[Perhaps a Possible Spacetime] Getting Ready

The subtle change in Serie's expression lasted only a moment. She put down the comb, leaned back against the cushions stacked on the headboard, her gaze sweeping over Frieren before settling on Sense and Fern, who were adjusting their dresses on the other side of the room.

"It was Sense's own conclusion to involve you in this incident, not my intention." Her voice returned to its usual calm. "If you don't like it, you can withdraw. Of course, I won't ask Fern to participate. Although she is First-Class Mage, she is also your disciple."

As she spoke, her gaze lowered slightly, looking at her clasped hands. A strand of long golden hair slid over her shoulder, obscuring half of her profile.

Frieren turned to look at her, her emerald eyes showing no emotion.

Serie quickly raised her head, and the corners of her mouth once again curved into that usual arrogant smile.

"Besides, it wouldn't matter if you two weren't there. You should understand that, Frieren. The plan to assassinate me was a joke. Even if you gathered the entire empire's military power, could you imagine what my future would be like after my death?"

Frieren turned her head and continued to swing her dangling little feet. The hem of her white skirt swayed gently with her movements.

"Is that so?" Her voice was flat, making it impossible to tell whether she agreed or questioned. "Then, since there's no danger at all, and it's just a joke, why did you specifically emphasize that we can withdraw and stay away from this mission?"

Serie picked up the silver comb again, her fingertips tracing its teeth. The curve of her lips remained unchanged; she offered no reply.

Frieren waited a few seconds, then turned her face and looked directly at her.

Tell me, Serie. What kind of future do you see? What is my role?

Serie avoided her gaze and slowly and methodically combed a strand of her long, golden hair that fell to her chest.

"You can withdraw. This is a matter for the Continental Magic Association. I've already said, it wasn't my intention to involve you; it was Sense who arbitrarily dragged you, who were passing through the Imperial Capital..."

Frieren interrupted her.

"Do you really think that someone who respects your disciple so much wouldn't involve us in the mission?"

Serie stopped combing her hair.

She lowered her head slightly, her golden eyelashes falling over her. The room fell silent for a moment, broken only by the faint, ever-present clamor of the Imperial Capital in the distance.

"... Frieren," she spoke again, her voice much softer, "Come here."

She patted another dressing table beside the bed.

I'll comb your hair.

Frieren didn't move; she just looked at her.

"No. I'll have Fern comb my hair."

"That's not how it is about me." Serie looked up, something flashing quickly across her eyes, too fast to catch. "I just..."

"Lady Frieren, I'm all done here."

Fern's voice came from the dressing table. She had finished getting ready; her deep purple dress fit her perfectly, neither too tight nor too loose. She turned around, her pale purple eyes looking at her calmly.

Sense stood beside her, a few strands of brown hair deftly putting the last bit of the tie back in place. Her face was expressionless, but there seemed to be a subtle satisfaction in her brows as she finished her work.

"I never expected it would take so long to convince her to accept this level of tightness..." Sense's voice was steady, "But at least we've finally adjusted her to the most comfortable fighting position."

A smile returned to Serie's face, a bright smile carrying a hint of approval.

"Thanks a lot."

She stood up, still holding the silver comb in her hand. She walked to the dressing table and pointed with the comb to the chair in front of the mirror.

"Sit down, Sense."

Sense blinked, his droopy eyelids lifting slightly.

"Lady Serie, even if you're very free..." A few strands of her long brown hair darted across, and she gently picked up another comb, holding it between them, "You should know that my magic allows me to comb my own hair, right?"

"Alright." Serie didn't let go, but gestured with her eyes to the chair. "Come here."

Sense looked at her, and then the strands of hair that had been curled in the comb loosened and fell smoothly back to her side. She didn't say anything more, walked to the chair, and sat down properly.

Serie stood behind her, picked up a comb, and began to comb the long brown hair that had reached the ground. Her movements were unhurried, the comb teeth gliding through the hair, making a soft rustling sound.

Why us?

Sense suddenly spoke. She looked at Serie's reflection in the mirror, her voice steady, her question direct.

"The choice of personnel for this mission... there are clearly more suitable ones, like Lairen."

"Him?" Serie chuckled softly, her comb smoothly gliding over a tangled strand of hair. "Impossible. He's been forbidden from entering the palace for fifty years."

"What on earth did he do...?"

"But he didn't just stay home idle," Serie said casually. "He seems to have found some clues and went out. As for what kind of future he's facing, I have no idea."

After saying that, she didn't continue. Her hand moved the comb slowly and steadily, brushing through her hair. The room was quiet, save for the rhythmic, soft sound of the comb against her hair.

"Lady Serie?" Sense looked at her in the mirror.

"Hmm?" Serie responded, her gaze fixed on the long hair in her hand, without looking up.

"Oh, that's a bit off-topic." She stopped what she was doing, looked up, and met Sense's gaze in the mirror. "As for the candidate... Sense, do you remember what 'privilege' you asked me for before?"

"Of course," Sense replied, his voice clear and without the slightest hesitation, "I haven't forgotten for a single moment."

"I was utterly disappointed," Serie continued, combing her hair. "I thought, this child is such a rare talent, yet she can't become a truly powerful mage..."

The comb's teeth glide smoothly through the hair, smoothing out even the last bit of barely perceptible frizz.

"The privileges requested by the mages who participated in this mission were all, without exception, far removed from what I hoped for."

"Incredible." She tilted her head slightly, as if examining an intriguing puzzle. "People with exceptional talent seem to always go to two extremes—one type prays to me for pure power; the other type prays for something completely unrelated to power."

