Sparring

Lowell lay facedown, his cheek pressed against the cool, strangely textured floor—it felt like jade, yet also like some kind of solidified energy.

His traveling robe was flecked with dust, and his bangs were a little disheveled, but otherwise he had no visible injuries. His face was blank, even a little resigned and calm, as though he were a frozen game CG titled "Defeat."

Beneath him was not earth, but a substance resembling black glass, smooth enough to reflect a blurry image. An endless gray space surrounded him, with no sky or ground, only a faint glow in the void. This was a pocket dimension Serie had created on the spot, sturdy enough to withstand some rather unruly powers.

Serie stood beside him, without a single wrinkle in her clothes. She looked down at Lowell, her face expressionless, but her gaze was as sharp as a freshly honed blade.

"Get up," she said. "Stop playing dead."

Lowell's face remained pressed against the cool floor, his voice muffled. "I told you, I can't beat you."

"You weren't using your full strength." Serie's tone was firm and unquestionable.

Lowell lifted his head slightly and turned it to the side, revealing half of his largely expressionless face. "That would break this pocket dimension. Besides, I told you, I can't beat you."

"You're lying." Serie narrowed her eyes slightly, a trace of dissatisfaction at not having had her fill in them. "Your mana flows as smoothly as stagnant water, without so much as a decent ripple. Lorenz, you're making it too obvious that you're holding back."

Just then, a part of the space rippled like water, and Frieren walked in. She looked at Lowell lying on the floor, then at Serie standing straight beside him, showing no particular surprise.

She went over to Lowell, crouched down, and reached out to gently brush the dust off his clothes.

"I knew it. Are you done fighting?" she asked flatly.

"Yeah." Lowell answered without getting up, letting Frieren brush him off.

Frieren was thorough, brushing from his shoulders down his back with the practiced movements of someone tending to an ordinary piece of furniture.

After a few brushes, she stopped and looked at Serie.

"Did you knock him down again?" she asked.

Serie folded her arms and snorted. "He lay down on his own, like a child refusing to play fair."

Frieren looked down at Lowell. "Is that true?"

Lowell turned his face away and buried it in his arms again. "No, she knocked me down. I need a hug before I can get up."

Frieren ignored him and asked no further questions, continuing to brush the hem of his robe. Once she had brushed off the dust, she naturally reached out and smoothed his somewhat messy black hair.

"Can we go back now?" she asked, addressing both of them this time.

Serie said nothing, merely staring at the back of Lowell's head, seemingly still displeased by his utterly halfhearted "defeat" just now.

Lowell slowly pushed himself up and sat. His face was still largely expressionless, and aside from his slightly disheveled bangs, he looked much the same as he had before entering the space.

"Let's go back," he said, bracing a hand on his knee as he stood. "I'm hungry."

Frieren stood as well and naturally slipped her arm through his, as though afraid he might lie down again.

Serie watched them, the sharpness in her gaze fading a little, replaced by a trace of indescribable complexity. She waved her hand, and the gray space around them began to recede like the tide, gradually revealing the inn room.

"Next time," Serie's voice came before the space had completely vanished, "find somewhere sturdier."

Lowell glanced back at her. He neither agreed nor refused, saying only, "We'll see."

The next moment, they were back in their room on the second floor of the inn. Outside the window, the lights of Central City were coming on one by one, and the distant Tower of the Firmament gave off a soft glow in the dusk.

Frieren released Lowell's arm and went to the window, looking at the tower.

"She still really wants to fight you," she said.

"She always has." Lowell went to the table, picked up the pitcher, and poured himself a glass of water. "I know. But it's a hassle."

"Because you're afraid you won't be able to control your power?"

"Because there's no need." Lowell took a sip of water. "We settle who wins, and then what? It means nothing to either of us. Things are fine as they are. I'm not a battle maniac; only she is."

Frieren turned around and leaned against the window frame. "But she thinks it means something."

"That's her business." Lowell put down his glass and looked at Frieren. "I just want to live a quiet life."

Frieren was silent for a few seconds, then softly said, "Yeah." She went over to her luggage and began searching for something.

"What should we eat tonight?" she asked, the subject returning to everyday matters.

"Anything's fine," Lowell said. "You decide."

Frieren took a small cloth pouch from her bag. It contained some dried fruit and jerky, travel food they always kept on hand.

"Let's eat this," she said. "I don't want to go downstairs."

Lowell nodded and sat down beside her. The two quietly shared the simple food with tea. Only the faint sounds of chewing and the distant noises of the city outside remained in the room.

After eating, Frieren returned to the window and gazed absently toward the tower. The light at its tip blinked steadily in the night sky.

"That Ruby," she said suddenly, "would she be in the tower now?"

Lowell was clearing the food scraps from the table. "Maybe. Maybe not. Didn't Serie say she'd gone out to 'gain experience'? She might happen to be passing through again, but it's more likely she isn't here."

"Mm," Frieren replied, her fingers tracing the cool windowpane unconsciously. "'The Capital's First Genius Mage'—I wonder what kind of child she is."

Lowell walked over to her and looked at the tower with her.

"We'll find out eventually," he said, "if fate arranges for us to meet."

Frieren did not answer. She simply stood there quietly, her silver hair taking on a faint hue in the dim light filtering through the window. After a long while, she gave a soft yawn.

"Let's sleep," she said. "Maybe we should leave Central City tomorrow."

"Aren't we going to look around the other parts of the association?"

"There's nothing worth seeing." Frieren turned and walked toward the bed. "They're all just human mages who'll die soon enough."

Lowell smiled and said nothing more. He blew out the oil lamp on the table, plunging the room into darkness. Only the city lights outside and the distant glow of the tower provided a faint light for the quiet night.