Wasteland Redemption

The eternally gloomy sky of the Ende Region was violently shattered by a dark purple meteor that tore through the sky. Lorenz pushed his speed to the limit, and the surging magic around him drew a sharp whistling sound behind him. Wherever he passed, even the thin clouds were shattered and dispersed by the violent energy.

The scenery below blurred into blurry blocks of color and rushed past. After an unknown amount of time, after passing a scorched and menacing mountain ridge, a valley filled with the thick stench of blood and burnt gunpowder smoke suddenly entered the rapidly expanding range of his magical perception.

Arrive!

He crashed to the ground like a meteor, his feet slamming into the scorched earth, kicking up a cloud of dust mixed with blood and ash. His vision cleared instantly.

The scene before my eyes was horrifying.

The scorched earth was riddled with craters from magical bombardments and slashing blades. Broken elven longbows, shattered staff fragments, and everyday utensils were scattered everywhere, silently telling the story of the brutal battle that had taken place not long ago.

Most striking were the fallen figures—the elves, dressed in their once elegant clothes or hunting attire now stained with mud and dark red blood, lying in pools of blood in various contorted poses, their long silver or pale hair like trampled moonlight, devoid of all life.

Only a handful of people remained standing in the arena.

A slender, fairy-like girl dressed in a blood-stained white dress stood at the forefront; it was none other than young Frieren.

Her silver hair was slightly disheveled, with a few strands stained with blood clinging to her cheeks. Her emerald eyes, like two bottomless ancient wells, reflected the tragedy before her, yet remained eerily calm and undisturbed. Only her hands, gripping her staff tightly, her knuckles slightly white from the force, revealed that her heart was not entirely unmoved. The tip of her staff still held a faint glow, clearly indicating that she had just experienced a fierce battle.

Behind her, two or three wounded elves, supporting each other, struggled to hold her up, shielding her with their bodies. Behind them, Millialdai lay unconscious beside a charred log, her long, flowing hair stained with blood on her pale face. A gruesome wound ripped across the abdomen of her moon-white dress, from which blood still gushed. Her breathing was so faint it was barely audible; she was clearly on the verge of death.

The culprit behind all this—"Bazalt of the Throne"—stood in the arena like a killing tower covered in heavy armor. Crimson, cruel eyes peeked out from beneath his helmet, and thick blood dripped from the blood-stained greatsword in his hand.

He raised his greatsword, accompanied by a piercing whistle that tore through the air. This time, however, the blade wasn't aimed at the prepared Frieren, but rather drew a strange arc, carrying a deadly gust of wind, straight for the neck of the defenseless Millialdai on the ground! This sword strike was both swift and ruthless, clearly intended to kill completely!

"!" Frieren's staff shone brightly, and a blazing fireball was instantly unleashed in an attempt to intercept it. But Bazart seemed to have anticipated this; the greatsword's momentum did not diminish, only its broad spine suddenly swung, forcefully shattering the fireball, while the deadly blade continued its relentless slash towards its target!

The distance was too great, the instant-cast spell was broken, and Frieren didn't have time to chant a more powerful spell, nor could she rush out—of course, rushing out would have been useless, as a mage's body cannot stop a warrior's charge.

Her emerald eyes reflected the rapidly approaching sword, and a faint, almost imperceptible ripple finally crossed the depths of her eyes, but her face remained expressionless, only her knuckles gripping the staff grew increasingly pale.

At this critical moment—

"Bang!!"

A dull thud, like a boulder striking the ground, exploded out!

Bazart felt an overwhelming force, utterly irresistible, suddenly press down on his head! He didn't even see who it was before his head was slammed to the ground by this brutal force!

Lorenz pressed one knee against the back of his neck like iron, his right hand's five fingers digging deep into his skull like iron pincers. He looked down at the still convulsing Demons body beneath him, a complex emotion flashing deep in his eyes, and spoke in a low voice with a strange, magnetic resonance:

"I'm sorry, Bazart. Although we're now on the same side, my heart cannot condone this invasion and slaughter. May I be a good person in my next life."

As soon as he finished speaking, he abruptly closed the five fingers that were pressing on Bazart's head!

"Snap--!"

A chilling sound of bones cracking echoed clearly throughout the deathly silent valley. Bazart's body convulsed violently, then went completely limp. His crimson eyes glazed over and dimmed completely. His head lolled to one side at an eerie angle, and he was lifeless.

Lorenz released his grip, letting the massive body slump to the side. He straightened up, his gaze calmly sweeping across the ravaged battlefield, finally settling on the silver-haired elven girl who had been silently watching him from a distance, staff in hand the entire time.

Frieren shifted her gaze from Bazart's corpse to Lorenz, her emerald eyes remaining calm and still, yet a subtle, analytical glint seemed to flicker within them. She spoke, nor did she lower her staff, but merely assessed whether this Demons, who had suddenly appeared, possessed outrageously high strength, and had saved Millialdai, was friend or foe.

The atmosphere froze for a moment. The other elves also looked at Lorenz nervously, their faces a mixture of scrutiny, surprise, and gratitude for surviving a close call.

Lorenz took a deep breath, suppressing the turmoil in his heart, and tried to make his tone sound calm and reliable. He pointed to Millialdai, whose breathing was growing weaker, and said to Frieren:

"Yes, the most important thing right now is to save him. This person looks like he's about to die."

