The Blood Moon and the Silent Embrace

(About 800 years ago, somewhere on the border of the Human race.)

Night fell, and the crescent moon hung like a hook, but it was stained an ominous crimson by the village's towering flames and the pervasive blood-red magic.

The village ruins resembled a gaping wound on the earth; charred marks and solidified dark red stains amidst the crumbling walls spoke of a final struggle. The air was thick with the stench of burnt flesh, blood, and a cloying, almost magical, putrid smell of decay.

The battle is nearing its end, or rather, the one-sided cleanup is about to be completed.

A black figure darted through the ruins at a speed imperceptible to the naked eye, leaving behind only the rapidly dissipating embers of magic from the Demons and monsters in its wake.

At that time, Lowell —or rather, closer to his state as "Lorenz"—had none of his usual laziness or affability on his face. His eyes were a bottomless, almost empty, coldness. Only his tightly pursed lips and the overly swift, even spasmodic, movements when he threw a punch revealed an extreme level of suppressed violence.

His movements were faster than usual, devoid of any fancy moves, only extreme efficiency and cruelty. His fist lashed out, carrying dark magic power condensed to the extreme, easily piercing the chest of the last humanoid Great Demons who tried to sneak up, crushing its heart. Purple, ethereal magical blood splattered on his face, yet he didn't even blink.

"I don't like fighting..."

He whispered, his voice hoarse, yet carrying a chilling laugh, a sinister smile spreading across his lips, "... Heh... hahaha..."

Laughter echoed through the deathly silence of the ruins, more grating than weeping. "But why would you think... that I, Lowell... that this wolf, weary of killing, would tolerate the survival of any hyena that dares to devour life before my eyes?"

He flicked the viscous Demons blood that was rapidly dissipating from his hands, his crimson gaze sweeping over the disemboweled or twisted corpses of the villagers, finally settling on the ancient tree in the center of the village, still Burning fiercely in flames. The madness in his eyes was gradually replaced by a deeper, colder deathly stillness.

Just then, a small bird, pure white except for a touch of pale gold at the tips of its wings, seemed to pierce through the pervasive aura of death, nimbly flying over the ruins and landing precisely on the shoulder of Frieren, who had just finished another battle and was standing quietly.

Frieren's long silver hair was slightly disheveled, and there were a few stains on her face. Her emerald eyes were calm and unwavering as she reached out and let the little bird perch on her fingertip. The bird's beak twitched a few times, emitting a soft, rhythmic chirp.

As Frieren listened, a barely perceptible ripple flashed across her usually expressionless face. She paused for a moment, then turned and strode toward Lowell was still standing amidst the Demons's remains.

"Lowell." Her voice remained calm, but carried a subtle, unusual lingering quality.

"Millialdai has sent word that Oysast was attacked three hours ago by the Great Demons 'Sin Eater' — Gramar."

At that time, Oysast was not the magical city it would become; it was just a relatively prosperous human town among the Northern Countries.

"Oysast...?" Lowell's maniacal smile froze instantly, replaced by incredulous astonishment, which then turned into overwhelming panic. "Damn it! How could it be there!"

Without asking another question, he transformed into a black streak of light that tore through the night sky, speeding recklessly toward the north towards Oysast, so fast that he left behind a sonic boom echoing in his wake.

As Frieren watched the retreating figure disappear into the distance, a barely perceptible ripple flashed across her emerald eyes. Without hesitation, a blue light emanated from her body as she swiftly followed. She used High-Speed Movement magic unique to the Southern Lands. Though not as ferocious as Lowell's full-force flight, it made her appear like a sprite blending into the wind, relentlessly pursuing the desperate black trail.

In the air, Lowell pushed his speed to the limit, the gale tearing at his hair and clothes, but he was oblivious. Only one name echoed wildly in his mind, mixed with an ominous premonition, almost threatening to devour him.

