Serie

The Mythical era.

A world where gods and demons coexisted.

"A weak and fleeting life."

Before the campfire, Rhode looked at the petite elf who had suddenly appeared before him with an innocent expression.

After transmigrating to this world for so long, he had finally encountered a character he recognized.

Supple golden hair cascaded down to her waist, paired with the iconic pointed ears of an elf. Her sharp gaze and the faint, lingering smile at the corner of her mouth projected an air of lofty arrogance, yet when combined with her youthful features, it created a sense of contrasting charm.

"Would you like some?" Rhode offered the roasted mushroom skewer in his hand.

He would have loved to treat himself to some grilled meat or something similar, but every monster in this damned world was absurdly powerful, effectively forcing him into a vegetarian lifestyle.

As for the young elf girl before him, Rhode recognized her at a glance.

She was the renowned Little Ancestor, Serie.

It was just that, at this moment, she resembled a young girl of only a few hundred years, entirely lacking the formidable and composed aura she would possess in later generations.

Had he truly transmigrated too early?

Serie gazed at the roasted mushroom skewer Rhode offered, contemplated for a moment, and eventually took it.

Seeing that Rhode had already begun to eat, she parted her lips slightly and took a tentative bite.

Juices burst forth—it was an indescribable delicacy.

It was a taste that Serie had never encountered within the Elf Forest.

Her race, the Elf race, revered nature and harmony; they rarely even bothered with fire, let alone experienced the impact of modern grilled cuisine.

In truth, had it been any other elf, they likely wouldn't have accepted Rhode's skewer, as the elemental aura upon it was far too chaotic, but Serie was different.

Unlike the elves who favored peace and freedom, Serie craved war and delighted in the immensely chaotic nature of this Mythical era.

"My name is Rhode. What is yours?"

Although he knew who she was, Rhode could hardly address her by name directly, as that would only arouse her suspicion.

"Serie." The Little Ancestor took another bite of the mushroom skewer, her tone indifferent.

Indeed, gourmet food was the best way to bridge the gap; the previously arrogant elf girl was now obediently revealing her name.

"Do you know where this is? I'm lost."

Ever since he arrived in this world, Rhode had been lost, and until meeting Serie, he hadn't encountered a single being capable of communication.

Let alone other humans.

This led Rhode to speculate whether he had transmigrated several thousand years too early, landing in the Mythical era of Frieren.

"The outskirts of the Elf Forest. You should count yourself lucky that you didn't venture deeper into these woods."

The Elf Forest was home not only to the Elf race but also to various powerful magical beasts; this weak human before her would likely only end up as their rations.

"Then, have you ever seen other humans—well, beings like me?"

Unsure if humanity had even emerged in this era, Rhode changed his phrasing.

At the same time, seeing that the mushroom skewer in Serie's hand was finished, he hurriedly offered another.

Staring at the fragrant skewer before her, Serie hesitated for a moment before finally accepting it.

"I saw one two hundred years ago, though that fellow wasn't as lucky as you; he was eaten by a magical beast."

Serie didn't know much about the human race, only what she had heard from the elders of the Elf race.

It was said that they possessed a physique similar to the gods, yet they were incredibly weak.

They could neither wield various Divine arts like the gods nor did they possess the eternal lifespan of the elves, living for only a few short decades.

If not for their impressive reproductive capabilities, they likely would have vanished from this world long ago.

Even so, the weak human race lived a nomadic existence, migrating in small tribes to evade the wars between various factions.

That was why Serie had spoken of them as weak and fleeting when she first laid eyes on Rhode.

"Follow this direction and you will be able to leave the territory of the Elf Forest. There are no powerful magical beasts along the way."

Serie patted her bottom and prepared to leave once she finished the mushroom skewer.

To her, this human was merely an insignificant passerby in her long life; perhaps a thousand years from now, she might occasionally recall that once, on a day like this, a human had made a very delicious roasted mushroom skewer.

Nothing more.

"Please wait." Rhode wasn't about to let a powerhouse like Serie leave just like that. "I have a small favor to ask."

Although he didn't know how much this historical Serie differed from the "living grimoire" master of the future, she was undoubtedly a magic user.

After transmigrating, Rhode had awakened a magical talent called Creation. As the name suggested, he could create all sorts of magic.

However, in practice, it was very difficult to implement.

For instance, he had once tried to create fire magic by relying on the friction method of starting a fire; after countless experiments, it had instead turned into a spell that functioned like a snap-on lighter.

Whenever he wanted to start a fire, he only needed to find dry wood and snap his fingers using the spell to generate a flame and ignite the pile.

Apart from that, there were various other convenient and useful spells, such as Water Generation and cleaning magic.

But that was about it.

He was unable to create either offensive or healing types of magic.

Because he could not grasp the corresponding concepts, he could not bring them into existence.

For instance, with fire generation, he could rationalize it as friction-based ignition; with Water Generation, he could perceive it as water molecules in the air. However, how to use magic to attack others—that touched upon a blind spot in Rhode's knowledge.

A materialist transported to a magical world, he couldn't grasp the concept of the Power of 'I Reckon' in such a short time.

Hearing Rhode's request, Serie turned around.

If this man wanted her to escort him out of the Elf Forest, she would never agree to it.

Because she currently had no intention of leaving the forest.

It was true that Serie loved war, and she enjoyed this world of divine conflicts and endless strife between races, but she was no fool.

There were plenty of beings in this world who could slap her to death in an instant; at the very least, she was not prepared to emerge into the world until she became strong enough.

"I hope you can teach me magic."

Rhode's request left Serie momentarily stunned.

"Teach you magic?" Serie narrowed her eyes. She had never heard of humans being able to learn magic. "Your human race cannot learn magic; I cannot teach you."

"It is not that we cannot, but rather that no one has ever taught us."

Rhode snapped his fingers, and the roaring campfire instantly extinguished—the kind of efficiency that would make a firefighter give a thumbs-up.

Then, with another Water Generation spell, he thoroughly doused the remaining heat of the fire, cutting off any possibility of it reigniting.

"Interesting."

Watching magic the likes of which she had never seen before, Serie felt such intense interest for the first time in her life.