Frieren: Understand Humans, Aura!

'Flamme... didn't take Frieren as a disciple during this time?'

'Is it... because of my appearance, that history has changed?'

Aura stood still, her eyes wide open.

'But... if... that's true, then in this new timeline, wouldn't Frieren be killed by Flamme?'

"The obedience spell is in effect. If Frieren dies, I... will also die?"

Aura muttered to herself in disbelief.

She had done everything she could to create a safe and secure destiny for herself, even at the cost of her freedom and dignity. She had endured humiliation, lived under constant surveillance, and sacrificed her ambitions—all to ensure her survival. But in the end... she was going to lose her life because of such a small oversight? A single moment of negligence that had slipped through her careful plans?

Is this the curse caused by altering history?

Was it true that Aura couldn't escape death, no matter how hard she tried to evade it? Was this the inevitable conclusion of her story, written by some cruel hand that had decided her fate long ago?

'No, no! No, no, no!!!'

Her thoughts spiraled into a frantic denial, her mind rejecting the grim reality. Aura gritted her teeth, her usually calm demeanor cracking under the weight of fear and desperation. She looked out beyond the towering walls of Kribi City, her gaze distant and unfocused. Through the link of the obedience spell, she felt a tug, a connection that spanned the miles between her and Frieren. In her mind's eye, she saw the white-haired elf, her once pristine appearance marred by blood and wounds, desperately fleeing from her pursuers.

"Frieren, you absolutely cannot die!"

Suddenly, an invisible wave of wind radiated out from Aura, rippling through the air with her at the epicenter. The two mages standing nearby, who had been watching her with concern, suddenly felt an inexplicable fluctuation of mana, but it was not a spell that they could understand at all. It was like... just like the magic of the demons.

Aura completely released the control over the obedience spell.

In her vision, a red thin line, extended rapidly from above her head, shooting out into the distance. In an instant, it stretched beyond the horizon, a lifeline connecting her to Frieren, no end in sight. Aura knew that the other end of the red line was where Frieren was, struggling to survive.

"I had always suppressed the flow of magical lines, fearing Frieren would detect it... but now it doesn't matter if Frieren senses it. If she still has a clear mind, she'll know that this isn't the time to trouble me."

Aura's voice was calm now, resolute. With a thud, she vanished from where she stood, her form becoming semi-transparent before disappearing entirely. A gust of wind surged, and Aura vanished from their sight.

Only the scattered bread and meat ingredients remained on the ground.

"Lady Aura?" The two mages blinked in astonishment, their gazes snapping to the distant horizon. They saw a purple figure, a blur of motion, flying quickly at a low altitude. In the blink of an eye, it was out of the city, moving so fast that it seemed to tear through the air itself, the sound barrier trembling in its wake.

The magic of merging with the wind—

Aura had seen Serie perform it once. With Aura's magical talent, deciphering it wasn't difficult. The magic of merging with the wind, while not precise enough for combat, was perfect for long-distance travel. It consumed minimal mana while allowing for continuous, high-speed movement, making it ideal for her current mission.

One.

Two.

Three...

Aura counted her breaths as she sped across the landscape, her focus razor-sharp. After three breaths, she had already left Serie's perception range. This time, she was still not stopped.

"This is the third time, will Serie kill me?"

Aura did not think any more. At least she had to seize the chance to survive before Serie decided to kill her.

'Before Frieren is killed, I must get there.

Whether she will know about the obedience spell or not.

Even if it means losing control of my body.

It's better than dying along with Frieren.'

————

"Have you found any trace of that elf who betrayed us to the demons?" The captain's voice cut through the stillness of the forest.

"Not yet," replied a scout, his eyes scanning the dense underbrush. His voice was steady, but there was an underlying tension. "Her breath was well concealed, and her blood has been cleaned up. We can only roughly determine the direction she is heading in." He gestured vaguely toward the deeper woods, where the trees grew thicker, their gnarled roots twisting like ancient serpents.

A team of thirty soldiers moved cautiously through the forest, their movements synchronized as if they were one entity. They were equipped with crossbows slung across their backs, short swords sheathed at their sides, and long spears held firmly in hand. The soldiers were spread out in a formation designed for both defense and offense, with scouts in the lead, vanguard and rear guards covering their flanks. As they advanced, some soldiers kept vigilant watch on the treetops and the shadows between the trunks, while others hacked through the underbrush with heavy, deliberate strokes.

They were not just any soldiers; these were veterans, their armor and weapons bearing the marks of countless battles. The scratches and dents on their gear were like medals, silent witnesses to their survival in brutal skirmishes against both man and demon. They were well-trained, disciplined, and had the cold, calculating demeanor of men who had seen too much death to fear it. Every step they took was purposeful, every breath measured. They moved like predators through the forest, their senses honed to detect even the faintest sign of their elusive prey.

