck her down without knowing. He'd have asked, tested, given a chance—no matter how foolish it might seem.
So, Frieren… I stayed my hand.
I remember I had my staff leveled at her for a long moment, Frieren, just staring at the way she kept herself planted in front of that old woman like a guard dog. It made no sense. Demons don't protect humans unless they're baiting a trap, and even then they put on some smug little performance. This one was… blank. Not in the cold, empty way, but in the stubborn, I'm-not-budging way.
So I asked her, as plainly as I could: "Why are you helping a human?"
She blinked up at me, those ridiculous bright-blue eyes glassy with tears, and the only thing she said was, "'ttebayo."
I… still don't know what that means. Never heard it before, and I've heard a lot of strange words in my time. I figured maybe she wasn't old enough to speak properly yet, or maybe demons start off jabbering nonsense before their brains catch up. Either way, it wasn't an answer.
My focus shifted back to the woman trapped under the door frame. The sensible thing was to finish her quickly—she'd lost too much blood already. No one survives a wound like that, not with their torso split and their insides half-spilled into the dirt. So I turned my staff toward her, whispered the invocation under my breath.
That's when the girl's eyes went wide—huge and wild—and she lunged at me. No subtlety, no craft, just pure instinct. She made this low, broken sound—half growl, half shout—and started babbling more nonsense at the woman. I couldn't make sense of the words, but the tone… the tone sounded like Run. Like she was telling the woman to get away.
But the woman couldn't move. The gash across her torso was too deep, the blood loss too much. I could see her life bleeding out in the dirt, each heartbeat spilling more. Any other young demon I'd seen in my years—especially one so close to fresh human blood—would've been fighting me for it, savoring the scent like a starving wolf. But this one… she didn't even look tempted.
No demon can fake that much.
The woman's body sagged, breath rattling in her chest before she finally collapsed entirely. I lowered my staff slightly, watching as the girl released me without hesitation, darting to her side. She kept muttering that same strange word—'ttebayo, 'ttebayo—as she knelt, little hands working in a frenzy.
And then she did something that… well, Frieren, I'd never seen anything like it. She started trying to push the woman's intestines back inside, like a child trying to fix a broken doll. It was clumsy and useless, but the intent was… painfully clear. She was trying to save her.
The woman coughed, her voice barely a breath. "Please… spare her."
Then her eyes glazed over, her body going limp.
The girl froze for half a second, staring, and then she began trying to wake her. Not by shaking her like you'd expect—but by doing things that… well, Frieren, they made my heart twist in my chest. She patted her cheeks, smoothed her hair back, even forced her fingers against the woman's lips as if willing her to breathe again.
And then, as if in some desperate, hopeless last try, she sliced open her own wrist with one tiny handa nd held it over the wound, letting her blood drip into it. It was a pointless, almost ridiculous gesture. But she believed it might work.
And when it didn't, when the truth set in… she cried.
Not the sharp, overdone wail of a demon trying to lure in a rescuer. Not the cold rage of a predator denied its meal. Real, wet, trembling tears rolled down her face, and her small shoulders shook with the weight of it.
She was immune to my divine magic. She didn't try to feed on the dying. She risked herself—openly, stupidly—for a human. And she cried for her like a child cries for a mother.
In that moment, I knew… she was different.
—oOVOo—
Heiter leaned back in his chair, the warm glow from the lantern casting soft shadows across his weathered face. His tone was casual, but there was a weight behind his words, the kind that only comes from years of careful observation.
"Holy waters didn't hurt her. Divine tomes didn't burn her," he began, glancing at Frieren over the rim of his cup. "She's not inherently evil like all the other demons I've met. I've seen enough proof to stake my life on that."
Frieren sat across from him, chin resting in her hand, expression unreadable. Heiter continued, his voice steady.
"I took her with me. She's the first—and only—demon I've ever met who has empathy. I couldn't just let her die. People in the city wouldn't take kindly to seeing a demon walking beside me, so…" he gestured vaguely to the forest around them, "…I came here. Safer this way."
Frieren raised an eyebrow, silently urging him to go on.
"I named her Naru," he said with a faint smile. "Took some time, but after she saw me cast a little magic—just a simple light spell so I could read—she was fascinated. Like a curious little creature. Clung to me from that day on."
