Talent

Fern pushed open the door and entered the room.

The door closed behind her, shutting out the sounds from outside.

The room was large and empty, except for a large expanse of brightly colored flowers blooming in the center, swaying gently in the sunlight. The rich fragrance of flowers mingled with the damp scent of earth, filling the air.

Serie sat barefoot by the pool at the edge of the flower field, the clear water just reaching her ankles.

She stood with her back to the door, her head slightly bowed, her long golden hair casually draped over her shoulders. She seemed to be gazing at her reflection in the water, or perhaps she was simply lost in thought.

She didn't turn around when she heard the door open.

Fern stopped a few steps away from the doorway. His pale purple eyes calmly swept across the room, finally settling on Serie's retreating figure.

She didn't speak, but waited quietly.

A few seconds later, Serie slowly turned around.

Golden eyes fell on Fern, with a condescending, scrutinizing gaze. Her gaze was direct, even sharp, as if trying to penetrate the surface and see something deeper.

Fern stood still, letting her scrutinize him. His expression remained unchanged; he simply bowed slightly in greeting.

"Lady Serie."

Serie did not respond to her greeting. She simply looked at Fern, at the purple-haired girl standing at the doorway, keeping a distance from the flower field.

... What you say is excellent will far exceed my expectations.

She recalled Frieren's words and silently snorted to herself.

She was clearly stunned when she saw my magic power, and only dared to stand far away, just like the other girls before her...

Her gaze lingered on Fern for a few more seconds.

Kindness?

... There does seem to be something different.

It's not about distance, nor is it about facial expressions.

It's in their eyes.

Other candidates, even those who tried to remain calm, showed some flickering in their eyes, some wavering, and some instinctively retreating when faced with her now that she had restrained most of her magic.

But this Fern...

Serie narrowed her eyes slightly.

Fern simply looked back at her calmly, her pale purple eyes clearly reflecting her image, as well as the invisible, swirling, and suffocatingly vast aura of magic in the surrounding air.

There was no fear, no retreat.

Was it just... surprise? Serie had thought it was fear, but it didn't seem to be.

Serie spoke, her voice ringing out clearly in the empty room.

"Etc."

She stared into Fern's eyes.

What are you looking at?

Upon hearing this, Fern's expression underwent a very subtle change for a fleeting moment.

"Magic."

She answered, her voice steady and her words clear.

"Your magic is trembling."

Serie's expression changed instantly.

It was an almost scorching, suddenly ignited excitement.

Her half-closed eyes suddenly widened, her golden pupils slightly contracting in the light, locking onto Fern. Her lips involuntarily parted, forming an undisguised, almost exaggerated, wide arc.

That smile held the pure, ecstatic joy of discovering a treasure.

"Fern, right?"

She took a step forward, her bare feet breaking the surface of the water, creating delicate ripples. Her voice was a little louder than before, filled with undisguised admiration and eagerness.

"You shall become my disciple."

There was no questioning, no discussion.

It's a direct requirement.

Fern looked at her without hesitation.

"Huh? I don't want to."

Serie's smile froze on her face.

A few seconds later, she seemed to realize what was happening. The curve of her lips faded slightly, but she managed to maintain her smile. She coughed lightly to cover up the fleeting embarrassment, then straightened up as if nothing had happened, raising her hand to tidy a strand of blonde hair behind her ear.

"I... won't hurt you."

As she spoke, she walked towards Fern, raising her other hand and unconsciously brushing her fingertips against a pale purple flower in full bloom beside her. The movement was very light, as if she were using it to gather her thoughts, or perhaps afraid of startling something.

"Your talent is unparalleled."

Her gaze returned to Fern's face, her tone regaining its previous certainty, even becoming more fervent.

"You are a born mage. I can see that the potential within you far exceeds your current performance. Your eyes can see the most subtle flows of magic, a realm that most mages cannot reach in their entire lives."

She took another step forward, closing the distance, and extended her hand to Fern.

"I will impart all my knowledge. I will guide you to the pinnacle of magic. The heights you can reach may surpass Frieren's, and perhaps even..."

