Forgotten?

Lowell's hand froze in mid-air.

He listened as Fern asked that question softly, with a hint of confusion, in his usual calm tone.

What are you saying...?

"Frieren... who is she?"

The wind seemed to have stopped.

Only the dust kicked up by the fallen dragon remained in the valley, its slow, sloshing sound echoing in the frozen air. Fern stood before him, her pale purple eyes calmly raised, reflecting his slightly distorted image. Her face showed no fear, only a bewildered look after her question, and a subtle, uneasy unease at his earlier violent reaction.

Lowell looked into her eyes.

I looked at it for a long time.

Then, he swayed in place, as if the solid ground beneath his feet had suddenly turned into quicksand. He closed his eyes briefly, then opened them again, his dark eyes fixed intently on Fern.

"... Fern."

His voice was much lower than before, and he spoke very slowly, each word sounding as if squeezed out from between his teeth, with a strained, hoarse quality.

"Don't joke around."

He took a small step forward.

"This is during a battle."

He took another step, getting close enough to see the trembling of Fern's eyelashes.

"Quick."

He reached out, not to help her up, but to grab Fern's shoulder directly. His fingers were tightly clenched, and he could feel the shape of the bones beneath the fabric.

"Where is Frieren...?"

His voice began to tremble, not from fear, but from something more violent, something about to burst through the dam, churning beneath.

"Where..."

He stared into Fern's eyes, trying to find something familiar—any hint of pretense, a joke, or the blankness that comes with magic. But all he saw was a clean, bewildered pale purple.

"Where is Frieren?!"

The last few words were shouted out.

The sound exploded in the valley, crashed against the rock walls, and created a brief echo. Several birds were startled into flight from the distant treetops.

He suddenly moved his hand, which was gripping Fern's shoulder, upwards, grabbed her by the neck, and lifted her up. The movement was so fast it left a blur.

Fern's feet left the ground. She seemed caught off guard by the change; her throat was gripped, and her breathing was instantly blocked. Instinctively, she raised her hands and grasped Lowell's wrists, which were choking her neck, her fingertips turning slightly white from the force. Her face began to flush from lack of oxygen, and her pale purple eyes widened, finally reflecting clear shock and pain, but still showing no sign of "recognition" or "recollection."

"Speak!!"

Lowell's face drew closer to hers, a terrifying storm raging in his dark pupils. The Demons horns on his forehead gleamed with a cold, eerie light in the sunlight.

"Don't joke with me! Fern! Frieren is your mentor! My love! I don't have time to play games with you right now! Frieren is in danger! Tell me! Where is she! Where is she!!"

He shook her, his voice trembling with rage and panic.

"Even if you don't know... that's okay... but don't tell me you don't recognize me! Huh!?"

Fern's hands gripped his wrists in vain, her lips parted but only produced a faint, gurgling sound. Her eyes rolled upwards, and her face turned from red to pale.

Just then, Lowell suddenly let go of her hand as if she had been burned.

"Cough--! Cough cough...!"

Fern collapsed to the ground, clutching her throat with both hands and coughing violently, tears mingling with natural bodily fluids spilling from the corners of her eyes. She gasped for breath, her body curling slightly from the coughing.

Lowell took a half step back, staggering slightly. He looked down at the hand that had just gripped Fern's neck, his fingers spread open, then slowly closed again. His hand was trembling slightly.

"Wrong..."

He spoke in a low voice, as if talking to himself. The rage in his voice faded, replaced by a cold, rapidly growing chill.

"This situation seems familiar..."

He raised his head, his gaze returning to the panting Fern. His eyes sharpened, slicing across her face, her body, and the flow of magic around her like a knife.

"Feel sorry..."

He walked back to Fern and knelt down. This time, his movements were very light, even a little cautious. He reached out, as if to touch her shoulder, but his fingertips stopped just before they touched.

"I'm sorry... Fern, I'm sorry..."

He repeated it, his voice lowering, filled with suppressed pain and confusion.

"Fern, tell me."

He looked at her red, coughing eyes, and his tone became unusually calm, even frighteningly calm.

"If you don't know Frieren, what was your background like? What are we doing?"

