Freya

In the perception of the immortals, time often flows like a mountain stream, tranquil and slow. However, when a vibrant and growing soul enters the trajectory of life, the passage of time seems to be infused with a different density. For Lowell and Frieren, the years spent with Freya were like a scroll being quickly flipped through, yet every frame was vividly colored.

In the first few years, the pace of the journey inevitably slowed down.

Freya was still young, her body and mind both vulnerable from trauma. Lowell had to put more thought into choosing a campsite, prioritizing sheltered locations near water and relatively safe places.

Frieren had no objection to this; she simply changed her meditation and spellbook reading spot from the scenic cliffside to under a tree where she could always see the two figures, one small and one large, by the campfire.

Freya was very talkative, as if she wanted to fill the void of fear and loneliness after losing her loved ones with words. Like a small shadow, she followed closely behind Lowell, asking one question after another, from "Master, what are we eating today?" to "Why don't the stars fall down from the sky?" and then to "Why are Lady Frieren's ears pointy?"

Lowell mostly responded lazily, but occasionally, when annoyed by the questions, he would deliberately exaggerate and say, "Oh dear, here comes another questioner! Frieren, quickly use your silence magic to quiet her down for a while." At this point, Freya would giggle, rush over, hug Lowell's arm, and shake it. "Master, you're lying! Lady Frieren doesn't know that kind of magic!"

Frieren would usually just raise her emerald eyes, glance at them quietly, and then continue with what she was doing. But sometimes, when Freya woke up in the middle of the night from a nightmare, sobbing softly, Frieren would quietly sit beside her, not to comfort her, but simply to offer her a blade of grass with a sweet floral scent, or to demonstrate a small magic spell that could make her fingertips glow faintly. That faint glow often dispelled the darkness in the child's heart more than any words—this was what Lowell had taught her.

"Ha! Drink!"

A tender yet tenacious shout broke the silence of the forest. Freya, only twelve or thirteen years old, wore a pair of short, altered clothes that were too small for her, and her white hair was stuck to her smooth forehead with sweat. She gripped a wooden sword that was almost as tall as her in her hand, and she was slashing and thrusting repeatedly at a grass mat tied to a thick tree trunk.

Her movements were still somewhat clumsy, and her breathing was a little disordered due to the exertion, but her golden eyes shone with an astonishing brightness, staring intently at the "enemy," as if it were not a straw mat, but an irreconcilable foe.

Freya's growth was visible to the naked eye. The little girl who once cried in the ruins, like a sapling that has absorbed the sunshine and rain, quickly sprouted branches and leaves.

Lowell began to systematically teach her combat skills and the basics of magic. He wasn't strict, one could even say he was somewhat "perfunctory," focusing more on cultivating her intuition, reflexes, and control over her own power, rather than pursuing the sharpness of her moves or the grandeur of her magic.

"Master! You're so strong!" After Freya's wooden sword was easily knocked away by Lowell with a tree branch during a sparring session, she was not discouraged at all. Instead, her heterochromatic eyes blazed with an even more intense light. "When can I be like you?"

"What's the rush?" Lowell yawned and tossed the branch aside. "Take your time. If you build a solid foundation, you'll learn everything much faster later. As for strength, staying alive is the most important thing."

"But... I want to become stronger quickly so that..." Freya clenched her small fist, her eyes dimming for a moment.

Lowell ruffled her white hair, interrupting her. "Talent? What talent? You're still young. Becoming stronger is for living better and enjoying life, not for turning yourself into a tool for revenge. Look at Frieren, she's lived for hundreds of years, and her greatest hobbies are collecting useless magic and eating desserts. Isn't that great?"

Just then, Frieren walked over carrying a plate of freshly baked nut cookies drizzled with honey. Hearing this, she glanced at Lowell but didn't say anything. Instead, she silently handed the largest cookie to Freya, whose eyes lit up instantly.

"Master! How long have you and Lady Frieren been together?" Freya, wrapped in a blanket, huddled by the campfire, curiously watching Lowell and Frieren sitting side by side opposite her. A teenage girl, she was at an age full of curiosity, especially about these two mysterious and powerful "family members."

Lowell, who was peeling a fruit with a knife, didn't even look up when he heard this. "How long? I can't remember, probably... a few hundred years."

"Several hundred years?!" Freya exclaimed, her golden eyes gleaming in the firelight. "Wow! Doesn't that mean you've known each other for longer than some of the kings and princesses in historical stories I know? Don't you ever argue? Frieren is so quiet, and you, Master, are sometimes so capricious, how do you get along?"