"Freya... don't get hurt... you absolutely can't get hurt!" he hissed, his magic overflowing uncontrollably, leaving a distorted trail of light behind him.

When he finally arrived over Oysast, the sight that greeted him nearly Frozen his blood. The town's protective barrier had long since crumbled, and many buildings had collapsed and caught fire, but the most shocking sight was in the center of the town square.

A girl dressed in pure white light armor lay in a pool of blood, her armor soaked in dark red, like a flower of despair blooming in the snow.

She had a huge, hollow wound on her chest, its edges charred black, as if it had been ripped away by some force. Her long white hair lay scattered on the ground, also stained with dark red blood. Her face was as pale as paper, and her breath was so weak it was almost imperceptible.

It was Freya.

Not far from her, a tall Demons named Gramar, the Sin Eater, was flying in the air, wearing a tattered priest's robe and a strangely smiling mask. He was casually chewing on something, with dark red bits of food still stuck at the corner of his mouth.

He sensed the magical fluctuations emanating from the air, raised his head, and a hint of boredom and... a hint of inquiry seemed to flash in his eyes beneath the mask.

"Hmm..." Gramar, the Sin Eater, licked his lips, making a confused nasal sound, as if savoring something. "Strange... so pure it's nauseating... I can barely taste 'sin' at all... Strictly, everyone has 'sin,' and the more powerful and brilliant a being is, the deeper and more delicious their 'sin' should be... What a boring, pure soul."

He noticed Lowell hovering in the air and tilted his head. "Hmm? A human? No, humans can't fly... Demons? I've never seen you before. You're too late. I've already killed the last one. Get lost."

Lowell did not answer. He slowly descended from the sky and stood not far from Freya, his body trembling slightly from extreme rage. He looked at the horrific wound on her chest, at her almost unfocused pupils, and a destructive, violent aura could no longer be suppressed.

"Bastard... beast--!"

With a roar that was not human, Lowell's previously suppressed magical power erupted like a tsunami! A dark purple torrent of magical power surged into the sky, dyeing the night sky a strange purple. On his forehead, a pair of winding, jet-black horns, symbolizing his identity as Demon King, pierced through his skin, revealing their ferocious nature! The powerful pressure caused the ground of the entire plaza to crack and sink.

For the first time, the Sin Eater beneath Gramar's mask flickered, and his voice held a hint of astonishment. "This power... Lorenz...?! How could you...?"

He seemed to want to say something, but he didn't finish his sentence.

In the next instant, Lowell's figure vanished from his original spot, appearing before Gramar as if by teleportation! A terrifying power erupted, filled with boundless rage and hatred, slamming Gramar violently from the air to the ground!

"Boom--!"

The ground was smashed into a deep crater, and spiderweb-like cracks spread outwards. Gramar didn't even have time to put up an effective resistance.

Lowell straddled him, one hand still gripping Gramar's neck tightly, pressing him firmly to the bottom of the pit. His other fist, like a pile driver, was wrapped in terrifying magic power capable of tearing space apart, relentlessly pounding Gramar's chest and head!

"Bastard! Bastard! Bastard!!" Each roar was accompanied by the muffled thud of bones cracking and flesh shattering. Gramar's body twisted and deformed under the heavy blows, but the vitality of the Great Demons was extremely tenacious. Although his eyes under the mask were in pain, they still carried a strange calmness, as if he could not feel the pain.

"Hmm... right..." A cruel glint flashed in Lowell's crimson eyes. He stopped his mechanical hammering, as if suddenly remembering something, and a twisted, almost demonic smile curled at the corner of his mouth. "That's right... I almost forgot... you piece of trash, you can't feel normal pain... right?"

He raised his free left hand, his fingertips gathering an unusually complex magic power that flickered with ominous runes, and then pointed it fiercely at Gramar's brow!

"Then I'll let you 'experience' it properly! 'Pain Realization'! 'Pain Amplification'! 'Pain Doubling'!"

