The Commission

Northern Plateau, Dorah Region.

The dirt road winds through a gently rolling hill and ends at a village.

The village sits in a sheltered mountain valley. From a distance, the houses, built of gray stone and wood, are crammed together, many of them two-story structures. But at this moment, the settlement looks somewhat dilapidated.

Many roof tiles were broken, and dark holes revealed the crisscrossing rafters underneath. Several sections of low stone walls had collapsed halfway, with rubble scattered everywhere, blocking half the road. Near the village entrance, a two-story house had a large hole in its outer wall, with jagged edges, through which the shadows of a crooked table and a fallen cabinet could be seen.

Only a few houses remained relatively intact, with wisps of smoke rising from their chimneys. Villagers were walking along the road, bending down to pick out usable pieces of wood from the ruins, or squatting by the walls, mixing mud to fill the cracks.

Lowell stopped and squinted at him.

"It's a complete mess."

Frieren walked over. An elderly man with graying hair and old glasses was squatting at the village entrance, rummaging through a pile of broken planks. Hearing footsteps, he looked up, wiped his hands on his trousers, and slowly stood up.

"Hello," Frieren began, her voice steady, "What happened here?"

The old man, supporting himself on his knees, stood up straight and dusted off his hands.

"Are you a traveler passing through?" he sighed. "Our village suffered a disaster a few days ago; it was attacked by a dragon."

Fern stood a few steps behind, his pale purple eyes slowly sweeping over the damaged houses, collapsed walls, and the two-story buildings with large holes.

"The Northern Plateau..." she murmured, as if talking to herself, "Are there really that many dragons? I've encountered a few before..."

Lowell crossed his arms, speaking casually.

"It's alright. At least lately I've only encountered lone creatures. Back when I was traveling with Himmel and the others, fighting the Demon King, we even ran into a group of dragons. That was really something."

Fern pursed his lips slightly.

She instinctively reached out to tug at Frieren's sleeve, but Frieren was standing two or three steps away, talking to the old man.

Her hand paused in mid-air for a moment, then turned and gently pinched the cuff of Methode's sleeve beside her.

"This is terrifying..." Her voice was lower than usual, and she spoke a little faster, "I can barely handle one dragon, let alone a whole group..."

Methode lowered her head, looking at the hand that was gripping her sleeve, and a clear, gentle smile curved her lips. She didn't pull her hand away; instead, she relaxed her arm, letting Fern pull it along, a soft light shining in her eyes.

"Don't be afraid, don't be afraid," she said softly, as if coaxing a child, "Miss Fern, I'm here."

The old man glanced at them, his gaze lingering on Frieren's pointed ears and mage's robes before turning to Lowell and the three women behind her, a mixture of expectation and uncertainty on his face.

"Um, dragons..." He hesitated for a moment before speaking, his tone carrying the unique understanding of the locals, "When it comes to dragons, aren't they always seen moving in groups?"

Frieren turned her head, her emerald green eyes looking at the old man.

"You were attacked by a horde of dragons."

"Yes." The old man nodded, his expression turning grave, his wrinkles deepening. "A group of dragons, I don't know where they came from, they settled in the mountains near the village. Our village actually has some fighting power; if it were just one, we could figure out a way to handle it. But it's a whole group..."

He paused, his gaze sweeping carefully over Frieren and Lowell, lingering particularly on Frieren's attire, which differed from that of ordinary travelers.

"Judging from your attire and demeanor, you're not ordinary passersby. If you're strong enough..." He rubbed his rough hands together, lowering his voice, "I'd like to shamelessly ask you all to help me eliminate those dragons."

He swallowed hard and continued, speaking faster as if afraid of being rejected.

"However, our village is small and not wealthy. This disaster has made things even tougher. The compensation we can offer is probably meager and won't meet your expectations..."

As Fern listened, she moved even closer to Methode, her pale purple hair almost brushing against her arm, her face filled with fear.

"Common knowledge about the Northern Plateau..." she whispered, her voice muffled behind Methode's sleeve, "It's so scary, absolutely terrifying..."

