Analysis

Ten days later.

The windows of the cabin were open, and the afternoon light slanted in, cutting a warm yellow patch of light on the floor. Tiny dust motes swirled slowly in the light.

Frieren lay on the cushions near the fireplace, her head resting on Fern's lap. Her long, silvery hair spread out, draped over Fern's dark skirt like flowing moonlight.

Fern held a wooden bowl filled with steaming vegetable soup. She carefully scooped up a spoonful and brought it to Frieren's lips.

"Come, Lady Frieren, open your mouth, ah--"

Frieren obediently opened her mouth. The soup entered her mouth, and she chewed slowly, her cheeks puffing slightly. Her emerald eyes were half-closed, her gaze unfocused, still immersed in some deep thoughts.

After swallowing, her brows furrowed slightly, and a few tears welled up in the corners of her eyes.

"It's so hot..." she mumbled, her voice slightly nasal, as she rubbed her head against Fern's leg. "Please blow on it for me..."

Fern looked at her like that, his pale purple eyes lowered slightly.

"... I really can't do anything with you."

She lowered her head, gently blew on the next spoonful of soup, and then handed it over.

"Give."

Frieren drank it with satisfaction, letting out a soft, contented murmur.

The door to the cabin was pushed open, and Duncan walked in. He was carrying several rolls of parchment, and when he saw the scene inside, he paused.

"Looks like it's not over yet," he said, his voice steady.

"Yes." Fern nodded, continuing to feed her, "But Lady Frieren said it will be ready soon."

Duncan walked to the table and put down the parchment.

"You should eat more vegetables too," he said.

"Okay, that sounds reasonable. Come, Lady Frieren, open your mouth."

Frieren mechanically opened her mouth and ate. After chewing a few times, she suddenly widened her eyes, her emerald green pupils looking at Fern, filled with reluctance.

"Hmm... onion..."

She tried to turn her face away.

"I've been painstakingly analyzing Macht's memories, you know," she drawled, her voice soft, trying to bargain, "It's okay if you pamper me a little more... I don't want to eat onions..."

Fern's hand remained firmly at her lips, and the contents of the spoon did not diminish in the slightest.

"I'm doing that now," she said, her voice steady and flat. "Please open your mouth."

"No...!"

Frieren shut her mouth and buried her face in Felix's stomach, her silver hair obscuring her profile.

Fern didn't say anything, just held up his spoon and waited quietly.

The standoff lasted a few seconds.

Frieren raised her eyes, her emerald green gaze passing over Fern's shoulder to Lowell, who was sitting by the window, casually flipping through a book. Her eyes were moist, carrying a clear plea for help.

"Lowell..."

Lowell looked up from the book, glanced at her, then at the spoon Fern holding steadily and the orange and white onion chunks inside. He forced a helpless smile.

"Frieren, calling me won't do any good," he said casually. "At a time like this, if we're tied together, we'll just get scolded together anyway."

He closed the book and tapped his fingers on the cover.

"For military matters, listen to the regimental commander; for personal matters, listen to the political commissar. Fern is the political commissar..."

Frieren blinked, her eyes blank.

"I don't understand..." she mumbled softly, then buried her face again, her voice muffled, "But onions taste awful... I don't want to eat them..."

Fern's hand, holding the spoon, remained as steady as a rock.

The room fell silent, with only the occasional distant bird call drifting in from outside the window.

After a while...

Very slowly, very slowly, Frieren lifted her face slightly off Fern's lap. She glanced at the spoonful of repulsive mixture still waiting at her lips, pursed her lips, and then, as if making a huge decision, closed her eyes, leaned in, and quickly swallowed the contents of the spoonful whole.

She puffed out her cheeks, chewed a few times forcefully, and then almost swallowed it whole. Her whole face scrunched up, and her emerald green eyes welled up with even more tears.

Fern then put down his spoon and gently wiped Frieren's lips with a handkerchief placed to the side.

She was fed a few more times, and the bowl was still not empty, but Frieren was already refusing to eat anymore.

"All right."

Fern set the bowl aside and reached out to gather Frieren's disheveled long hair. The silvery strands slipped through her fingers, cool and smooth.

"Your hair is a little messy," Fern said softly, her fingers deftly beginning to comb it. "Let me braid it for you; it'll be more comfortable that way."

Frieren didn't react at first, letting her do as she pleased. But when Fern's fingers separated three strands of hair and began to intertwine them, Frieren's body suddenly tensed up a little.

"No..." She tried to shake her head, but her head was held in place by Fern and she couldn't move it much. "Don't braid my hair into a three-strand braid..."