"The former will become the mage of my dreams. The latter... will become a mage beyond my wildest imagination."

Images from my memories flashed before my eyes.

Inside the main hall of the Continental Magic Association's tower, Lanto stood below, his expression as calm and aloof as ever. "I want the magic to 'find the remains of my family.'"

Ubel casually tossed the ends of her green hair and remarked, "It seems the magic I wanted has already been taken... So, give me the magic that lets me find my sister then."

Fern tilted her little face up, her expression more serious than ever before. After thinking for a long time, she solemnly said, "I want... the magic to 'quickly wash clothes'."

Falsh looked much younger than he did then, pushed up his glasses. "I want the magic to 'change my voice'."

Serie looked at him. "Reason?"

I want to hear your voice.

Serie paused for two seconds, her pointed elven ears drooping almost imperceptibly, and she leaned back slightly. "... How scary."

Finally, it was Sense. She knelt on one knee on the cold floor, her head bowed, her long brown hair cascading down around her like a waterfall.

"I want magic that allows me to sleep peacefully, Lady Serie."

Serie walked up to her, bent down, reached out her hand, and gently lifted her chin with her fingertips, making her lift her face. She didn't ask any questions, nor did she offer any comment.

"What I want," Sense said clearly, meeting her gaze, "Is a magic that allows me to sleep soundly through the night without dreams, even after taking someone's life."

The tide of memories has quietly receded.

She ran the comb through the last strand of long hair, smoothly combing it to the ends. Serie picked up a dark brown hair tie, the same color as her dress, from the dressing table, and neatly tied Sense's long, smooth, and healthy-looking brown hair into a full, super long ponytail at the lower back of his head.

She examined her reflection in the mirror, and a satisfied smile curved her lips.

"Perhaps..." She put down the comb, gently placed her hands on Sense's shoulders, and looked at the brown eyes in the mirror—eyes that were always droopy but now clearly reflected her own image—"I want to see an outcome beyond my imagination?"

"You lot may all reach a future that even I cannot reach."

Sense's body tensed slightly.

Please explain...

"No." Serie shook her head with a smile, her fingers on her shoulder tightening slightly before quickly releasing. "Once I explain my intentions, you will definitely object. Every mage here is like that." Her gaze swept over Frieren and Fern in the room, her smile deepening. "That's precisely why I brought you both along."

After she finished speaking, she walked around the chair to the window and looked out at the sky, which was now shrouded in deep twilight. In the distance, the spires of the Empire Palace were silhouetted against the darkening sky, creating a majestic and silent silhouette.

"It's almost time."

She turned around, her smile bright and radiant once more. All the subtle emotions that had been swirling around her vanished, leaving only the innate, absolute confidence of Great Mage from the mythical era.

"Set off."

As night fell completely, the Empire Palace was brightly lit inside and out, as if it were daytime.

A massive crystal chandelier illuminated the central banquet hall with dazzling brilliance, filling the air with an atmosphere of luxury—a blend of exquisite perfumes, fine cuisine, and the melodious waltzes played by a live band. Elegantly dressed nobles and guests from all walks of life gathered, holding wine glasses and engaging in quiet conversation. Light and shadow danced and refracted between crystal glasses and silk gowns, weaving a lavish and bustling dreamscape.

Outside the banquet hall, at the intersection of shadows in a side corridor, Ubel and Lanto stood side by side. Both had changed into formal attire indistinguishable from the guests. Ubel's dress was a simple ivory white, the hem falling just above her knees, her long green hair styled into a seemingly casual yet elegant updo, accentuating her long neck. Lanto's white dress was well-tailored, with crisp lines, and the glasses on his nose reflected two cool, subtle glimmers under the corridor lights.

They looked like an ordinary young couple attending a court ball and taking a short break in the corridor, cleverly using their position to avoid the sight of the Magical Special Forces who were mainly monitoring the inside of the banquet hall.

Meanwhile, at the palace's main entrance, on the magnificent marble staircase leading to the main banquet hall, another group of people were leisurely ascending the steps.

Serie walked at the front, her magnificent white and gold gown shimmering with a dazzling yet cold light under the bright lights. Her long golden hair was swept back into an elegant yet imposing updo, each step steady and carrying an innate air of authority and arrogance. Her chin was slightly raised, and the corners of her mouth held that usual, confident smile. Her expression was less like entering a perilous trap and more like stepping into her own coronation hall.

Frieren, Fern, Sense, Falsh, Sein, and Red Hair followed closely behind, maintaining a perfect distance. They were formally dressed and calm, indistinguishable from the elegantly dressed crowd around them, except that their eyes held a clear-headed, focused, and cold distance that seemed out of place in this lavish feast.

The light cascading down from the crystal chandelier flowed like tangible water, washing over the gleaming marble floor and reflecting countless shimmering, interwoven shadows, figures, and garments. Melodious string music filled the air, voices hummed softly, and the air was thick with fragrance.

Serie paused briefly before the massive gilded doors of the banquet hall. She turned her head and glanced at her disciples and guards behind her, a slight smile playing on her lips.

Two servants pushed open the heavy door, engraved with the imperial emblem, for her.

An even more surging wave of light and sound rushed towards us.

The ball has begun.

Shadows flowed silently within, swirling in the stillness, weaving a deadly trajectory.

All thoughts, plans, and decisions have been made with this step, gracefully stepping onto this chessboard where light and shadow intertwine and danger lurks.