Methode's smile deepened, and she gently patted Fern's shoulder with her free hand.

"It's alright, we're here."

Frieren thought for a moment, her silvery-white hair swaying gently as she tilted her head.

"Hmm," she uttered a short syllable, as if weighing her options, "Helping you out isn't out of the question."

She looked at the old man, her emerald eyes blinking, a familiar light flashing within them—the light that would light up when she saw interesting magic or treasure.

"As for payment, do you have a spellbook? Any kind will do."

The old man paused, clearly not expecting this question. He raised his hand, tapped his glasses that had slipped down his nose with his knuckles, and tried hard to remember.

"A magic book... we probably don't have such a precious item in a remote place like this. But..." His eyes suddenly lit up, "The village does have a Never Stumble While Saying Tongue Twisters,' I wonder if that... would work?"

Fern peeked out from behind Methode's sleeve, her pale purple eyes calmly surveying the scene, her voice flat as she commented:

"That sounds completely useless."

Frieren touched her smooth chin, a thoughtful expression on her face.

"Eh..." she drawled, her gaze fixed on a point in the air, as if flipping through a vast bookshelf of memories in her mind, "This kind of magic seems to have duplicates."

She turned her gaze back to the old man.

"I remember I already collected a magic spell that would prevent me from making mistakes when reciting rhymes and long sentences..."

Lowell raised his hand and scratched the back of his head vigorously, making his hair even more messy. He frowned, his expression somewhat troubled, and muttered to himself as if solving a difficult problem.

"This... is a rhyme... a long sentence... a tongue twister..."

He smacked his lips and made a "tsk" sound.

Tongue twisters are a type of rhyme, but rhymes aren't necessarily tongue twisters... Longer sentences cover a wider range... Hmm, is this considered specializing in a niche area? It seems... not entirely repetitive?

He muttered to himself, his eyes darting around, clearly engaged in a complex mental deduction of magical taxonomy.

Frieren waited quietly for a few seconds, and seeing that he had no conclusion, she nodded herself, a "it's settled" expression on her face.

"Make a deal!"

As she spoke, she naturally extended her right hand to the old man, as if she wanted to shake his hand to signify a commitment.

Her hand was only halfway out, not even touching the old man's fingertips.

Another hand darted in from the side, precisely blocking her and the old man.

Lowell stepped in front of her, extended his right hand, and grasped the old man's rough hand, which was still covered with wood chips, without saying a word, shaking it vigorously up and down.

"Sold!"

His voice was louder than usual, and his movements were decisive and efficient, conveying an air of "this matter is settled, there's no need to discuss it further."

The old man was a little confused when the man shook his hand, but feeling the firm strength, he quickly nodded.

"Okay, okay... Thank you, thank you all!"

Watching this scene, Methode chuckled softly, her laughter filled with undisguised pleasure and understanding. Her gaze swept over Frieren, who was completely hidden by Lowell's strong back, before settling back on Lowell's slightly taut profile.

"Mr. Lowell is much more nervous than Miss Fern in this regard. He won't even let you shake his hand."

Frieren, standing behind Lowell, first blinked her emerald eyes, a look of confusion on her face. She took a half-step to the side, peeking out from beside Lowell, glancing at the old man, then looking up at Lowell's tense profile.

"Huh?" she uttered a short syllable, her eyes clear and filled with curiosity. "Is that what you mean?"

She tilted her head, her silver hair sliding down her shoulder.

"I thought he suddenly wanted to shake hands with people."

Lowell released the old man's hand, turned around, raised his hand to his mouth, and coughed forcefully twice.

"Cough cough!"

He touched his nose, his gaze drifting to the two-story building next to him that had a large hole and looked dilapidated, as if he had suddenly become very interested in its architectural structure.

"Alright, don't worry about the details." He waved his hand, trying to regain his usual nonchalant tone. "Anyway, the commission is accepted."

He strode forward, heading straight towards the mountainous area where the dragons had been pointed out by the old man, his pace slightly faster than usual.

Let's go.

"Slay the dragons."