"I want you... to experience the pain she endured a hundredfold, a thousandfold!" he roared, forcibly injecting a series of extremely vicious curses into the depths of Gramar's soul! These spells did not cause physical damage, but rather forcibly distorted his perception, amplifying the originally insignificant stimulation to the extreme, turning non-existent pain into a real purgatory!

"Give me pain! Give me screams! Die! Die! Die--!"

A series of extremely vicious curses were forcibly injected into the depths of Gramar's soul! These spells did not cause physical damage, but rather forcibly distorted his perception, amplifying what was originally insignificant stimulation to the extreme, turning non-existent pain into a real purgatory!

This time, Gramar's usually calm body finally began to tremble and spasm violently and uncontrollably!

His face, devoid of features, was contorted into an indescribable, extreme expression of pain. Though he could not utter a sound (his neck was being tightly gripped), the wailing that seemed to emanate from the depths of his soul seemed to penetrate the material world, causing the surrounding remaining buildings to tremble slightly. He tried to struggle, but the hand gripping his neck was as unshakeable as a mountain.

"Die! Die! Die!!" Lowell was like a madman, his fists falling again. This time, each blow was accompanied by Gramar's soul-tearing screams. He was torturing him, venting his boundless rage and regret in the most cruel way.

The Great Demons's body began to blur, with black ash drifting from its edges—a sign that its body was collapsing and its magic was completely dissipating.

Just then, a calm voice rang out behind him, like a clear spring extinguishing a raging fire.

"That's enough, Lowell."

Frieren had arrived unnoticed and stood quietly at the edge of the pit, her emerald eyes calmly watching the out-of-control Lowell and the soon-to-be-annihilated Gramar below.

Indeed, Gramar's body had begun to dissipate into ashes from the edge, and his soul had clearly collapsed completely in extreme pain.

"Bastard! Beast! What Great Demons! Don't die! Bastard! Bastard!" Lowell seemed not to hear, continuing to frantically pound on the gradually dissipating body until his hands were completely empty.

He gasped for breath, frozen in place, the madness in his crimson pupils gradually fading, replaced by a deathly emptiness and bewilderment. He turned abruptly, staggering to Freya's side.

"Freya... Freya!" He knelt on the ground, his hands trembling, wanting to touch her, yet afraid to, lest he aggravate her pain. He looked at the fatal wound on her chest, feeling her almost fading breath, his voice choked with sobs and unprecedented panic, "I'm sorry... I'm so sorry... I'm late... I should have come sooner... I should have kept you with me..."

Freya seemed to sense his arrival. Her long eyelashes fluttered, and she opened her eyes with great difficulty, her once bright eyes now dull and lifeless, yet she struggled to focus on Lowell's face. She seemed to want to smile, but in the end, only the corners of her mouth twitched slightly, and her voice was barely audible.

"Master... you've arrived... I'm so sorry... I've let you down... I failed... to protect everyone..."

"No! There's nothing shameful about it! What are you saying... You were facing a real, Great Demons! You did a great job! You held on until I arrived! Freya, look at me! Hang in there!"

Lowell held her cold hand tightly, offering incoherent words of comfort, tears streaming uncontrollably down her face, mingling with the blood. "Don't speak... conserve your strength... I'll save you... yes, I'll save you... my magic... my life force... yes, it can definitely be done..."

He frantically tried to channel his immense life force and magic into Freya, but the pure power that flowed into Freya's body was like a drop of water falling into a parched desert, instantly swallowed up by the vast emptiness and deathly silence, without any response.

The heart has already been eaten; how could magic possibly be of any use?

Freya seemed to sense her master's futile efforts, and forced an extremely weak yet unusually gentle smile, as if trying to comfort him.

"It's... no use... Master..." Freya shook her head slightly, her eyes filled with a calmness and relief beyond her years. "That Demons... said I have no 'sin'... That's good... Master... I... haven't become... the kind of person you hate..."