She paused, not continuing, but her meaning was clear.

Fern listened quietly, blinking her pale purple eyes.

"Hmm..."

She uttered a syllable indicating thought.

Does this have anything to do with my exam results?

Serie's smile remained unchanged, "Perhaps."

She looked at Fern with a look that said, "You have no idea how much of a chance I'm giving you."

"But none of that matters. What matters is you, Fern. It would be such a waste to let your talent go to waste."

Fern lowered his head and thought about it very seriously.

A few seconds later, she raised her face again and looked at Serie, her eyes clear and firm.

"I... am Lady Frieren's disciple."

Serie's lips curled down, revealing a somewhat childish expression of dissatisfaction.

You should know that, right?

She crossed her arms, her tone carrying a hint of "Why are you so stubborn?"

"Ruby. She was first my student, and then... she became Frieren's student. There's no conflict, and I don't mind."

She pointed at Fern, then at herself.

"You can be our disciple at the same time. I won't interfere with what Frieren teaches you. And what I teach you is what she can't teach. Isn't that better?"

Fern paused for a moment.

"Yes, indeed."

She nodded, as if acknowledging this logic.

But the next second, she gently shook her head.

"But... I'm very sorry, Lady Serie."

Her voice was soft but clear, each word carrying an unwavering meaning.

"I am Lady Frieren's disciple."

Serie stared at her for several seconds.

A variety of emotions flashed through those golden eyes—confusion, regret, a hint of defeat—finally culminating in a soft, slightly resentful snort.

"... snort."

She turned her face away to look at the flower field beside her; her profile looked somewhat awkward in the light and shadow.

"Frieren has taken on a fine disciple."

Her voice trailed off, as if she were talking to herself.

A few seconds later, she turned her face back to look at Fern, her expression returning to its usual calm, though a trace of regret lingered in the depths of her eyes.

"Never mind."

She waved her hand, her tone implying "whatever," but she didn't sound angry.

"However, I won't let such a promising talent like you slip through my fingers."

She paused, then announced.

You've passed.

Fern showed no particular joy, only a slight bow.

"Yes, Serie, Lady Celia."

After saying that, she turned around, walked to the door, and left.

The door slowly closed.

The room fell silent again, with only the soft rustling of leaves and flowers, and Serie's solitary figure standing by the flower field.

She stared at the closed door for a long while before letting out a soft breath.

Then, she raised her hand, put her index and middle fingers together, and gently touched her temple.

Subtle magical fluctuations gathered and Swirl at her fingertips, connecting to some distant existence.

Ruby.

She spoke, her voice very soft in the empty room.

There seemed to be an immediate response from the other end, with Ruby's cheerful voice coming through.

Serie continued, her tone returning to its usual casualness.

Come to my room tonight.

After she finished speaking, the magical fluctuations at her fingertips dissipated, and the connection was severed.

Ruby: "?"

Outside the door.

Fern walked out and headed straight for Frieren, who was standing in the middle of the hall.

Frieren had her arms clasped behind her head, her silvery-white hair shimmering slightly in the beam of light streaming through the high window. Her emerald eyes watched Fern approach, and the corners of her mouth curved upwards.

"You passed, Fern."

Fern walked up to her, stopped, and nodded.

"Um."

"Does Serie want you to become her apprentice?"

"... Um."

Fern responded, paused, and added.

"I refused."

Frieren's eyes immediately lit up, her emerald green pupils sparkling with undisguised smugness. She lowered her hands from behind her head, placed them on her hips instead, puffed out her non-existent chest, and slightly raised her chin.

"Hmph~"

She emitted a signature, slightly boastful nasal sound.

"Isn't it because I'm more charismatic as the master?"

Looking at her "praise me" expression, a faint hint of helplessness flashed in Fern's pale purple eyes.

"No."

She calmly denied it, her tone completely flat.

"I just feel that becoming Lady Serie's disciple would definitely cause some trouble, and without me, Lady Frieren would go to bed with her hair wet every night, and she would definitely have a headache the next morning."