Even a powerful demon, adept in magic, would have a hard time escaping the skilled hands of these warriors. Forged through years of battlefield experience, they knew how to take down foes far stronger than themselves. Magic's destructive power was undeniable, but they had learned that even the most powerful mage could be brought down by a well-placed crossbow bolt to the throat, fired from a hidden vantage point.

As for defensive magic, they knew its limits. At close range, even the most potent barrier couldn't withstand the sheer force of a strong warrior's axe, swung with the intent to kill. The soldiers carried an array of weapons, each suited to different scenarios—short swords for quick, lethal strikes, and long spears for keeping foes at a distance while delivering crushing blows. As for the axe, it's the captain personal weapon.

"By the way..." one of the younger soldiers, a man with a scar running down his cheek, hesitated before speaking, his voice barely audible over the rustle of leaves. "Have you confirmed that the white-haired elf is a traitor? She is, after all, the only kin of that great one. If we spare the white-haired elf, it might win us some favor."

"Indeed, there are still doubts," the scout replied, his tone more measured now. "We found traces of demonic magic on the dying demons in the elf village. Either it was infighting among the demons, or the white-haired elf did it." He paused, glancing at the captain for affirmation. "But the evidence is... unclear. There are too many variables."

"Then why are we pursuing her so relentlessly?" The young soldier's voice had a note of defiance, but also confusion. His grip on his spear tightened, knuckles white beneath his leather gloves.

"Because she attacked us," the captain interjected, his voice hard as steel. His eyes were narrow, scanning the soldiers as if daring any of them to challenge his judgment. "We can't tell whether she subjectively regarded humans as enemies or if it was just an accident. But someone has been injured, and we dare not gamble."

He stepped closer to the young soldier, his presence commanding, almost suffocating. "Don't you understand? The lethality of a mage is nothing to take lightly. If we hesitate and fail to act, the casualties next time will not be just one or two." His voice dropped lower, almost a growl. "Do you know what it means to face a mage in battle? It's a matter of life and death. This is true even between mages, and even more so between mages and non-mages like us. If you hesitate—if you even think about showing mercy—you'll be the one who dies."

The soldiers all clenched their weapons. The air was thick with tension, every rustle of leaves or snap of a twig setting the soldiers on edge. They knew that in this cruel battlefield, where demons and humans clashed, the next moment when the two sides saw each other, life and death would be decided.

The mages' long-range attack was too terrifying. The warriors didn't dare to take the risk, and neither the mage show mercy.

Rustling—

A mile ahead of the human soldiers' search area, hidden in the dense foliage of an ancient oak, a white-haired elf floated quietly among the branches. Using her staff, she had hooked herself to the tree, creating a makeshift shelter out of the surrounding leaves and twigs. The air around her was thick with the scent of earth and the faint rustle of the forest, but her senses were too dulled by pain to fully register her surroundings.

Frieren, her face pale and lips trembling, clutched her abdomen with trembling hands. Blood still seeped from the deep wound, staining her once-pristine robes a dark, foreboding red. The wound on her abdomen was not the only one on her body, but it was the most fatal one.

White light flickered at her fingertips as she summoned the last vestiges of her strength, using a levitation spell to gather the blood droplets that fell from her wound. Each drop floated in the air like a tiny red orb before she incinerated it to ash with a quick flick of her wrist. The heat from the spell seared the air, leaving behind a faint trail of smoke that quickly dissipated into the cool breeze.

She had to always be careful to clean up the bloodstains behind her to avoid being tracked by humans and demons.

Now, Frieren couldn't tell who was the enemy.

After desperately dealing with the demons that attacked her village, she had been on edge, her instincts raw and wild. When the human soldiers arrived, their presence had only further fueled her anxiety. Without thinking, she had lashed out, blasting them with powerful spells, driven by a primal fear that everyone was out to kill her.

From that moment, it became a three-way battle in the forest.

Humans didn't trust any other races.

Elves couldn't gamble on who was friend or foe.

As for the demons, they will kill both sides without hesitation.

It was tragically ironic that while most of the wounds on Frieren's body were inflicted by demons, the most fatal injury had come from a human hand. A spear, thrown with deadly precision, had pierced through her defensive magic, embedding itself deep in her abdomen. The memory of the impact flashed in her mind—the sudden, searing pain, the feeling of the weapon tearing through flesh and muscle, narrowly missing her intestines. She had been lucky, in a sense. If the spear had struck just an inch lower, it would have severed vital organs, and she would have bled out long before finding shelter in the tree.

Even so, the wound was grievous. The spearhead had left a small, deep puncture, causing a slow but steady stream of blood to leak from the wound. Frieren had used her limited mana to staunch the bleeding, but it was difficult to stop entirely. Every slight movement, every breath, risked reopening the wound, but she had no choice—she had to keep moving, had to stay ahead of the soldiers and demons hunting her.

"Demons… there really are no good demons…" Frieren's voice was barely above a whisper, but the words echoed in her mind like the toll of a funeral bell. Her pupils dilated, wide and unseeing as the weight of everything settled on her. The deaths of the elves in the village didn't bring her the soul-crushing sorrow one might expect. Elves, after all, were a detached race. Their emotions, dulled by their longevity, rarely moved them deeply—even in the face of death.