Just then, Frieren, who had been quietly munching on her dry rations, suddenly looked up, her emerald eyes calmly meeting Freya's, and said in her characteristic, factual tone, "He's noisier. I'm used to it."

Lowell paused in his peeling, glaring at Frieren with annoyance. "Hey, who's making noise? It's clearly you who's too quiet, okay? You barely say three words a day. I thought I had a walking doll with me."

Frieren remained unmoved and continued eating in small bites.

Freya watched their interaction and couldn't help but chuckle, her shoulders shrug. "Hehe... it's so nice. You two seem like... like an old couple in a story who have lived together for a very long time!" After she finished speaking, she blushed a little shyly, buried half her face in the blanket, and only revealed her smiling eyes that were curved into crescent moons.

Lowell was taken aback by these words, and subconsciously glanced at Frieren. Seeing that she still had no expression, he coughed twice and handed her the peeled fruit. "Eat your fruit, and stop asking about these unnecessary things."

Frieren took it naturally and took a small bite.

As the Tenten passed, Freya's skills grew increasingly agile, and her magical power steadily increased. She began to attempt hunting small wild animals on her own. When she successfully dragged back a tusked boar for the first time, her face flushed with excitement. She dragged the prey, almost as big as herself, to Lowell and Frieren, her heterochromatic eyes sparkling.

"Master! Lady Frieren! Look! I defeated them all by myself today! Awesome, right? Hehe~ We can have an extra meal tonight!"

Lowell glanced at the precise, fatal wound on the tusked boar's neck, a hint of approval flashing in his eyes, but he said with disdain, "Hmm, not bad. You passed the test by not hurting yourself. Go, skin it, clean the meat, we'll roast it tonight."

"Yes, Master!" Freya ran off with great enthusiasm.

Watching the girl's joyful figure disappear into the distance, Frieren whispered to Lowell, "She seems quite talented."

Lowell smiled but didn't reply, his expression somewhat complicated.

As Freya entered adolescence, her dissatisfaction with the intensity of training became increasingly apparent. Lowell's "safety first, good enough" teaching style clashed with her growing desire to become stronger.

"Master... this training is so boring..." Freya complained, panting, after completing a set of basic slashing blows while sweating profusely. "Using your usual phrase, 'increase the intensity' a bit! I'm dealing with these training dummies without any pressure at all! It seems like I haven't made any progress!"

Lowell leaned against a tree trunk, lazily flipping through a travelogue. "What kind of intensity? Don't you understand the importance of gradual progression? It's not good for a girl to get injured all over and have scars."

"Huh?" Freya almost jumped up. "Master! Demons don't care if I'm a girl or a boy! And I'm almost eighteen! In an ordinary family, I'd be old enough to be a mother! I'm not a little kid you need to protect so carefully anymore!"

Lowell put down his book, looked at her heterochromatic eyes that were unusually bright with excitement, and sighed, "Eighteen years old is still a child. Freya, hatred is a double-edged sword. If you hold it too tightly, it will hurt others and yourself. I don't want your life to be nothing but revenge. Spend more time looking at the scenery along the way, cherish yourself, otherwise the thorns of 'sin' will grow in your heart, and you will live a very hard life."

Freya paused, stubbornly turning her head away, her voice lowering. "Compared to someone like you who has lived for so many years, of course I'm no match for you!... But I'm not a child anymore... I can't forget... my father and the others..."

"I didn't ask you to forget." Lowell's voice was gentle yet firm. "Remembering and indulging are two different things. I want my apprentice to be a living, breathing person who can feel the warmth of the sun and smile at the blooming flowers, not a cold weapon driven by hatred. If that happens, I will be very sad."

Hatred is a poisoned dagger; it wounds the enemy, but it wounds yourself even more. If revenge becomes the sole meaning of your life, one day it will devour you, turning you into the very thing you despise... That feeling is unbearable. I hope you spend more time appreciating the beauty of life, loving yourself, instead of being dragged down by the shadows of the past.

Freya paused, her arrogance instantly vanishing at the sight of her master's unusually serious expression. She lowered her head, grinding the pebbles on the ground with her toes, her voice muffled. "I know... Master, I was wrong, please don't be angry, I'll be obedient... please don't hate me..." Her tone was tinged with a cautious, pleading quality, like a small animal afraid of being abandoned.