Frieren's gaze followed his finger to Millialdai, and she remained silent for two seconds. She seemed to quickly weigh the situation—this Demons's strength was unfathomable; if he truly harbored ill intentions, they would have already been wiped out. Right now, saving Millialdai was the only important thing.

She raised her emerald eyes to look at Lorenz, her tone so calm it was almost a statement of fact, devoid of any hint of pleading or emotion. "You must save her."

It's clearly a question, but it's phrased like a statement.

Lorenz was taken aback by the overly direct tone, then nodded decisively. "Yes, we definitely have to save them! But I don't know healing magic. Are there any... monks? Or people who know healing around here?"

Frieren extended a slender finger and pointed west, her voice steady and clear. "Yes. To the west, there are human villages, and there should be monks there, but it's quite a distance."

"The journey isn't short?" Lorenz frowned, looking at Millialdai's paper-pale face and the slowly expanding pool of blood beneath her. "In her condition... she probably won't last much longer. Tsk, alright, let's hurry then. Uh..." He stopped mid-sentence, suddenly remembering something, glancing at Frieren, and then assessing his own flying ability, "You can't fly now, right?"

Frieren admitted expressionlessly, "... Yes."

"Tsk," Lorenz clicked his tongue. The situation was urgent and there was no time to hesitate. "Then you come with me, and I'll carry you and fly while holding her. That's the fastest way, and it'll prevent the human monks from refusing to treat her because they see me as Demons when we get there. What do you think?" He quickly came up with this plan.

Frieren nodded almost without hesitation. "... Okay." She seemed to think this was the best solution at the moment.

Lorenz didn't delay any longer. Carefully avoiding the wound, he gently lifted the unconscious Millialdai into his arms in a relatively stable position. Then he nimbly squatted down. "Get on."

Frieren silently put away her staff, then gracefully leaned onto Lorenz's broad back, her arms naturally encircling his neck. Her body was light, carrying a touch of the cool, ethereal aura unique to elves.

"Hold on tight." Lorenz gave a brief instruction, and his magic surged once more. Dark purple light enveloped the three of them like a shield, and they suddenly rose into the air, transforming into a streak of light, and sped off towards the west that Frieren had pointed out.

He tried to channel his magic and life force into Millialdai's body. He didn't know if it would work, but he was willing to try anyway; theoretically, it should be enough to keep her alive.

The remaining wounded elves gazed in the direction where they had disappeared, their expressions complex. In the end, they helped each other up and began silently collecting their companions' bodies. Although injured, they were still able to move freely and clean up the battlefield on their own.

The wind high in the sky was biting cold. Lorenz raised his magic shield to its maximum, trying his best to shield Frieren his back and Millialdai in his arms from the oncoming gale. He was completely focused, pushing his speed to the limit, with only one thought in his mind: to snatch this life back from the clutches of death.

However, after flying for only a few minutes, and not far from that devastating valley, three figures emanating ominous and powerful magical energy appeared on the horizon ahead, like vultures that had been waiting for a long time, blocking their way in a triangular formation.

"Damn it!" Lorenz's heart sank, and he couldn't help but curse under his breath. Just what he feared had come to pass! He had to quickly descend and land on a relatively flat wasteland, carefully placing Frieren and Millialdai next to a large rock that could provide some shelter.

"Stay here and don't move." He said quickly and in a low voice to Frieren, then resolutely turned to face the three Demons who were slowly descending with obvious hostility.

The newcomers were of various forms, but without a doubt, all three were Demons.

The Demons on the left spoke in a hoarse, unpleasant voice. "... Former Demon King, are you... going to make an enemy of His Discal?"

The Demons on the right replied in a gruff voice, his tone laced with sarcasm. "Looks like they've rebelled."

The one in the middle asked himself in a faint voice, "Can we win?" as if assessing the situation.

The Demons on the left seemed brimming with confidence. "If the three of us join forces, we'll win."

Lorenz's eyes sharpened, and a vast amount of magic power began to surge within him. He didn't want to waste time; he had to finish this quickly. Millialdai couldn't afford to wait!

Just as the battle was about to break out--

"Buzz--!"

A magnificent, holy, pure white light, seemingly capable of purifying all the filth in the world, descended from the sky without warning! The light was like a tangible tide, or a divine judgment, instantly and precisely engulfing the three Demons!

The three Demons didn't even show any surprise. The moment they were illuminated by the white light containing the ultimate purifying power, their bodies melted and vaporized rapidly from the edges, just like ice and snow thrown into the blazing sun, leaving not even a trace behind!

The light vanished in an instant, leaving the wasteland deathly silent, as if the three Demons had never existed.

Tsk, they're dead in the blink of an eye, and they still say they "will win"? Even though time is of the essence, Lorenz couldn't help but think to himself.

At the same time, a figure silently appeared on a rock not far away.

She was a young woman dressed in simple robes, yet possessing unparalleled beauty.

She had long, soft, warm orange hair, as smooth as the sun, and azure eyes like the purest sky. Her features were exquisite, and her expression was calm and serene. She did not hold a staff; she simply stood there quietly, yet she naturally exuded a breathtakingly powerful magic and an indescribable majesty.

It was Flamme. Her appearance came without warning; even Lorenz had only sensed a slight fluctuation of her magical power before.

Her gaze calmly fell upon Lorenz, who had just turned around and was now standing guard, protecting the two elves behind him as he faced the Demons. Her calm voice rang out slowly, not loud, but carrying a sharp and undeniable edge that went straight to the heart of the matter:

"Then, Your Demon King, would you hand over the child behind you to me?"