She paused for a moment, then began to list the items one by one, speaking at a steady pace and with clear logic.

"I tend to stay up late and wake up late every day, my sleep schedule is chaotic, I miss breakfast, and then I eat a lot of food at noon because I'm so hungry, even though elves don't get fat."

"I'm too lazy to tidy up my room. I just throw my clothes around, and my magical tools and spellbooks are piled up everywhere. When I can't find something, I have to spend time searching, and the room quickly looks like it's been hit by a tornado."

"When I need a specific magical tool, I'll spend most of the day rummaging through my messy luggage, and if I still can't find it, I'll get frustrated."

"You'll forget to water the potted plants. Those Moonlight Grass you brought back from the Southern Islands and kept in Lowell's alternate dimension, you'll let them dry out."

"Meeting..."

"Okay, okay, stop now..."

Frieren quickly reached out and covered Fern's mouth, stopping her from continuing. Philon's eyes were half-closed, her lips pouting, her expression clearly showing her displeasure.

Give me back my gratitude.

With her mouth covered, Fern blinked her pale purple eyes, a faint smile flickering within them. She didn't struggle, but simply watched Frieren quietly.

Frieren stared at her for a few seconds, then finally gave in, letting go, turning her face away, and muttering to herself.

"Really... I didn't do that."

Fern didn't reply, but simply reached out and straightened the cloak straps that had become slightly askew from her earlier gesture of putting her hands on her hips.

The movements were natural and skillful.

"But I just love Frieren like this."

The interviews are still ongoing.

Falsh's voice rang out again, calm and even.

"Next, Lichta."

Lichta crossed her arms and walked in expressionlessly.

The door closed.

Serie was still standing by the flower field, this time holding a small pair of silver flower shears, slowly and meticulously trimming a somewhat messy flower branch. She didn't even look up when she heard footsteps.

"Lichta, right?"

"Um."

What are your thoughts on magic?

Lichta stopped a few steps away from her, her eyes drooping, her tone flat.

"Magic, huh? It's actually quite useful."

"They're used for killing during wartime, and for working during peacetime. Very convenient."

Serie paused for a moment while pruning the flowers.

She glanced at him, her eyes devoid of any particular emotion, and simply nodded casually.

"Um."

She looked away and continued trimming.

"It's acceptable. It's passable."

Lichta smiled slightly, said nothing more, and turned to leave.

"Next, Edel."

Edel rubbed her eyes, her face still showing signs of sleepiness beneath her pink mushroom haircut, and slowly moved inside.

Serie had already sat back down on a smooth rock in the middle of the flower field, her bare feet dangling in the soil, playing with the small silver scissors she had just used.

"Edel."

"Yes."

"You're only good at Mental Magic?"

Edel.

"Yes, that's true." Her voice was languid. "I'm not good at fighting. But I think there might be some use for me."

Serie looked at her.

"Certainly."

She twirled the silver scissors between her fingers.

"Become my disciple."

Edel blinked.

"First-Class Mage is not allowed to be inept at combat," Serie continued, her tone casual yet carrying an undeniable authority. "I will teach you. Until you are 'proficient'."

Edel stared at her for a few seconds.

"Then I hope you can be a little gentler."

Serie nodded.

"Yes, you pass."

"Next, Wirbel."

Wirbel grinned and strode inside.

Serie was squatting by the pond beside the flower field, her bare feet immersed in the clear water, gently swaying and creating ripples.

"Wirbel."

She looked him up and down, her golden eyes scrutinizing him, but also revealing a hint of interest.

"I've heard of you. Among Second-Class Mages, you're the most warlike. But..."

She paused.

"And the one who cares most about their companions."

Wirbel crossed his arms, his smile unchanged.

I guess so.

What are your thoughts on magic?

Wirbel grinned almost without hesitation, revealing his white teeth and sharp eyes.

"Magic is the tool of battle."

Upon hearing this, Serie's eyes lit up slightly.

It was a gleam of approval and excitement, as if she had found a kindred spirit. The corners of her mouth turned up, forming a wild smile somewhat similar to that of Wirbel.

"Qualified."