A Conversation by the Bench

Three days later, at dusk.

The ceremony for awarding the title of First-Class Mage has concluded.

The evening bells rang at that very moment, long and steady, echoing through the streets of Oysast.

Frieren, Fern, and Lowell sat side by side on a bench by the street.

Frieren toyed with the First-Class Mage certificate she had just received. The certificate was simple, with the Continental Magic Association emblem embossed in gold on the cover, and inside was just a thin sheet of paper printed with official text.

She looked at it over and over, her emerald green eyes blinking.

"Eh..."

She uttered a drawn-out syllable, and a hint of happiness could be heard in it.

"Fern has really made something of himself."

She turned her head to look at Fern beside her.

"There are fewer than a hundred First-Class Mages right now. That's considered the pinnacle of mages."

I'm very happy.

Fern sat on her other side, holding her own certificate and looking down at it. Upon hearing this, her expression didn't change; she simply nodded slightly.

"Yes, me too, Lady Frieren."

"However," Frieren looked away, glanced at the paper in her hand, and pursed her lips, "The proof of this First-Class Mage... is just a single sheet of paper."

She twirled the pages between her fingertips.

"I still feel my 'Proof of the Holy Staff' is better. At least that one is silver, and it looks much better."

Fern looked at the certificate in his hand and agreed.

"Indeed. It doesn't look very high-end."

Lowell sat on the other side of Frieren, hands behind her head, leaning back on the bench, and smiled.

"Of course."

He said lazily.

"The 'Proof of the Holy Staff' belonged to the top scholar in the Tang Dynasty. Compared to today's top scorers in the college entrance examination, there's definitely a difference; times have changed."

Frieren turned to look at him, her expression carrying a hint of habitual, slight confusion.

"You still keep saying nonsensical things."

She paused, then her gaze returned to Fern.

"However, in this era, Fern would certainly be a more famous mage than I am."

Fern shook his head gently.

Being famous or not is not important.

Her voice was steady.

"I just want to be with Lady Frieren."

Lowell immediately turned to Fern, a wide, teasing smile on his face, and pointed at her with his finger.

"Oh? My rival has appeared."

Fern immediately puffed out his cheeks.

"What...?"

Just then, a steady sound of footsteps approached from afar.

All three turned their heads at the same time.

Lairen walked over.

He wore a dark mage's robe that was perfectly straight without a single wrinkle, the collar and cuffs buttoned up tightly. His short white hair was combed neatly, each strand lying in its place. His face was expressionless, his eyes calmly gazing ahead, and his strides were evenly spaced, as if measured with a ruler.

He stopped a few steps away from the bench, placed his left hand on his chest, and moved with the precision of a textbook etiquette.

"I am First-Class Mage, Lairen."

His voice, like his appearance, was steady, clear, and devoid of any superfluous emotion.

"One of Serie's many disciples."

Lowell blinked, didn't move, but tilted his head slightly.

"Oh, what's wrong? What's the matter?"

This guy is no ordinary "one of many disciples"; it wouldn't be an exaggeration to say that he's the strongest in the association below Serie.

Frieren stared at Lairen with her emerald green eyes for two seconds before suddenly speaking.

"Huh."

Her tone carried a hint of knowing indifference.

"You could see it after all. We were hiding our magic."

"Your magical skills are quite superb. That's rare in these peaceful times."

Fern seemed to remember something and added softly.

"Oh, right. Miss Sense mentioned that the escape Golem she gave us was made by the First-Class Mage, Lairen. Isn't that the gentleman?"

Lairen remained standing ramrod straight, responding with utmost seriousness.

"Just as you said."

"I am a mage who only knows how to fight, born in the wrong era."

He slightly raised his chin, his gaze calmly fixed on the empty space ahead, as if stating a given fact.

"Lady Serie often says that if I had been born in an era of fighting against the Demon King's Army, I would surely have been remembered in history like other heroes."

Lowell listened quietly.

"So, you're just First-Class Mage only knows how to fight."

He shifted to a more comfortable sitting position, placing one hand on the back of the chair behind Frieren.

