What unfolded before his eyes was something he simply couldn't believe.
From the moment he had been frozen in place, he understood—he had run into a real monster.
That kind of mysterious, unknown power could only be magic. And yet…
"Aren't mages supposed to be ridiculously rare?"
An uncontrollable fury surged in his chest.
One in a hundred thousand—no, one in a million—and he just had to run into it?
"And that guy…" His gaze locked onto Yuhran, filled with doubt and resentment.
Where did this so-called "expert" even come from?
Someone who could defeat his most capable subordinate with a single strike—if you're that strong, why the hell were you hiding among the villagers?
Everything that had happened in rapid succession felt like a nightmare, pushing the scarred man to the brink of madness.
He clenched his teeth, bloodshot eyes bulging as he strained every muscle in his body, trying to break free of the restraint—
However.
What Miliarde said next was like a bucket of ice water, dousing the last flicker of hope in his heart.
"Don't waste your effort. You should know this—magic is a world of imagination. What I used is a spell that completely paralyzes warriors."
"Until I release it, you will never be able to move."
"This is the binding of imagination."
Not far away, Yuhran raised an eyebrow slightly when he heard this.
He flicked his rebar casually. It wasn't that he didn't understand—on the contrary, he knew this system very well.
It was just that… somehow, he felt there were loopholes.
After all, magic in Frieren's world worked by abandoning one aspect to achieve extreme specialization in another.
For example, a spell that melted steel could only melt steel—it couldn't even ignite a piece of paper.
Or a spell that caught birds: conceptually, it could even catch a phoenix, but it couldn't touch anything that wasn't a bird.
This one, though…
Thoughts churned in his mind. Out of curiosity—and as a reminder to Miliarde—he couldn't help asking:
"What about people who aren't warriors? Would your spell still work on them?"
"Or what if the target doesn't believe they're a warrior?"
The moment the question left his mouth, Miliarde's thoughts stalled for an instant.
Then she froze.
She blinked at Yuhran.
That question…
"Hahaha!"
The scarred man suddenly burst into laughter. His voice trembled with excitement, as if enlightenment had struck him.
"So that's how it is—so this is the weakness of you mages!"
"No wonder you have the power to change the heavens, yet stay so low-key."
As he spoke, he slowly raised a hand—with great effort.
And it actually moved.
Miliarde staggered back several steps in shock.
This…
"Thanks a lot, kid."
A feral grin spread across the scarred man's face.
Though his words sounded grateful, his eyes overflowed with killing intent.
Step!
He planted his right foot forward, crushing dry branches under his boot.
Though his movements were still stiff, he had clearly regained full mobility.
He rolled his neck, bones cracking loudly, and said in a chilling voice:
"As repayment, I'll have you die right here!"
He no longer harbored any fantasies about the elf. Bringing her back would probably get him killed someday.
Ordinary human slaves were far more comforting.
Yuhran lifted the rebar, rotating his wrist and spinning it into a neat flourish. His tone was utterly indifferent.
"No need to thank me. Everything improves through exploration and trial and error."
"Your case just gave her inspiration to improve her magic."
"What do you think, Miliarde? Are you annoyed with me?"
Miliarde pressed her lips together.
Of course she was.
Out of nowhere, the spell she had painstakingly developed was just…broken.
Wasn't he supposed to have no magic? Why did he understand magical principles so well?
Even better than her—an elf who had lived for centuries?
And yet, she had to admit that what Yuhran said made sense.
Only by knowing what went wrong could she improve next time—could she make her magic more perfect.
The trace of annoyance in her heart faded away. She exhaled slowly, feeling a bit apologetic for her earlier attitude.
The scarred man snorted, lifting his spiked mace like a declaration of victory.
"Smooth-talking brat. I'll make you regret what you did today."
How arrogant. These two even knew each other—speaking so familiarly that anyone unaware would think they were lovers.
In that case, killing them would be nothing to regret.
With that, the scarred man advanced step by step, eyes locked onto Yuhran, scanning him from head to toe for openings.
And then—
Hah… so that's it. Full of openings.
He narrowed his eyes, the corners of his mouth curling upward.
Victory was assured.
He glanced at Miliarde, saw no intention on her part to intervene, and snorted.
Driven by his lust for victory, he stomped the ground with his right foot, charged forward, and swung the spiked mace with bulging arm muscles!
Whoosh!
The air screamed.
...
Clang!
Just one second later, the scarred man stood there dumbly.
He stared at his trembling, bleeding palm—and at the rebar pressed against his chest.
His mind went blank.
How…?
A mouthful of blood burst out uncontrollably.
"Cough—!"
He collapsed to his knees, coughing violently as his vision darkened.
No… this wasn't how it was supposed to be.
His weapon hadn't even lasted a single clash—it was completely ruined.
What the hell was that thing he was holding…?
"Such a pity. You had hundreds of pounds of strength, yet you lost to your weapon in the end."
Yuhran gripped the rebar tightly and swung again without hesitation, not giving the scarred man any chance to speak.
Thud!
Red and white splattered as the body twitched and fell.
Seeing their boss killed, the remaining bandits screamed in terror and scattered like frightened birds.
"Run! Run!"
Miliarde didn't let them escape.
With a flick of her hand, magic shot out like artillery shells. In just a few strikes, she wiped them out—no one got away.
Boom!
The ground trembled lightly.
When she put away her staff and turned around, she saw Yuhran surrounded by cheering villagers.
"Hero! Hero!"
The atmosphere was deafening. Thinking back on what had just happened, a complicated glint flickered in her eyes.
...
...
Night fell swiftly.
Since they needed to head for the royal capital, the two didn't stay long in the village after dealing with the bandits.
Late at night, in the open field, the air turned cool.
Horses neighed softly.
Inside the tent—
Yuhran was half-asleep, drifting toward slumber, when he suddenly felt a pair of arms slide up along his back and wrap around his chest.
A soft warmth pressed against him from behind.
Miliarde couldn't fall asleep.
Not only because her magic had been so easily broken—by Yuhran earlier that day.
But also because his understanding of magic far exceeded her expectations.
She was full of curiosity, wanting to learn more.
And also…
Though she felt a bit embarrassed to admit it—
She had grown fond of the scent on Yuhran's body.
Especially after comparing it to the overwhelming stench of those bandits, the feeling became even stronger.
So then…
She held him, and slowly, quietly, fell asleep.
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