Fern's cough gradually subsided. She released her hand from her neck, revealing a clear ring of red finger marks. She looked up at Lowell, her pale purple eyes still glistening with natural tears, but her gaze had returned to its previous calm, only now tinged with a hint of detachment and confusion from the rough treatment she had received.

"We... we were protecting Lady Serie before." Her voice was a little hoarse, but clear, "And then... we just left the Imperial Capital this morning, with Miss Methode and Miss Liletta."

She paused, as if recalling something, before continuing her statement.

"Even earlier... I entered the Continental United Academy. It was you... Lord Lowell, who said you would take me as your apprentice and have been teaching me ever since, and we've been traveling together ever since."

She looked at Lowell with clear, unwavering eyes, without any hint of evasion or concealment.

"I've never heard of... the name 'Frieren' before."

Every word was like a cold hammer, striking Lowell's heart.

He felt the ground beneath his feet was truly spinning, and the distant mountains, forests, and even the sky above his head began to twist and tilt. A sharp buzzing sound rang in his ears, drowning out the sound of the wind and Fern's steady narration.

"This ability..."

He muttered to himself, his voice so soft it was almost inaudible.

"'Gluttony'...?"

"Frieren has already...?"

The moment the thought crossed his mind, a despair colder and darker than before gripped his heart. But he immediately shook his head violently, as if trying to shake off the idea.

"Impossible, impossible, impossible..."

He repeated it, it was unclear whether he was denying the other person's ability or convincing himself.

"Fern."

He stood up again, took a deep breath, and tried to suppress the turmoil churning in his chest. He reached out, this time not to attack, but to grab Fern's arm, his movement carrying an undeniable urgency.

"Anyway, Fern, you come with me first..."

He was taking her away. Immediately, right now. Back to the Imperial Capital, to find Serie, to find Himmel, to find anyone... to find out what was going on. Frieren... Frieren must still be somewhere. Just hidden away, just...

Just as his fingers were about to touch Fern's arm--

Without warning, "Fern's" arm deformed, swelled, and became covered with hard, dark blue scales before his eyes! Its five fingers transformed into gleaming claws, grabbing at Lowell's unsuspecting heart with speed and angles far exceeding those of the dragon!

Lowell's mind was still overwhelmed by the immense chaos and panic, and his senses were dulled. It wasn't until the shrill scream of claws tearing through the air reached his eardrums, and until the cold touch of death almost pressed against his chest, that his fighting instincts were finally awakened!

He twisted his body to the right with all his might!

"Sizzle--!"

The dull thud of flesh being torn apart was mixed with a teeth-grinding, scraping sound, like tough leather being forcibly ripped apart.

The claws didn't quite hit his heart, but they ripped open a large section of his left chest, even grazing his ribs! The Demon King's body, normally strong enough to withstand the bites of a dragon and seemingly indestructible, was easily torn apart like ordinary leather by this bizarre claw attack!

A torrent of magical power gushed forth from the wound like a burst dam! The deep purple, almost tangible magical blood seemed to have found an outlet, flowing out uncontrollably and wildly!

"Well...!"

Lowell grunted, staggered back several steps before managing to regain his footing. He looked down at the gruesome wound on his chest, then looked up ahead.

"Fern" remained standing in the same spot.

But her "arm" had returned to normal, slender and fair, with a few drops of dark purple viscous substance still clinging to her fingertips. She raised her hand, stuck out her pink tongue, and gently licked her fingertips.

Then, the corners of her mouth began to tear and stretch towards her ears, little by little, extremely slowly.

That was not a smile a human could make. The corners of her mouth stretched beyond their limit, revealing overly neat, even somewhat sharp, teeth. The muscles in her face moved in a strange, uncoordinated way, twisting that cool, beautiful face that belonged to Fern into a chilling and frenzied arc.

"Hahaha..."

Laughter leaked from that torn mouth. At first it was low and suppressed, but then it quickly rose, becoming sharp and frenzied, echoing through the valley.

"Ha ha...!"

"Fern"—no, she should be called something else now—laughed so hard she was doubled over, as if she had seen the funniest thing in the world. She wiped away her tears of laughter with the back of her hand, but the gesture also had an exaggerated, theatrical affectation.

"What 'Demon King'...?"