"What's up? You didn't come here just to introduce yourself, did you? You helped Frieren with the exam, thank you so much."

It appears she went there to register her granddaughter for an exam.

Lairen slowly turned her gaze to him, then to Frieren. His expression remained unchanged, but something extremely profound seemed to be slowly settling and gathering in his calm eyes.

Of that great man's many disciples, only two made it into the annals of history, becoming legends passed down through generations.

His voice was calm, and he pronounced each word clearly.

"One of them is the Great Mage Flamme."

"One of them is the Great Mage Ruby."

He paused, his gaze finally settling on Frieren's face.

"If I grow old, there will be one less proof of Lady Serie's existence in this world."

"I don't want that person to be alone in the future."

His speech didn't quicken at all, but the weight of his words seemed to freeze the evening air for a moment.

"So..."

Without warning, he raised his staff and aimed it at Frieren was sitting on the bench.

At the tip of the staff, a point of pitch-black light rapidly condensed and compressed, emitting a chilling fluctuation.

"... Even if it means bearing the infamy of murdering the legendary Great Mage Frieren, I would gladly accept it."

The three people. "?"

Almost at the same instant his words fell—

"Call out--!"

A jet-black beam of magic, condensed to its extreme, shot out from his palm without warning!

Target... Frieren.

That wasn't Ordinary Attack Magic. It looked similar, but the level of compressed magical power and its destructive nature were completely different.

Frieren's body floated backward and hovered off the ground the instant the beam of light reached her. At the same time, a complex honeycomb-shaped Defensive Magic instantly took shape not far in front of her.

"Puff!"

A piercing sound, so faint it was almost ethereal.

The jet-black beam pierced the Defensive Magic circle without any resistance. The light from the honeycomb structure flickered for only a moment, like a bubble being punctured by a sharp needle, before vanishing silently.

But the fragments of light had not completely dissipated.

The second layer, with an identical but thicker honeycomb-shaped Defensive Magic circle, was already constructed closer to Frieren, its light as solid as glass.

"Zzz--!"

The jet-black beam slammed into the second layer of defense! A piercing, high-frequency sound of violent magical friction exploded outwards! The defensive shield trembled violently, dense ripples spreading across its surface, and even tiny sparks flying from its edges, but—

It held up.

It firmly withstood this sudden and terrifying blow.

The beam of light held its ground for a moment in the defense before exhausting its power, transforming into countless tiny black rays that dissipated into the evening air.

Frieren slowly landed back on the ground, her emerald eyes calmly looking at Lairen. Her long, silvery-white hair fluttered slightly in the breeze stirred up by the impact before returning to stillness.

Lairen remained in an attacking stance, watching the Defensive Magic that had successfully blocked her attack. For the first time, a very subtle change appeared on her calm face.

"... Surprisingly."

He put down his staff and said in a low voice.

"As expected of Lady Frieren. Apart from Lady Serie, this is the first time anyone has managed to defend against this attack."

He looked at Frieren.

"You absolutely must have a contest with me..."

As he spoke, he reached into his pocket with his free left hand, and when he took it out again, he was holding three small glass bottles between his fingers.

The two are bottles containing escape Golems that appeared in previous exams.

The other one is clearly different.

Lowell had stood up at some point.

He stood half a step to the side and slightly in front of Frieren, his expression unchanged. He looked at Lairen, then at the bottle in her hand, and finally his gaze returned to her face.

"Alright, alright, stop it, Old Deng."

His voice was not loud, and he seemed to have no anger, but rather an unquestionable calmness.

"If I hadn't known that Frieren could definitely defend against it, your arm would have been gone the moment you raised it."

He paused, looked Lairen up and down, his tone carrying undisguised disdain, and shook his head as if looking at an ignorant child.

"What kind of twisted thinking is that?"

Lairen looked at Lowell without saying a word, her fingers still gripping the bottle.

Lowell gently patted the dust off Frieren's back and shoulders.

Frieren looked at Lairen, her clear, bright green eyes sparkling.

"Lairen, you don't need to be so extreme."