Lowell's heart softened. He reached out and ruffled her white hair, his tone gentle. "Who hates you? How could I hate you? I just don't want you to go astray."

Spring came and autumn went, year after year. Freya's martial arts skills improved at a visible speed, and her personality became more cheerful and bright, as if she had truly buried that painful past deep in the heart.

However, a fledgling eagle yearning to soar will eventually long for a wider sky.

Shortly after Freya's twentieth birthday, a small-scale Demons attack became the final straw that broke the camel's back.

The attacking Demons were quite powerful, but they were no match for Lowell. The battle was over almost as soon as it began.

Freya didn't even have time to draw her sword.

Seeing Lowell handle the situation so casually, Freya's long-suppressed dissatisfaction finally erupted.

"Master! There's never any real danger around you!" she said, her voice trembling with excitement. "Whenever there's a decent enemy, you just say, 'This one's a bit strong, I'll handle it,' and take care of it instantly! The weak ones are no match for you at all! Isn't the purpose of a warrior to constantly challenge stronger opponents to improve? I don't want to live under your wing forever!"

She took a deep breath, her eyes fixed firmly on Lowell and Frieren: "I want to go and gain experience on my own! I've heard that Oysast is the front line against the Demons, with frequent battles, and the Human race armies there are very strong! I want to go there!"

Lowell frowned. "No, it's too dangerous! The situation at the front is complex; even the Great Demons could appear..."

"Oh, Master!" Freya ran over, hugged his arm and shook it, her tone both pleading and resolute, "I know you're worried about me, but I can't follow you and Frieren forever! I'll be careful! I promise! Lady Frieren, please put in a good word for me..."

Frieren glanced at Freya, then at Lowell, whose expression was displeased. She blinked her emerald eyes and said calmly, "This is her choice."

Lowell sighed helplessly, glancing at Frieren and then at his stubborn apprentice. He finally released his clenched fist with a long sigh, "... Fine. Your wings have hardened; you'll have to fly eventually. Remember, if you can't win, run. Most importantly, running away isn't shameful. Remember to stay alive. If anyone bullies you, seek revenge from your master."

He raised his hand, seemingly to ruffle her hair as usual, but stopped mid-air and instead gently patted her shoulder.

"Hehe... I knew Master was the best!" Freya immediately beamed, jumped up, and nimbly slung her bag over her shoulder. "Then I'm off! Master, Frieren, you'll miss me! If you miss me, you can come to see me in Oysast anytime! I'll treat you to the best roast meat in the area!"

On the day of farewell, the sun shone brightly, just like the afternoon many years ago when she was saved. Freya changed into a neat travel outfit, carrying her treasured longsword, a gift from her master. Her golden eyes were filled with anticipation and eagerness for the future.

She took a few steps back, waved vigorously, and her smile was dazzling in the sunlight. Then, she turned around, took firm steps, and walked towards the road leading into the distance without looking back. Her short white hair fluttered in the wind like a stubborn flag.

"Her new outfit is very beautiful," Frieren suddenly said softly.

Lowell didn't answer, he just clenched his fist.

The babbling brook carries away time, and also away the voice that was always chattering in my ear.

The scene shifted silently, and countless months passed, with the moon waxing and waning.

The border defense line is swept by fierce winds and sandstorms.

Freya had shed her girlish naiveté; her posture was upright, and her brows held a resolute strength honed by the trials of life. She wore a set of dusty white light armor, the edges of which showed minor wear and signs of use, yet were wiped clean. Standing atop the watchtower, her sharp gaze swept across the distant wasteland.

A messenger rushed up the watchtower, panting, and saluted to report, "General! Urgent report from the forward reconnaissance team! There are signs of activity from the Great Demons —'Sin Eaters ' Gramar —approaching Oysast!"

Freya's pupils contracted slightly upon hearing this, and her grip on the sword hilt tightened, but her face showed no fear, only a calm and resolute composure. She took a deep breath of the dusty air and said in a steady voice, "Understood. Pass down the order: highest alert. Don't be afraid, I'm here."

"Yes, General!"

The messenger hurried away. Freya stood alone at the edge of the watchtower, gazing at the storm-breathing wasteland. The wind ruffled the white strands of hair on her forehead, and her light armor reflected a cold, hard luster in the setting sun.

In the distance, smoke and dust began to rise.

(The flashback chapter is temporarily finished)