Frieren snorted softly. "Clung to you because she wants something."
"She doesn't attack me. Doesn't attack anyone. Eats like a human." Heiter shrugged. "Sure, she's stiff, face unreadable, awkward around strangers… but she's harmless."
"That's exactly how predators act before they strike." Frieren's eyes narrowed slightly. "This is an elaborate ploy, Heiter. She's toying with you. She's learning from you. Once she's learned enough, she'll kill you."
"Then how do you explain her immunity to divine books and holy water?" Heiter asked without missing a beat.
Frieren opened her mouth, but no words came out. She shut it again, lips pressing into a thin line. She had no answer.
Before either could speak again, the sound of careful footsteps approached. The demon girl—Naru—emerged from the shadows, carrying a small wooden tray with two cups. She placed them gently on the table, eyes darting between them as if gauging their reactions.
Heiter took his cup without hesitation and sipped. "It's not poisoned, Frieren," he said matter-of-factly.
Frieren frowned, eyeing the tea suspiciously. It looked normal—clear, lightly steaming, the faint scent of leaves in the air. She lifted the cup to her lips, took a sip—
—and immediately sprayed it in a fine mist across the table.
Naru froze mid-step, fidgeting with her hands. Frieren wiped her mouth, her expression twisting in disbelief. She slowly turned to stare at the girl. "It's salt," she said flatly. "Instead of sugar,"
Heiter, completely unfazed, chuckled. "Ah. Did I forget to tell you she confuses salt and sugar?"
Frieren's eyes flicked to his cup. "…You're drinking it."
"I'm used to it." He took another sip, as if nothing was wrong.
Frieren leaned back, exhaling sharply through her nose. "You're insane," she muttered, setting her cup far, far away from her.
Heiter just smiled faintly and glanced at Naru, who was watching them both with that same stiff, unreadable face. But he'd seen her eyes soften before. He knew.
And he was the only one who would.
—oOVOo—
The air inside the ancient stone church was thick with the dust of centuries, illuminated by the last golden rays of the afternoon sun slicing through a narrow window. Each particle of dust shimmered, dancing in the light like tiny, ephemeral spirits. The silence was heavy, the kind that came before a storm, or at the end of a long, tired argument. It was a standoff, not with swords, but with words—and maybe, with an old, unshakeable friendship.
Frieren stood in the middle of it all, her hands loosely holding her staff. A faint, cold hum of mana emanated from her, making the space around her feel slightly colder than the rest of the room. Her green eyes, which had witnessed empires rise and fall, were locked on Heiter. He was slouched in a worn wooden chair, looking more like a tired old man than the great hero he had once been.
"You and I, Heiter, we've been through a lot," she began, her voice steady and calm, yet sharp with a note of warning. "Ten years of walking, of fighting. We've seen every cursed battlefield and forgotten tomb worth seeing. We've killed more demons than you have prayers stored up in that old head of yours. We've even killed the small ones, the infants. Tiny little things that could barely hold a knife, because size doesn't change what they are. Innocence doesn't matter to them."
She let the silence hang for a moment, remembering the countless faces of her enemies. "It's funny, you know. They used to be so simple. Clever predators, that's all. They'd cry like a lost child in the woods, just a simple sound, waiting for some kind-hearted fool to come close so they could tear their throat out. That's all they knew. But time…" she paused, her gaze going distant, as if watching centuries rewind in her mind, "…time made them so much better at lying. More convincing. They changed their bodies to look like ours, their faces to be just like our own. Their voices? They can make them sound so warm, so trustworthy, even charming. And you know why? Not because they were becoming more human, but because it made the deception perfect. It made it impossible to tell the difference."
Frieren's staff tilted ever so slightly, pointing towards the blonde-haired girl sitting quietly in the corner of the room. "So forgive me for not being swayed by those big, round eyes and a harmless little expression. Just because she looks like that doesn't mean she won't put a knife in your throat while you're sleeping."
The girl, Naru, was sitting on the floor, a little braid of hair ribbon in her fingers. She hadn't been paying attention to the conversation, lost in her own small world of thought. But at the sound of her name, she looked up, her expression a mix of innocence and a strange, stubborn certainty. She spoke so softly it was almost a whisper.
"Naru won't hurt Heiter-sama, 'ttebayo," she said, her voice carrying that peculiar tick at the end that Frieren found so grating.