She tilted her head, glancing sideways at Lowell with her pale purple eyes, still belonging to Fern, filled with undisguised mockery, malice, and a toy-like pleasure.

"It's just scraps of meat, minced meat, a useless worm..."

Her voice had changed too. It was no longer Fern's steady, clear voice, but a tone that was a mix of a young girl's crispness and a certain sticky, malicious, and sickeningly sweet.

"Panicked like this over a pile of sow's flesh? How disgusting..."

As she spoke, her body began to change.

It was an unsettling process, a slow, melting and reshaping process, like molten wax. Height shrank, body became petite, and clothing twisted and deformed like a living thing, eventually transforming into extremely revealing bikini tops and hot pants that barely covered the vital parts. Deep purple hair faded, turning into dazzling short blonde hair, but a strand at the right temple grew abnormally fast and fell down.

When the transformation stopped, standing before Lowell was a "young girl" who was about 145 centimeters tall and looked no more than ten years old.

She had a remarkably delicate face, short blond hair, and vibrant red eyes. That grotesque, maniacal smile still lingered on her lips, revealing two small fangs. Most striking were the two enormous, swollen bulges on either side of her waist, resembling tumors or unripe fruits, undulating slightly with her breathing, creating a chilling contrast with her small, youthful body.

She opened her arms wide, as if displaying herself, or embracing the entire malicious world, and loudly proclaimed in that cloying yet grating voice:

"I am the Sin Archbishop the Witch Cult, the [Lust] Archbishop! Capella Emeralda Lugnica!"

She looked at the wound on Lowell's chest where magical blood was still gushing out, her smile widening, her eyes almost overflowing with malice.

"You rotten, stinking brain... just let it rot away! Hahaha!!"

Maniacal laughter once again swept through the valley.

Lowell stood still.

He didn't look at the terrible wound on his chest, nor did he try to stop the bleeding—a strange power swirled around the edge of the wound, like countless tiny, greedy mouths gnawing at it, hindering his self-healing ability, and the magic was draining away at an alarming rate.

Then, he slowly raised his head.

The rage, panic, confusion, despair on his face... all the intense emotions vanished completely at that moment, like the receding tide.

All that remained was an extreme, cold indifference.

"Oh..."

He spoke, his voice very soft, even carrying a strange, knowing ease.

"It's you."

He even twitched the corners of his mouth very slightly, as if he were smiling, but there was no warmth in his eyes.

"That's not bad."

He spoke in a low voice, as if talking to himself, or as if confirming a certain fact.

"Oh."

"At least that proves Frieren wasn't forgotten by Fern. It's just that Fern was impersonated by you, you idiot, right?"

His gaze was sharp as a knife, scraping over every detail of Capella's body.

"So what?"

He tilted his head slightly, his black, tousled hair falling to his temples, making his Demons horns appear even darker in the shadows.

"Do you think you can beat me?"

Capella's laughter abruptly stopped. The wild smile on her face subsided, replaced by an expression that mixed with mockery and amusement. She stuck out her tongue and licked her little fangs.

"Oh?"

She drew out the words, her red pupils narrowing as if scrutinizing a dying insect.

"You piece of trash, it's truly ugly to see your magic draining while you're still putting on an act."

She pointed to the horrific wound on Lowell's chest.

"Demons wounds are notoriously difficult to heal, you know? You should know that best, you rotten bug? I've heard of a certain Demons who spent fifty years recovering from his injuries."

Lowell looked at her calmly, as if the source in his chest that was draining his power didn't exist at all.

"Yeah."

His tone remained calm, and he even began to speak in a slow, deliberate manner, almost like an explanation.

"Thanks to you, I can now roughly determine that Frieren is safe. And I generally don't explain my magic to my enemies during battle. Because I don't consider myself a kind, behind-the-scenes boss who enjoys explaining and showing off my abilities to my opponents, nor do I consider myself a benevolent mastermind who would tell the enemy how to defeat me."

He paused for a moment, and a glimmer of cold starlight began to gather in his dark eyes.

"But, a guy like you..."

His voice was lowered, each word like an ice bead hitting the ground.

"I really want you to fully experience the consequences of toying with me."

Capella raised an eyebrow, his amusement deepening, as if he thought Capela was just bluffing.