"... You never have..." Lowell's voice choked with emotion.

"Master... and... Frieren..." Her voice was barely audible, "Then... give me... one more hug... as a reward for... doing... so well..."

Lowell's tears flowed uncontrollably. He carefully, as if holding the most precious glass in the world, held Freya's cold body tightly in his arms. His shoulders trembled violently, emitting suppressed sobs like those of a wounded beast.

Frieren watched this scene quietly, a fleeting emotion flashing across her emerald eyes before quickly returning to calm. She stepped forward, offering no words of comfort, but instead extending her slender arms to gently yet firmly embrace Lowell's trembling shoulders, which were shaking with sobs, and also to hold the dying Freya close.

"... Okay." Frieren's voice remained calm, but seemed slightly gentler than usual, as if she were fulfilling a solemn promise.

After an unknown amount of time, Freya finally lost all life. Her body grew cold, but a serene, satisfied smile remained on her face.

Time seemed to stand still at that moment.

Lowell stared blankly at Freya's peaceful face, then collapsed to the ground as if all his strength had been drained away. Only the Burning of the flames and his suppressed, low sobs, like those of a wounded beast, remained in the square.

After an unknown amount of time, the sobbing gradually ceased. Lowell raised his head, his face still wet with tears, but his eyes were ashen and lifeless. He watched as Freya's body was gently laid flat on the ground by Frieren, and then she stood up.

Lowell also swayed as he stood up, giving Freya one last, deep look, as if trying to etch her image into his soul. Then, he turned to Frieren, his voice hoarse and hollow:

"Frieren... I... I don't want to fight anymore... I'm just a loser who can't protect those around me... just a coward afraid of losing them..."

Frieren watched him silently, her emerald eyes reflecting his disheveled and desperate figure.

She didn't speak, offer comfort, or question him. She simply looked at him quietly for a few seconds, then took a step forward, stretched out her arms, and gently but firmly embraced him.

It was a silent embrace. There were no words, yet one could feel a quiet understanding and support.

Frieren was only up to Lowell's chest, making the hug somewhat clumsy, yet it carried an indescribable warmth that transcended race and time.

Lowell's stiff body trembled slightly in the embrace. Finally, as if he had exhausted all his strength, he gently rested his forehead on Frieren's shoulder and closed his eyes.

The night wind swept across the ravaged square, stirring up ashes and fluttering the elves' long silver hair and the Demons' blood-stained robes.

That night, the flames of Oysast gradually died out, and something in Lowell's heart seemed to have completely subsided with Freya's departure, only to be quietly planted as a seed of change by another silent embrace.

Perhaps it was from this moment that the "Lorenz" who disliked fighting but was wildly unrestrained began to die, while the "Lowell" who disliked trouble, was lazy and easygoing, always tried to avoid direct conflict in various ways, and buried deeper pain beneath calm, began to truly take shape.

(Current timeline)

Beside the campfire, Lowell awoke from a brief, light sleep, a fine sheen of cold sweat on his forehead.

He subconsciously touched his chest, where the excruciating pain from eight hundred years ago still seemed to linger.

A pair of emerald green eyes watched him quietly. It was Frieren; she had either woken up at some point or hadn't slept at all.

Lowell met her gaze and forced a smile, "... I had a nightmare."

Frieren didn't say anything, but silently handed over the half-finished, still-warm honey syrup she was holding.

Lowell paused for a moment, then took the drink and sipped it. The sweet taste melted in his mouth, slightly easing the bitterness surging in his heart. He sighed softly, his gaze fixed on the flickering flames, and whispered:

"It's been so long... but sometimes it feels like it was just yesterday."

Frieren remained silent, but moved closer to him. The two sat side by side, gazing at the warm light. It was as if eight hundred years of time had been condensed in this silent, flickering flame, Burning quietly and warming quietly.