"This is just a waste of time."

Lowell spoke, his tone returning to its usual languidness, but the content of his words was far from polite.

"It really is true, whether it's you or Serie. Many mages who only know how to fight are just awkward fools like this, unable to express their feelings."

He shook his head.

"You have no need to go down in history. Trying to make Serie remember you this way? How stupid."

Frieren nodded and continued, "Serie did say something like, ' Flamme clearly has extraordinary talent, yet she hasn't reached the level to be on par with me.' She also said something about training so many disciples of yours who will soon die on a whim."

She paused, looking at Lairen.

"But she, Serie, remembers the name of every disciple, the personality of every disciple, what kind of magic they like, she knows it all."

"Serie is just being childish. Even if you don't make history, Serie will remember you. She always will."

It is indeed a bit of a shame.

Lairen fell silent.

He stood there, head down, looking at the three bottles in his hand. The last rays of the evening light fell on his neat white hair, casting a soft shadow on his face.

He maintained that position for several seconds.

Then, he slowly loosened his grip.

He put the three glass bottles back into his arms.

He raised his head, his gaze shifting between Frieren and Lowell, and finally, his ramrod straight back slackened almost imperceptibly by a tiny, barely perceptible sag.

He did not continue the attack.

Lowell looked at him, walked over, raised his hand, and patted Lairen on the shoulder. The movement was casual, but the force was not light, making Lyleen's shoulder under his mage robes sag slightly.

"Alright, alright, Old Deng."

His tone returned to its usual playful and easygoing manner.

"Considering that your granddaughter and Wirbel have a good relationship, and that you didn't cause any actual harm, I'll reluctantly forgive you."

He added, his tone half-serious and half-joking.

"If anyone else attacked Frieren like that, by next year the grass on their grave would be taller than you."

Lairen looked up at him.

Lowell withdrew his hand and crossed his arms.

"Don't be so clumsy. Serie, you're trying to provoke me, aren't you? Seriously, you want to go down in history by killing Frieren? Ruby is Serie's favorite apprentice. If you kill Frieren, won't she be heartbroken? If she's heartbroken, Serie might lose her little pearl."

He tilted his head, as if he had thought of something interesting, and a mischievous smile appeared on his lips.

"If you want to go down in history, go and overthrow the 'Empire.' You're an army all by yourself anyway. Use your Golems to flatten the Empire's territory, wouldn't that be wonderful? That would make you even more famous."

Lairen looked at him, remained silent for a few seconds, seemingly considering the possibility of this.

"Is that so...?"

Lowell immediately waved his hand.

"Hey, Old Deng, I was just kidding. Don't actually go."

A very, very faint smile appeared on Lairen's face, an extremely rare occurrence. The smile vanished in an instant, as quickly as an illusion.

"I was just kidding."

He said it, his tone remaining calm.

"I sincerely apologize for my behavior just now."

Lowell looked at him.

"Then what?"

Lairen: "?"

He blinked, a little puzzled.

"And then... what?"

Lowell sighed and raised his hand to his forehead.

"Hey, there's a limit to how clumsy you can be. Don't become completely out of touch with society."

He lowered his hand, looked at Lairen, and his expression was serious.

"You wanted to kill Frieren for your own sake and Serie's, and now you just apologize without any remorse? Look, you've scared Frieren to death..."

He glanced at Frieren, who seemed completely unaffected and in fact, was also fine beside him.

After thinking for a moment, she forced herself to say, "Although she doesn't seem scared, my Frieren just didn't show it. She's actually terrified! Forget about compensation for emotional distress, but aren't you going to treat us to a meal to calm our nerves? Judging from your appearance, you don't seem like a poor person."

Lairen paused for a moment, then realized what she meant, her expression returning to its usual calm as she nodded.

"Uh... okay."

Lowell immediately smiled with satisfaction and patted his shoulder hard.

"That's more like it."

He turned around, looked at Frieren and Fern behind him, and raised his eyebrows smugly.

"Hehe, how about it? Another big meal! I've made up for that last one!"

Frieren and Fern exchanged a glance and smiled.