Frieren didn't even spare her a glance. Her eyes remained locked on Heiter, her gaze a silent question. "Why are you doing this? Why are you inviting the knife to your own throat?"
Heiter leaned back in his creaking wooden chair, his old bones protesting the movement with a soft groan. He didn't look scared. Instead, his face held that familiar, weary stubbornness that she had seen in so many human men near the end of their lives. "Because, Frieren, I'm old," he said, his voice a low rumble. "Old enough to know I'm living on borrowed time. We humans, we don't have the luxury of centuries. We don't get to watch the world change over and over until we become numb to it. If we're lucky, we see eighty years. A hundred, maybe, if God is in a good mood and decides to bless us."
He folded his hands in his lap, the movement slow and deliberate. "And I'll be honest with you—death scares me. It always has. But that doesn't matter here. What matters is that I won't just sit back and watch an innocent child be killed because she 'might' be a monster."
He pointed a shaky finger toward the girl, a small, knowing smirk playing on his lips. "Tell me, Frieren, if she's so dangerous, why hasn't she attacked me? Not once in three years. Why hasn't she so much as threatened another human? Why did she cry for that old woman—the one who was hiding her—as if she were her own blood? That's not a demon's instinct. That's empathy. That's love. And those, my dear friend," he said, his smirk widening just a fraction, "are things demons are just not capable of."
For a long, tense moment, Frieren just studied him. She knew that look on his face. She knew he wouldn't be swayed. There was no visible frustration, just the slow stillness of someone who knew the argument was over. Finally, she lowered her staff, the soft humming of mana around it fading away.
"If that's what you want, then I guess there's nothing else for me to do here, Heiter." Her voice had lost its biting edge, becoming flat and tired. She turned, her cloak swishing against the floor as she took a step toward the door. "Farewell, Heiter—"
She didn't get far. A small hand caught at her sleeve, the fabric bunched up in a stubborn fist. Frieren stopped, her green eyes narrowing slightly as she looked down at the little demon girl. She was looking up at her, a strange mixture of defiance and childlike innocence on her face.
"I'll give you two seconds to let go," Frieren said, her voice flat and cold as ice. "Or I'll blow your brain out the back of your skull."
Naru didn't flinch. Instead, she just tightened her grip on the fabric. "Heiter-sama will be sad if miss leaves him, 'ttebayo." she said, her little voice full of quiet certainty.
Frieren blinked, her expression unreadable. Then she looked past the girl at Heiter, who was still sitting in his chair, a look of infuriating smugness on his face. She let out a long, slow sigh. Without another word, she turned back inside, the girl's hand falling away from her sleeve.
The battle of wills, for now, was over. Heiter had won.
—oOVOo—
Dinner smelled deceptively homey. The kind of warmth that made you forget there was a supposed predator sitting at the same table. Naru, barefoot and with an apron tied clumsily over her dress, had made a stew. Frieren was surprised that it wasn't poison. It wasn't amazing, but it was edible, which in itself was suspicious. The steam curled up in lazy spirals, carrying the scent of simmered vegetables and wild game. When Heiter took his first spoonful, he let out a long, happy groan, as if he'd just been served the most divine meal.
Frieren sat stiffly at the table, spoon in hand, debating whether eating this was a betrayal of her own common sense. But Heiter had that gentle, grandfatherly smile—the one that told you he would notice if you didn't eat. While Frieren didn't care much about most people's feelings, Heiter was different. A friend, in the simplest sense of the word. Still, their centuries-long lifespan difference made the label feel like a fragile glass bauble. She felt like she could snap it without meaning to. So she ate. Slowly. Cautiously. Like someone expecting the stew to jump out of the bowl and strangle her.
Naru sat across from her, her posture impeccable for someone supposedly raised in demon ways, eating with small, neat bites. Too neat. Her eyes flicked to Frieren now and then, as if waiting for her to say something. When nothing came, the girl's attention shifted back to Heiter. She ladled another spoonful into his bowl with the easy familiarity of a granddaughter.
"Eat more, Heiter-sama," she said, smiling. "You're too skinny, 'ttebayo."
Heiter chuckled, taking the extra stew without complaint. "Ah, I'll start to believe you're just fattening me up."