There was a hint of genuine panic in her voice.

"I won't leave any food uneaten next time... I apologize..." She spoke faster, "Really... It'll be almost done today, I'll be able to move around again today... Don't make that up..."

"You said the same thing yesterday," Fern stated, his voice devoid of emotion. "And the day before yesterday too."

Her fingers didn't stop. Three strands of silver hair obediently intertwined and tightened at her fingertips, gradually forming a neat, but overly simple, three-strand braid.

"Alright." Fern picked up a simple hair tie, tied it to the end of the braid, and made a knot.

Frieren lay there as if she had lost all her strength, her emerald eyes staring at the roof beams, radiating a faint, listless aura of being "Judgment."

Lowell looked up from behind the book at the three-strand braid hanging beside the cushion, exuding an air of "good student," and his lips twitched. He quickly raised the book to cover his face.

Duncan sat at the table, looking at the parchment, seemingly oblivious to everything.

Outside the window, the sunlight gradually slanted westward, changing from a bright, warm yellow to a deep orange-red, and then slowly settling into a tranquil indigo.

As the last rays of light disappeared below the horizon, Frieren slowly opened her eyes, which had been half-closed.

The layer of mist that had clung to the ground for ten days, dissipating and looking weary, receded like the tide.

His emerald green pupils refocused, clear, calm, and perfectly reflecting the flickering flames in the fireplace.

She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. Her chest rose and fell noticeably with each breath, and a kind of "vitality" that had been stagnant for a long time flowed back into her limbs and bones.

"Analysis complete." She spoke, her voice still a little hoarse from not speaking for a long time, but each word was clear and forceful.

She turned her head and looked at Lowell by the window.

Lowell.

Lowell put down his book.

He looked into her eyes, which had regained their clarity, and her dark pupils suddenly gleamed in the firelight.

"Resolved?"

Frieren's lips curved upwards, and a slight sense of pride, characteristic of someone who had just accomplished a difficult task, appeared on her face.

"Certainly."

Lowell's smile instantly blossomed, warmer than the firelight of the fireplace. He stood up, walked a few steps to the cushion, squatted down, and reached out to vigorously ruffle Frieren's hair, making a few strands of her recently braided, neat three-strand braid stick up.

"As expected of my Frieren!"

Fern stopped wiping his staff and looked over with his pale purple eyes.

"Eh..." she asked softly, a hint of anticipation in her voice, "Have you successfully broken the magic of Diagoldze?"

"Yes, that's right." Frieren nodded, her silver hair swaying with the movement, "But..."

"But?"

Frieren raised her hand and touched the overly plain braid at the back of her head, her lips pursed downwards, and clear disdain was evident in her emerald eyes.

"But my three-strand braids are really ugly..."

Fern: "..."

She silently looked away and continued wiping the staff, her movements slightly more forceful than before.

Lowell chuckled softly, ruffled Frieren's hair again, then stood up and stretched his shoulders.

"Alright." He turned to Duncan. "Perfect timing. The Golden Land is full of indestructible gold right now... I'll break the barrier and get you in the game, Duncan."

Duncan also stood up, his back straight. His face was expressionless, but his eyes were calm, like a piece of steel that had been repeatedly hammered and quenched, about to be put into final forging.

"I understand," he said.

Lowell stroked his chin, pondering for a moment.

"Hmm... how about adding some support? Just going up there to fight like this feels like it's missing a bit of a ritual..."

He paced around the room a couple of times, his boots creaking softly on the wooden floor.

"Duncan, go back to your hometown and get married after the war... No, that buff has the opposite effect, it's unlucky, and you're already married. Let me think..."

He stopped and looked at Duncan, a gleam of interest flashing in his dark eyes.

"Got it."

"Duncan, on your way—" He cleared his throat, straightened his back, and his face showed an expression that was almost solemn, yet subtly encouraging. His voice also rose a little, as if he were announcing some important decree.

"It is 'Returning home in the evening snow, keeping the old promise'!"

"Win it beautifully, and then--"

His smile became gentle and warm, and he reached out and patted Duncan's strong shoulder firmly.

"Your loved one is waiting for you. Go back to your colorful home with her."

The cabin fell silent for a moment.

Only the firewood crackled and Burning in the fireplace.

Duncan stood still, looking at Lowell. His usual composure was like the surface of water after a pebble has been thrown in, gently rippling outwards. The ripples quickly subsided, sinking deeper into his eyes, transforming into a faint yet rock-solid light.

He didn't say anything, he just nodded slightly.

"I will."