And yet, something within her twisted.

She didn't feel grief in the traditional sense. No, this wasn't sadness. It was suspicion that burned brighter than all else, suspicion that bloomed into certainty, suffocating her with its weight.

"Aura..." she muttered, her voice trembling. "She has actually been lying to me all along, hasn't she?" Her hands clenched tightly around her staff, the knuckles whitening.

Her thoughts spiraled like a whirlpool. "She lied to me that she's a good demon. She lied that she has no hostility toward the Elf Village. She lied that she's my friend. All of it—every single moment, every shared smile, every piece of advice—was a lie. It was all just for this moment, to bring demons to destroy me and the others."

Her lips trembled as her chest heaved, her breathing erratic as emotions she couldn't fully name surged through her. "Was it my fault?" she asked herself, her voice barely audible. "Did my trust in a demon cause everyone's death?"

The question cut deeper than any blade.

Frieren gripped her staff so tightly it felt like an anchor. Her gaze fell to the bloodied ground beneath her feet, the scattered remnants of a life she could never reclaim. This physical pain, this exhaustion—those she could endure. But the gnawing ache in her chest was different. It wasn't pain as she understood it; it was alien and raw, and it left her feeling exposed in a way she never had before.

Elves, known for their emotional restraint, were unused to such overwhelming sensations. Their limited range of feelings often left them ill-prepared for moments like this, and for Frieren, it was as though her mind was fracturing under the weight of it all.

"Kill them all," she whispered, her voice void of warmth, void of hesitation. "Kill all the demons. They all deserve to die."

Her gaze turned upward to the sky, her expression eerily serene. The raw pang of betrayal and anger she'd felt moments before had already begun to fade, retreating into the depths of her mind like a stone sinking into a still pond. The numbness that replaced it felt almost like a relief, a reminder of why elves were so adept at suppressing their emotions.

Frieren silently chanted to herself. 'Calm down, calm down further. Don't let your breathing falter. Don't stop the flow of mana. I still have to keep going. I can't die. I can't die until I meet Aura, because I still have to ask her.'

The question burned like a brand in her mind, refusing to be extinguished. But now wasn't the time. Survival came first. And to survive, she had to fight.

Forcing herself to her feet, Frieren's legs trembled with exhaustion. She leaned heavily on her staff, each step forward a monumental effort. Her mana reserves were dangerously low, a reminder of how much she had already given to protect what little remained of the village. If she encountered demons now, she would have no choice but to kill them instantly—she wouldn't have the strength for a drawn-out battle.

Then, the forest's stillness broke.

"Frieren."

The voice was soft, hesitant even, but it carried a familiarity that made her blood run cold.

She froze, every muscle in her body tensing as a shiver ran down her spine. Slowly, she turned, her hand instinctively tightening around her staff.

That voice—it couldn't be.

Frieren spun around, raising her staff in a flash, her body moving on instinct. Every ounce of mana she had left surged to the staff's tip, forming a blinding orb of light that crackled with raw energy. Her vision blurred with rage as her thoughts narrowed to a single, undeniable truth: Destroy.

"Damn demons!" she screamed, her voice breaking with uncharacteristic ferocity. "Go to hell!"

Her body moved without hesitation, her rage all-consuming. The questions she'd held onto, the ones she had vowed to ask, were forgotten. Her mind was a storm of anger, betrayal, and fury.

The attack surged forward, a beam of light ripping through the air toward its target.

But Aura was faster.

Before Frieren could even process what had happened, the demon moved—a blur of motion that closed the distance between them in an instant. Aura's body collided with hers, knocking her to the ground with a force that drove the breath from her lungs.

The magic cannon Frieren had unleashed veered off-course, its destructive energy dissipating harmlessly into the sky above.

And then, the axe came down.

It wasn't Frieren who was struck.

Aura's back arched as the blade bit into her flesh, blood spraying into the air in a crimson arc. The demon let out a guttural cry of pain, but even then, she didn't release Frieren. Her arms tightened around the elf in a protective embrace, shielding her from the blow that should have been hers to bear.

Blood stained Frieren's robes as Aura collapsed to her knees, her body trembling with the effort to stay upright.

"Frieren…" Aura's voice was hoarse, barely a whisper. Her eyes, glistening with unshed tears, searched Frieren's face desperately. "You're still alive... That's great."

The words hung in the air, incongruous with everything Frieren had believed. Aura, the demon who had betrayed her, who had brought ruin to her people, was crying. Her tears fell freely as she clung to Frieren, her blood pooling on the ground around them.

Frieren could only stare, her mind unable to reconcile what she was seeing. Just moments ago, she had been ready to kill this demon without hesitation. And now...

Just a little more. Frieren realized, her breath catching in her throat. Just a little slower, and she would have been the one to die.

Aura had saved her.