When Frieren's own bowl was looking a little empty, Naru tilted her head toward her. "Miss, do you need more?"
Frieren's eyes didn't move from her bowl. "No." It was a single, clipped word. Uninterested. She didn't even offer the girl the politeness of eye contact.
Naru just blinked, then went back to eating as though nothing about the elf's iciness fazed her.
After dinner, the plates were cleared, the stewpot was covered, and the old priest shuffled to his chair by the hearth. The warmth there was different—smokier, more familiar—and Frieren found herself pulled into the orbit of old memories. She and Heiter talked, their voices dropping into that low, conspiratorial tone of people who had weathered storms together. She teased him about the time his robes caught on fire in a backwater chapel. He countered by reminding her of her spectacularly poor sense of direction in the Western marshes.
Naru sat nearby on a small wooden stool, her knees tucked up, hands folded neatly in her lap. She didn't say much—just listened, wide-eyed, as if every sentence they spoke was a precious piece of history. When Heiter laughed, she smiled. When Frieren's lips twitched upward at some old joke, Naru's head tilted, curious, like she'd just seen something rare.
Night settled heavy over the little house, bringing with it the faint scent of cooling embers and damp wood. Frieren didn't leave. She told herself it was only because she didn't want to argue with Heiter again. It wasn't because some part of her was curious about this strange arrangement he'd chosen to die in. Still, she stayed, lying on the narrow bed in the guest room, staring at the shadows crawling across the ceiling. She couldn't sleep. It was too quiet. Too aware. Her mind catalogued every creak in the old wood, every soft rustle beyond the door. When the latch shifted with a faint click, her eyes snapped open. The door pushed inward just enough to let in a sliver of lamplight.
Small footsteps. The faint sound of fabric brushing against the frame.
Was this it? Was the demon finally showing its teeth? Was she here to throttle her in her sleep? To press a blade to her throat and end centuries in a single moment? Frieren's hand twitched toward the magic she kept ready, her mana humming just beneath the skin.
The girl's silhouette appeared in the doorway, then stepped in fully. She was holding a cup in both hands, the steam curling toward her face. "Miss," Naru said softly, "Naru brought you milk."
Frieren propped herself on one elbow, her voice a flat blade in the dark. "You drink that and leave."
The girl blinked, as if she hadn't expected that answer. Then, without protest, she lifted the cup to her lips, took a sip, and swallowed. "Okay," she said simply.
She placed the now half-empty cup on the small table by the bed and padded out, shutting the door behind her with a quiet click.
Frieren stared at the cup for a long moment, her suspicion stubbornly refusing to fade. She lay back down, exhaling through her nose, but the silence pressed in again. Eventually, the weight of exhaustion pulled her under, and the last thing she remembered before sleep claimed her was the faint, lingering warmth of milk in the air.
Morning sunlight seeped through the cracks of the old wooden shutters, painting thin gold lines across the living room floor. Frieren stepped in, expecting to see Heiter lounging in his favorite chair, mug in hand and that irritating, smug grin on his face. Instead, the room was empty. Silent, save for the faint clatter and rhythmic chopping sounds coming from the kitchen.
She wandered toward the doorway and found Naru standing at the counter, sleeves rolled up, moving with practiced ease as she diced vegetables. The steam from a simmering pot curled around her, carrying the scent of something earthy and comforting.
"Did you kill Heiter and eat him?" Frieren asked flatly.
Naru froze mid-chop, the knife hovering above the cutting board. Slowly, she turned, giving Frieren the most unreadable, glassy-eyed stare. "…Heiter-sama is in his room."
Frieren said nothing. She just pivoted and made her way down the short hall, pushing open the old wooden door.
Inside, Heiter was in bed, blankets pulled up, his chest rising and falling steadily. For a moment, she almost left without a word. Her hand was already on the door to close it when his voice, thin but still carrying that familiar warmth, called out.
"Frieren?"
She turned slightly. "Yes?"
"Take a seat, Frieren. I'm too weak and old to sit up myself."
She arched a brow. "You're only a hundred years old."
"I'm a human. That's like… what, five thousand years old in elf terms?"
"Four thousand," she corrected.
"Close enough." He shifted under the blankets, his smile tired but genuine. "What time is it?"
"Late morning."
"Did you sleep well?"
"No."
"Breakfast?"
"No."
