Chapter 394: Picked Up by the Roadside
Facing Rhodes's silent interrogation, the man dared not twitch a muscle.
Rhodes's gaze was light, almost airy, yet the man felt an invisible mountain crushing down upon his shoulders. He could barely draw breath, and cold sweat streamed down his forehead. He prayed to every god he knew that their true objective remained a secret, and that Rhodes believed they were merely hunting Frieren for the "crime" of consorting with a demon.
In truth, Rhodes did not know the full scope of their conspiracy. He had heard rumors of a bounty on Frieren's head—something about "demon collusion"—but he hadn't given it much thought, merely wondering what kind of creature could possibly warrant Frieren's company.
Seeing Aura now, even he couldn't help but marvel at the ironies of fate.
He had rushed here in a panic because he sensed Frieren's life-force fraying at the edges. He had burned through a staggering amount of mana to pinpoint her location via the Divine Strike and tear a hole through the fabric of space to reach her. But the moment he stepped through the rift, he knew something was fundamentally wrong. The sheer number of elite mages deployed to capture her defied the logic of a simple criminal pursuit.
"What is truly happening here?" Rhodes asked, turning his gaze toward Frieren.
"They crave the magic of immortality," Frieren replied, her voice as flat as ever. "They wanted to capture me and use me as leverage to force you into surrendering it."
Hearing this, the pieces clicked into place for Rhodes.
After all these years, their restraint had finally snapped. For generations, no one had been able to crack the runic seal of the Immortality Magic he had bestowed upon the world, so naturally, their gazes had turned toward the source: himself.
It was expected. Seeing the sheer number of mages here, it was clear that more than one kingdom had their hands in this. That, at least, was a headache.
"Do you have anything to say for yourself?" Rhodes asked, his eyes fixing on the old man.
The man's mouth worked, desperate to weave a lie—to protest that they never intended to be his enemy, that they only wanted the magic, that they had no intention of harming his disciple. But under the weight of those black, fathomless eyes, the lies died in his throat.
Without warning, the distinct glow of a magical array flickered in Rhodes's pupils. A subtle, invasive mental sorcery slipped into the man's mind, stripping away his defenses and forcing the truth to the surface.
"I…" the man gasped, his internal desires ripped open by Rhodes's will. "I only… want to live."
As the words left his lips, a tremor passed through the mages kneeling in the dust behind him.
To live. A wish so simple, so fundamental. To an ordinary person, it was the baseline of existence; to these men, who stood at the zenith of human magic, it was the most distant, impossible luxury. They possessed more power and knowledge than any mortal, yet that very brilliance had bred a terror of the dark—a terror of death that consumed them more than any peasant.
"And so, you decided to raise your hands against my disciple?"
In Rhodes's heart, though Flamme was gone, he had shouldered the duty of her teacher. To protect Frieren was a promise etched into his very soul.
"We… we never meant to harm her. We only meant to… invite her to come with us," the man stammered, clutching at the air of defense.
"Invite?" Rhodes let out a sharp, mocking laugh.
He gestured to Frieren. Her mage robes were shredded, exposing the white shirt beneath which was soaked in fresh, crimson blood. Her signature twin-tails were a frizzy, tangled ruin from the intensity of the skirmish. She looked utterly, wretchedly exhausted.
"This is your idea of an invitation?"
"But she killed many of our mages! Three of them were First-Class!"
"Hmph! A consequence of your own arrogance!"
Rhodes was clear-eyed: these men had hunted her, and she had only unleashed the Divine Strike in the desperate pursuit of survival.
The man fell silent, defeated.
"Saran," Rhodes said, suddenly naming the man. "I remember you. A renowned mage of the Southern Kingdom. You once slew two Greater Demons single-handedly and authored fourteen volumes on arcane theory. Seventy years ago, you came to the Association. I pinned the First-Class badge to your chest myself."
Saran's body went rigid. The mages behind him looked up, stunned. They hadn't realized that the mastermind of their operation was a decorated First-Class Mage of the Continental Association!
Realizing he was remembered, Saran gave a bitter smile and pulled an Association badge from his robes, holding it in his palm. He remembered that day. It was the crowning glory of his life—standing atop the high tower, receiving the crest from the God-slayer himself, feeling the spark of Rhodes's own mana sealed into the metal.
Back then, he had been a man of fire and pride, swearing to become the greatest mage in the world. He hadn't even cared for the secrets of immortality; he had asked for greater offensive arts. And now? He had become a legend, yes—but a legend who was terrified of the dark.
Saran felt a sudden, crushing sense of absurdity.
"I never thought Rhodes-sama would remember me. I've changed my face, my name, and I even scrubbed your mana-signature from the badge. I thought I had hidden myself completely."
"Your talent was the finest I had seen in centuries, Saran. Of course I remembered. I was pleased with your achievements. Besides, a man may change his face or his name, but his mana signature… that is the soul's fingerprint. It never changes."
His talent had been so rare that even Serie had briefly considered taking him as an apprentice. But she had eventually turned him away—partly due to his festering pride, and partly because she refused to impart the core of her magic to someone who viewed it as a tool for conquest. Only Ella, Flamme, and Frieren had ever touched that forbidden inner circle.
"Do you remember what I told you that day?" Rhodes asked.
Saran's lips trembled. "…I remember."
He closed his eyes, the memory rushing back. When Rhodes handed him the badge, he had said: "Magic is a tool for protection, not for plunder. I hope you never forget that."
He had been arrogant, but he had listened. And at the end of his life, he had cast that promise into the gutter.
