Braiding Hair (Interlude)

In the end.

Sayidat still took the magic he wanted.

By means of Teacher Serie using Transfer Magic to pass her own memories and insights regarding this magic to Sayidat.

This soldier of the Empire, as he had stated, did not stay for a single moment.

Even though dusk had nearly fallen, his figure still vanished into the city of [Oysaster], rushing without pause toward the northernmost end of the [Empire].

Outside the great hall, Guter watched Sayidat's figure walk far into the distance, while his junior disciple Lairn had unknowingly come to stand behind Guter.

"Senior Brother, I remember who that person is."

"Hm?" Guter turned his head to look at Lairn, a puzzled expression on his face.

"That person, Sayidat."

"Duncan once mentioned him to me, saying he was a [Hero of Battle] on the [Empire's Border], but just like me, he's ignorant of worldly affairs. Even after dedicating his entire life there, he received no promotion or significant appointment beyond medals."

"Is that so? Ignorant of worldly affairs. But I didn't notice just now—when he made his request to Teacher Serie, his statement and performance were both quite commendable."

Lairn was silent for a moment after hearing this, then spoke.

"Probably, it was sincerity."

"Sayidat doesn't understand worldly affairs, but he sincerely speaks his thoughts."

"Moreover, Duncan's evaluations of people have always been extremely precise. I trust him."

"Is that so."

"Sincerely speaking his thoughts."

Meanwhile, inside the great hall.

"Come here."

Serie, seated on the dais, beckoned to Gumi, who was still sitting below, calling this disciple over.

"Teacher."

Gumi stood beside Serie, head lowered, breathing a little rapidly.

"Come, put your head here."

Serie put down her crossed legs, sat properly on the seat, and patted her lap, signaling Gumi to lean over.

"Mm."

Gumi, head still lowered, nodded, crouched beside the seat, and pressed her face down against her teacher's lap, sobbing softly.

Serie said nothing, only gently stroked her disciple's hair on the seat, and lightly brushed away a few breadcrumbs at the corner of her mouth.

Unlike Frieren, who was still vague about human emotions, Serie, who had spent time with countless disciples and bid them farewell over the long river of history, could empathize with humans.

After Sayidat had spoken those emotion-laden words, how could her own disciple Gumi, also a survivor of a hometown slaughtered by demons, not recall those past events?

The warmth of time spent with family, the joy of playing with friends—how beautiful such memories were; the sight of her hometown destroyed, the gruesome scene of relatives and friends being butchered before her eyes—how cold it was to recall them.

Every warm memory in recollection would add a cold fuel to the flames of revenge.

Until the towering blaze could engulf the demons in her memories, and only by using the lives and blood of demons to sacrifice to the spirits of her hometown could a survivor like her disciple Gumi truly shed the burden in her heart.

Serie was silent, continuing only to stroke her disciple Gumi's hair. Seeing the casually kept hair, Serie couldn't help but smile, then took off her own hair tie and bound it around her disciple Gumi's hair.

But just as she was braiding the hair into a plait, Serie's hand suddenly paused for a moment, then continued.

"Honestly, whether it's harboring hatred for demons in her heart or silently accumulating magical power, why does even this child's hair texture resemble Frieren's so much?"

"Forget it."