"Did Naru do the laundry?"
"…I didn't check," she replied, suspicion creeping into her tone.
"She did. Folded it, too," Heiter said, as if it were the most fascinating news in the world. "You should at least thank her."
Frieren stared at him wordlessly.
A small chuckle escaped him before his tone softened. "Tell me, Frieren… are you mad at me?"
"For what?"
"For adopting a demon."
She didn't even hesitate. "To be blunt, yes. If you want, I can kill her painlessly. Not that you'd allow it, I suppose."
His laugh was quiet, like the sigh of wind through autumn leaves. "You don't think she's unique?"
"I do. She may not be 'evil'—but demons have instincts to kill humans. It's not evil for them; it's simply nature. The way humans slaughter cows without thinking twice."
"But she's never harmed a soul for as long as I've known her."
"Could be an act."
"Could be real," he countered without missing a beat.
A beat of silence stretched between them.
"…Frieren?"
"Hmm?"
"I'm old. I'm already past the age most humans live."
"Yes. So?"
"I'll die soon."
She didn't respond, her gaze unreadable.
"The world is unkind to those who aren't familiar with it. And when I'm gone… I'm afraid of what will happen to Naru."
"I'll kill her as soon as you die."
"…That's too cold."
"I'm being frank."
He looked at her steadily. "Frieren, can you keep a promise?"
"Depends."
"On what?"
"What's the promise?"
"Can you take Naru under your wing?"
"No."
"Please?"
"No."
"I'll give you a grimoire."
"Not worth it."
"It's my final wish, dear friend."
Her eyes lingered on him for a long moment. "…I'll consider it."
—oOVOo—
The girl moved with the efficiency of someone who had never been taught to waste time. From the moment Frieren saw her step out of Heiter's home with her staff, she was in a quiet rhythm. She swept the porch, rinsed clothes, and hung them with clothespins that clicked softly in the morning breeze. The demon's face betrayed nothing—no joy, no boredom—just an unshakable calm as she prepared food. She chopped vegetables, stirred a pot, and set a neat plate aside for Heiter. After washing the knife and setting it to dry, she slipped on her shoes, as if checking off an invisible list.
Frieren followed from a distance, her movements barely a flicker of mana. Her footsteps were soundless. The demon walked into the forest, a basket swinging lightly in her grip. She didn't hum a tune or look over her shoulder. She just pressed forward. A crow flew overhead, cawing loudly, but the demon ignored it.
After a while, she stopped.
Frieren narrowed her eyes, trying to predict what she would do. Was she scouting for prey? Marking her territory? The demon suddenly crouched, then sprang upward in a surprisingly clumsy leap. Her hands scrabbled against a tree trunk until she found her balance on a low branch. Her tailcoat snagged briefly on the bark. She reached forward with delicate fingers and plucked a struggling butterfly from a cobweb. A quick flick of her wrist, and the insect was free, fluttering weakly into the air.
Frieren blinked.
"…Huh."
The demon hopped down—less gracefully than she had climbed up—and brushed her hands together. She carried on without looking back.
Further into the woods, she picked ripe fruit from the low branches of wild trees, testing each one with a faint squeeze before adding it to her basket. No waste, no overpicking. Frieren noted it absently. Most demons didn't bother with such care. They'd strip a branch bare.
Eventually, the trees thinned, and the demon walked toward a sheer cliff that overlooked the valley. She sat at the edge, her legs swinging, her eyes half-lidded against the afternoon sun. She took out a fruit and began to eat it slowly, chewing with quiet deliberation, as if she were savoring the moment rather than the taste.
When she was finished, she set the basket aside, picked up her staff, and stood. Frieren's gaze sharpened.
The demon planted her feet firmly, raised the staff in both hands, and muttered an incantation. The mana gathered sluggishly and unevenly, releasing in a jagged burst toward a rock formation on the opposite cliff. It fizzled out halfway across the gap, sparks scattering uselessly in the air.
Frieren exhaled slowly. That was… generous to call mediocre. The stance was too rigid. She was overchanneling at the beginning, then undercutting it mid-release. Her breathing was uneven. Her staff grip was correct, at least, but the mana flow was like trying to force water through a cracked pipe.
The demon frowned faintly but didn't stop. Again, she gathered mana—still too much, too fast, still losing control before the release—and sent it hissing toward the target. It fell short again, barely reaching the halfway point.
