Edge Laid Bare

"It's been a long time since I last ran into an elf."

"Other than Serie, I thought Lord Demon King had wiped out all the other elves decades ago."

Merle flew through the air at high speed. Magic circles appeared one after another around her, firing spells at Frieren ahead from every tricky angle.

"That's a shame. Your Lord Demon King is dead, and I'm still alive."

Several purple beams arrived in an instant, but just before they struck Frieren, they were blocked by Defensive Magic that appeared around her.

Purple sparks of mana sprayed from the collision between the powerful beams and the barrier.

They were as dazzling as summer fireworks in the night sky, making it easy to overlook the terrifying power they contained.

As she flew, she kept an eye on Merle pursuing her from behind while carefully surveying the terrain around her.

Here will do.

Frieren looked at the open mountaintop plain below, came to a stop, and slowly descended.

Her posture was steady as she touched down lightly, like a hibiscus blossom. The hem of her robe fluttered briefly before settling gently.

The two now stood on a mountaintop near the village.

Because she was afraid the coming battle would harm the unconscious Theresia.

The moment their gazes locked, Frieren had chosen to lure the opposing mage away and shift the battlefield.

The two had engaged in a brief chase through the air before landing on solid ground.

During that time, Merle had cast [Mortal-Killing Magic] and [Corruption Curse] at Frieren repeatedly, but she had neutralized every attack.

"[Mortal-Killing Magic]. You're still using [Qual the Corrupt Sage's] magic?"

Frieren wore the same expressionless look as always.

But compared with when she had been with the others just moments ago, an unmistakable chill could now be felt from her face.

From the massacre of the village where she had grown up by the Demon King's Army, to her rescue by Flamme and acceptance as her disciple, and all the way to the present...

Deep in her heart, the fire of vengeance against demons had never gone out, even after a thousand years.

"What a great demon sage he was, devoting his life's work to developing such wonderful magic—don't you agree?"

Merle conjured a small sphere in her hand, wrapped in arcs of purple light. It looked like a shimmering crystal ball, but it contained enough energy to kill who knew how many people.

"Such simple, efficient killing magic really is the best there's been in a century."

"I hear humans even analyzed it and used it in their civil wars. Should I call them clever or pitiful? The magic hailed as having killed the most people has actually gone on to claim more lives in human hands."

"Is that so? You know so much. You seem to have lived a long time."

Frieren pointed her staff at the endlessly chattering Merle and spoke calmly.

"Of course—but judging by that little bit of mana you have, you could never imagine how many years I've lived or how many human mages I've killed..."

Just as she had in countless battles before, Merle delivered an opening line she had repeated who knew how many times to her opponent.

She looked at Frieren with disdain, seeing no difference between her and the mages she had killed before—even if she was an elf, Merle paid her no heed at all.

After all, according to Merle's mana sensing, Frieren's total mana was considerably lower than her own.

As one of the most important measures of a mage's strength, the difference in total mana could largely determine the outcome of a fight.

Although the total mana Frieren displayed was quite impressive, enough to place her among the very best human mages,

it still wasn't enough compared to Merle's.

"Although you're an excellent mage yourself, trying to take me on alone is a little overconfident. I'll try to make your death fairly painless, just like that person's earlier."

Merle folded her arms across her chest and gave Frieren a confident smile, as though victory were already assured.

"Thank you."

"Hm? Why? Are you thanking me for my mercy? Even if you beg me for your life now, I'll still kill you, you know. Not just you, either. I'll kill all your companions too."

Seeing Frieren suddenly smile at her, Merle was somewhat baffled and didn't understand what she was thanking her for. Still, she didn't trouble herself over it. She could only say that she still didn't understand humans' complicated emotions.

"Speaking of which, you really do trust them, don't you? Flag is a renowned warrior among demons. Those humans are as good as dead."

"Is that so..."

Come to think of it, Frieren felt she really hadn't worried much about them so far.

Do I trust them...?

Is it because of that warrior named Galan? After all, she had the constant feeling he was hiding his strength.

Or that older man named Glenn? Hmm... I feel like I've seen him somewhere... I can't remember, but he looks exhausted, and he isn't in very good shape.

Yet even so, she had confidently left the battlefield below to them, despite hardly knowing them.

No... It's not simply a matter of whether I trust them...

Come to think of it, she had always been like this when she fought alongside Himmel and the others, too.

"Hey... You really do underestimate humans. Thanks to you, I've been reminded after all this time how foolish demons are."

Seeing Frieren's smile grow brighter, Merle stopped smiling.

"How rude... I've changed my mind. I'll make you suffer until you beg me to kill you."

Flag swung his longsword freely, like a graceful orchestra conductor directing a deadly score.

His razor-sharp blade carried a peculiar force.

Through their repeated clashes, Glenn went from barely managing to strike back to gradually losing ground, until finally he could do nothing but defend.

He held the black greatsword that had never failed him before his body.

His feet had gouged a deep trench in the earth beneath him.

He warded off the demon warrior's relentless assault, looking somewhat battered.

This guy was, without a doubt, stronger than every demon warrior he had ever met.

"To run into such a troublesome bastard under these circumstances... I'm really out of luck..."

Another sweeping slash came down.

The black blade let out a muffled wail, and the heavy blow sent a jarring tremor through Glenn's right hand.

He grunted and staggered back two steps, feeling as though he had been struck head-on by a thousand-pound boulder, his chest terribly tight.

The blood inside him churned wildly.

If he hadn't been so experienced, using his footwork to dissipate some of the force, that blow alone would have sent him to meet his great-grandmother.

Whoosh—

Galan's ghostly figure flashed out from beside Glenn.

He had been circling nearby like a ghost, watching for a chance to catch his opponent off guard.

The moment Flag's powerful blow landed, before he could prepare his next move, Galan lunged forward with a sudden thrust.

Because of his memories as a Shadow Warrior, Galan never concerned himself with so-called "chivalry" or bound himself with rules.

A fight between warriors didn't necessarily have to be open and honorable. As long as he could win, he didn't mind using as many underhanded tricks as it took.

The Alchemy Longsword spun deftly in his hand, then he slashed at Flag's neck.

In that opening, an ordinary person could never have reacted to his strike.