Chapter 6 — Serie — A Clumsy Lie
With Frieren's help, the duplicate was immediately pushed into a corner. It wielded its twin swords in an impenetrable dance, yet still had to constantly dodge piercing magic from afar.
But in the instant it shifted its focus to dealing with the long-range attacks, Lain was already upon it.
"Got you."
Lain abandoned all defense. His twin blades crossed into an X, carrying a mountain-crushing momentum as he brought them down in a merciless slash.
This strike gathered all the strength he could currently muster.
Boom!
The duplicate's twin swords were blasted away the moment they collided.
Lain's blades followed through, cutting deep into the opponent's chest.
"Now! Frieren!"
Lain roared.
A sharp gleam flashed through Frieren's usually tranquil eyes. At the tip of her staff, an utterly pure white light erupted.
Pff!
The beam of light pierced cleanly through the wound Lain had opened, blasting straight through the duplicate.
The duplicate completely disintegrated, turning into a storm of black fragments that drifted through the dim royal tomb.
Lain sheathed his swords, his hands trembling slightly.
This level of high-intensity burst was still a bit too much for him at his current stage.
"Are you okay?"
Laufen walked over, looking at him with concern.
"I'm fine."
Lain let out a breath and looked at Frieren, the words slipping out naturally, "Thanks, old hag."
Frieren immediately frowned—clearly unhappy at being called old.
"Say that again, and next time I'll just—"
As she spoke, she raised her staff and smashed the Water Mirror Demon with a single blow.
…
Three days later.
Auserst, Magic Association.
The notice for the third round of the exam had been released. All candidates who passed the second round gathered in the spacious waiting hall.
"The examiner for this test will be Great Mage Serie herself."
The bespectacled young man, Falsh, announced.
The moment that name was spoken, the entire hall fell into dead silence.
Serie.
A living legend.
An elf who had survived since the Age of Myth, who had mastered nearly all magic in human history—hailed as the being closest to omniscience and omnipotence.
"This is troublesome…"
Frieren muttered softly.
Standing at the back of the crowd, Lain wasn't surprised.
That was how it went in the original story.
It was precisely because Frieren participated that Serie had whimsically decided to take over as examiner.
The content of the exam was simple and brutal—an interview.
Or rather, whether the examiner liked you or not.
"The examination will take place in the courtyard. Enter one by one according to your number."
After announcing the rules, Falsh stepped aside.
The candidates were then called in one after another.
Those who went in first all returned without exception—failures.
Even Lawine and Kanne came out with dejected expressions.
Fear spread.
An exam with no standard, entirely dependent on the examiner's mood, was even more despair-inducing than facing monsters in a labyrinth.
"…Frieren."
"Next, Fern."
"Next…"
"Next, Lain."
Falsh called out the names in turn.
Lain adjusted his collar and straightened the twin swords at his waist.
Finally, my turn.
Pushing open the heavy wooden doors, a rich floral fragrance washed over him.
The courtyard was filled with blooming flowers in dazzling variety. At its center lay a carefully trimmed lawn.
At the far end of the grass, a small figure sat cross-legged atop a stone platform.
She looked like an elven girl of only fifteen or sixteen.
Long golden hair cascaded loosely all the way to the ground. Wearing a simple sleeveless white robe, exposing slender, smooth shoulders.
She was barefoot.
Her delicate, pale feet didn't touch the stone at all, instead hovering slightly above it as she sat in a posture that looked casual yet carried an unmistakable air of divinity.
It was Serie—the ancient relic who had lived for who knows how long.
Lain stepped into the courtyard and stopped ten meters away from her.
The air grew viscous.
Even without Serie releasing any pressure, the sheer gap in their level of existence made one instinctively want to submit.
Serie propped her cheek with one hand, her pale-gold eyes lazily sweeping over Lain.
No emotion.
As if she were looking at a weed, or a stone.
"A warrior?"
Serie's voice was cool. "This is a mage's examination ground. Who allowed you to bring blades in here?"
"The Association rules say that as long as you can use magic, you may participate. There's no rule against carrying weapons."
Lain answered calmly, neither servile nor defiant.
Serie's fingers lightly tapped her cheek.
"Boring."
She withdrew her gaze. "You don't have the scent a mage should have. You reek of blood and rusted iron. Disqualified. Leave."
Lain didn't move.
Since he'd come this far, he had no intention of leaving empty-handed.
Fern passed because she saw through the fluctuations of mana.
He didn't have Fern's freakish talent for sensing mana—but he'd read the script.
As long as he repeated Fern's lines, he should be able to scrape by with a pass.
After all, the result was what mattered.
"Lady Serie."
Lain stepped forward, meeting the gaze of the progenitor of magic. "Before you make your judgment, I'd like to say—your mana… is wavering."
The air froze.
Serie's tapping fingers stopped.
She slowly turned her head. For the first time, focus appeared in her previously vacant golden eyes.
A chill of offense.
Did I guess right?
Or wrong?
Serie stared at him for a full five seconds.
Then she smiled.
Not a smile of praise—but a cold sneer filled with mockery and disdain.
"Wavering?"
Serie leaned forward. Her bare feet gently descended to the ground as she walked toward Lain step by step.
She stopped right in front of him, her doll-like face less than half a meter away.
"You can't see my mana restrictions at all."
She pierced straight through Lain's façade.
"There is no reflection of mana flow in your eyes."
"You're a warrior. Perhaps you've learned a bit of crude magic, but you know nothing about the essence of mana. You don't even realize you're afflicted by a rather troublesome spell yourself."
Serie lifted her head, her golden eyes seeming to read him completely.
"And that's what makes this interesting…"
She extended a pale finger and lightly tapped Lain's chest.
"Since you can't see it, why did you say those words?"
"Who told you?"
The corner of Serie's mouth curved into a dangerous smile. "Frieren? No—that idiot wouldn't teach someone how to cheat."
"That purple-haired girl? Doesn't seem like it either."
She leaned close to Lain's ear and whispered softly,
"No matter what, trying to bluff your way through with such a clumsy lie takes some nerve."
"But…"
Serie suddenly changed her tone.
"Since you can access information from that level, it means you have some tricks."
"I don't dislike ambitious people. I don't dislike liars either—so long as the deception is good enough."
"But unfortunately…"
She closed her eyes again and waved her hand dismissively.
"Your lie is terrible. Disqualified."
Lain stood there, his palms drenched in cold sweat.
This… isn't how it's supposed to go.
And also—what did she mean by being afflicted with some troublesome spell?
Was she talking about being transported to this world by the Goddess's magic?