She adjusted her feet and muttered another spell. It was a little better, but still wrong.
Frieren crossed her arms, leaning against a tree trunk. Any apprentice of hers would have been drilled into fixing that mistake within an hour. The demon's magic lacked discipline. No, it lacked a foundation. Her instincts were good enough to compensate for minor errors, but without structured training, she would plateau here forever.
And yet… she didn't quit.
Again and again, the demon tried. Sometimes the spell sputtered immediately. Other times, it almost reached the other cliff before dispersing. She didn't groan or curse. She didn't look frustrated. She just kept trying, over and over, as if the idea of stopping had never occurred to her.
Frieren remained in the shade, silent, watching her go through the motions for what must have been an hour. It was nothing special. No sudden burst of genius, no raw display of hidden monstrous talent. Just a demon girl stubbornly firing underwhelming blasts at an indifferent rock.
But she didn't stop.
Frieren stepped out from the shade, her boots crunching lightly against the dry grass. The girl's head turned toward her instantly, her eyes wide but not startled—it was as if she had been expecting Frieren all along.
"Why were you trying to learn magic?" Frieren asked plainly, her tone as flat as the morning air.
Naru blinked at her, her staff still in her hand. "It's beautiful," she said simply.
"Just that?"
"…Yes."
"I see." Frieren's gaze flicked briefly to the cloud shaped like a rabbit, drifting slowly above them. "What if I told you that if you killed that rabbit, I'd teach you a spell?"
Naru stiffened, as if Frieren had just suggested something her soul didn't know how to process. "Naru would never hurt a bunny, 'ttebayo."
"It's a rabbit. You eat rabbits for dinner."
Naru's mouth opened, but nothing came out for a long moment. "…Naru wouldn't kill a bunny without a reason."
Frieren hummed faintly. "Hmm. Tell me, demon, Heiter is old. He will die soon. What will you do then?"
She already had her own answer in her head. Naru would probably go out and kill people, or trap fools, like any other demon.
But Naru just said, without a moment of hesitation, "Naru will stay here by Heiter-sama's side."
Frieren stared at her for a moment. "He'll be buried. Dead people don't talk."
"Naru will stay here by Heiter-sama's side," she repeated, her voice steady as stone.
"…For a demon, you are incredibly dense, you know that?"
"Naru is not dumb, 'ttebayo."
"Keep telling yourself that," Frieren muttered, looking away. Silence draped over them for a few moments, filled only by the sound of distant birds. Then, casually, almost like she was testing the weight of the words, she said, "What if I told you that if you broke your tiny horns, I'd save Heiter with magic? What would you do?"
Naru's breath hitched slightly. "…Can that really work?"
"Yes, sure." Frieren's voice didn't waver, though the answer had been delivered as one might casually mention the weather.
The girl didn't hesitate. She placed her staff carefully on the ground and began walking toward Frieren.
Frieren's eyes followed her, unblinking. She expected reluctance, bargaining, maybe some overly sentimental speech—but the demon just kept moving, her expression unreadable. She stopped just in front of Frieren, then bent down.
And picked up a stone.
Before Frieren could ask, Naru lifted the stone and slammed it against her own head.
The sound was dull and sickening. A thin line of blood welled instantly along her hairline and began crawling down her face. She hit herself again. And again.
Frieren didn't move at first. She just watched as the red streaks darkened the strands of Naru's hair, as they trickled down and stained the collar of her pale frock.
It wasn't that she didn't expect demons to endure pain. It was the sincerity of it. No theatrics, no feigned hesitation. Just, "If it saves Heiter, Naru will do it."
The staff lay forgotten in the grass as the blood soaked into the fabric, dripping in small spots onto her hands.
And then Frieren realized she was already moving.
Her hand shot out, catching the girl's wrist mid-swing. The stone was still clutched tightly in her hand.
Naru looked up at her, her expression calm despite the blood streaking her cheeks. "Naru has not broken her horns yet. Please let her break them, miss."
Frieren held her there for a moment, staring into those stubborn eyes. Something in her chest felt heavier than it should.
"I'm sorry," Frieren said quietly.
"…For what?" Naru asked, tilting her head, the blood still dripping but her gaze unwavering.
TBC