Lowell, however, seemed oblivious to her expression and continued in his calm, factual tone:

"You know, I can switch states with my clone at any time. I am indeed injured right now, but as long as..."

His words abruptly stopped here, without warning.

He didn't stop on his own.

Rather, it was because a clear, ethereal girl's voice, seemingly coming from both afar and near, suddenly and without warning rang out clearly in his mind and throughout the air of the entire valley:

"No."

The voice spoke softly and politely, yet with an unquestionable, absolute authority, as if declaring a fact.

Lowell does not Clone Magic.

The words had barely left his mouth.

Lowell felt that he had "lost" his senses.

A certain "existence" that was closely connected to his soul and scattered in various distant places seemed to be gently wiped away by an invisible hand. It wasn't that the connection was severed, but that the "existence" itself, along with the memories, states, and magical circuits it carried, completely and cleanly "disappeared" in that instant.

It was as if they had never existed.

For the first time, a subtle change in expression appeared on Lowell's face.

He didn't react excessively; he simply shifted his gaze slowly, no longer looking at Capella whose smile had frozen, but at a rock wall not far behind her, an empty space shrouded in the shadows of the valley.

His gaze lingered there.

Then, he began very calmly and declaratively:

"Oh..."

"It's you."

The shadow began to "flow" silently.

It's as if a wrong color block in a painting has been erased and then filled in with the correct color. Light and shadow naturally intertwine and recombine in the air, outlining the silhouette of a slender girl.

She appeared there, as if she had been standing there from the beginning, only unseen by anyone.

Her platinum blonde hair flowed down to her waist, shimmering with a translucent light. Her deep blue eyes were calm and still, reflecting the valley, the bloodstains, and Lowell's cold face. She wore an extremely simple white dress and walked barefoot on the rough, sandy ground, yet her feet were spotless.

Pandora, the Vain Witch.

She tilted her head slightly to look at Lowell, her gaze as if she were looking at a less-than-perfect work of art, carrying a hint of scrutiny and regret, but more so a pure, inhuman calm.

"That's really strong."

She spoke in that ethereal, polite voice.

"That uses up most of my power."

She gently shook her head, her platinum blonde hair swaying slightly with the movement.

"Now it's up to you guys."

She said this to Capella in a gentle tone, even with a hint of encouragement.

However, just as her last syllable fell—

Lowell felt that the "weight" of his body had disappeared.

No, it didn't disappear.

Yes, things have changed.

An indescribable, irresistible force, seemingly originating from the world itself, pure and domineering, was born from all directions, from every inch of air and every grain of dust, and then crashed down upon him!

That's not pressure, that's not constraint.

That's the concept of "gravity" itself, magnified a thousand times, and then collapsing and squeezing inward from its center!

Before he could make any move, his body was gripped tightly by an invisible giant hand, hundreds of meters in diameter, and then violently swung backward!

"Bang--!"

He was shot backward like a cannonball, crashing violently into the rocky cliff of the valley dozens of meters away! A terrifying spiderweb-like crack appeared at the point of impact, large chunks of rock collapsed, and dust billowed into the sky!

He fell to the ground, landing next to the giant dragon he had kicked away earlier, but he wasn't injured. The force of the impact alone wasn't enough to harm him.

He looked in the direction of Pandora and Capella.

Then he saw a third person.

A lean man, dressed in a strange robe that was half purple and half white, appeared silently and slightly behind Pandora.

He looked to be about twenty years old, with brownish-red hair twisted into a long braid that trailed behind his head. There were heavy, unhealthy shadows under his eyes, his face was pale, he was hunched over, and he looked extremely tired.

He tilted his head slightly, and with his empty eyes, which seemed to be uninterested in everything, he glanced down at Lowell appeared to be pinned to the ground and unable to move.

Hector, the Melancholy Demon.

He just stood there, without making any extra movements.

It merely "exists" here.

The terrifying force field, which covered an area of several hundred meters and dragged everything into a heavy abyss, silently and continuously spread and crushed him from his center.

The air crackled under the pressure, the sand and gravel on the ground slowly sank, and the branches of trees in the distance drooped and bent in an unnatural way.

After an absolute, suffocating silence.

"Oh..." Lowell said slowly, "Thank you for the massage, it has made me much more awake."