"I have… nothing to say," he breathed, his eyes bloodshot. "Do it."
Rhodes did not reach for his staff. He only sighed. "How long have you lived?"
"One hundred… and three years."
"One hundred and three." Rhodes repeated. "For a human, such a feat is impossible through Holy Magic alone. You must have dabbled in the forbidden arts."
Saran did not deny it. He had traded his soul for the battle-readiness of a man in his prime, even while his biological clock ticked into the second century.
"Solidification magic, forbidden longevity runes, even black magic," Rhodes noted with a glance. "Your soul is a patchwork of stains. How much time do you actually have left?"
"Two years, at most," Saran whispered.
"So you were desperate enough to gamble everything."
Saran bowed his head in silence.
"Do you know what becomes of you if you continue down this path?"
"What consequence could be worse than death?"
Rhodes didn't answer with words. He raised his hand, weaving his mana into a shimmering screen of light. It showed a phantom image: Saran—or rather, what Saran would become after he finally succumbed to the rot. The figure was hollow, trailing the stench of the grave, yet it continued to shamble across a dead, barren wasteland.
"This is you, dead. Your soul is so tainted that even in the afterlife, your body remains shackled to the urge to survive. You will become a mindless, wandering corpse. And because you've dabbled in black magic, your physical shell will retain its lethal capacity. You will become a monster—neither living, nor dead, nor truly demonic. That is your legacy."
Saran collapsed to the ground, shattered. How pathetic! How humiliating!
But if he could only reach immortality…
As if reading his mind, Rhodes spoke without a shred of pity. "Forget immortality. There is no such thing as true eternal life. And even if there were, your body is too far gone to host it."
He spoke the truth. Saran's soul was so deeply polluted that even the art of reincarnation was a closed door. He was already a ghost in his own skin.
"But… the girl Solifra in the Association… she clearly…" Saran began, hope dying hard.
Ah. Rhodes understood. So that was why. They had seen Solifra and convinced themselves the secret was within reach.
"Solifra is not human."
"Impossible! Her aura… she's clearly human!" Saran's eyes widened in disbelief.
"I have no need to explain myself to you. Just understand this: true immortality is a lie."
Watching the life drain from Saran's face, Rhodes turned his back. He walked toward Frieren, but stopped, not turning his head. "I will not kill you today."
Saran didn't register the mercy—he was already a dead man walking—but the mages behind him let out sounds of ecstatic relief.
"Not because I forgive you," Rhodes continued, "but because you are still useful. Go back and tell everyone involved—no matter their nation, no matter their rank—remember this: Frieren is my disciple. To strike at her is to declare war on me. Are you truly prepared for the price of that war?"
With a wave of his hand, a spatial rift tore open.
"Let's go."
Frieren nodded and stepped toward the rift. As she passed Aura, she grabbed the demoness by her single, pathetic horn and dragged her into the light.
"Ow, ow, ow—!"
The rift sealed shut. Rhodes vanished into the brilliance.
On the barren plain, only Saran and his kneeling army remained. Saran stared at the empty air for a long time.
"My lord…" one of his men whispered. "What do we do?"
"Go back," Saran said, not looking back. "Tell them all: the plan is cancelled."
"But… the nations and the nobles…?"
"Let them pray for their own souls. We have been… lucky enough. Now, I have to figure out how to die with some shred of dignity."
If he wanted to avoid becoming a walking horror that others would have to hunt, he would need to prepare powerful holy rites to incinerate his own body upon his passing. He had no energy left for games of immortality.
On the other side of the rift, they stepped into the familiar, quiet room atop the Association's high tower.
Frieren stepped out, her legs trembling, and nearly collapsed. Solifra was already there, catching her before she hit the floor.
"Are you hurt?"
Frieren shook her head, then nodded, then settled on a single word: "…Hungry."
Solifra went silent for a second, then peered at Aura, who was panting on the floorboards, having been dragged across dimensions by her horn.
"And this is?"
"Aura," Frieren explained. "Found her."
"…Found her?"
"Mhm. Picked her up on the side of the road."
It was a slight exaggeration, but mostly accurate. In a sense, Aura was just something she'd stumbled upon.
Lying on the floor, Aura felt her soul nearly leave her body. Picked her up?! I'm a demon! I'm an aspiring Greater Demon! How am I nothing more than a stray puppy you found on the curb?!
She didn't dare argue, simply lying there, gasping, feeling the hollow exhaustion of someone who had stared into the maw of oblivion and survived.
Rhodes stepped through the rift last, looking at the heap of a demon on the floor. "What do you intend to do with her?"
Frieren thought about it for a long time. "Keep her, I suppose. She's missing a horn—it's rather pitiful."
"…Thanks for noticing the horn, at least," Aura whimpered.
"You're welcome," Frieren replied, utterly unbothered.
Rhodes felt the corner of his mouth twitch.
Aura was truly fledgling—not even a scent of blood on her. She must have been caught by Frieren the moment she entered the world. This was for the best; Rhodes had a strict line. Demons who had taken human lives had to die. Aura, however, had barely tipped the scale. Keeping her as a sort of pet for Solifra was fine. As for whether she would become a threat? They could cross that bridge when she grew strong enough to actually challenge Frieren.
"Serie is waiting for you," Rhodes said, walking toward the inner chambers. "She brewed tea. I'll have some snacks sent up to tide you over."
Frieren's eyes sparkled. She hauled the limping Aura to her feet and followed Rhodes.
Solifra stood where she was, watching their retreating backs, a complex look in her eyes. My own kind? I've never seen one before. She shook her head softly and followed.
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