Chapter 395: Aura's Acceptance of Fate
The room was heavy with the rich, soothing aroma of floral tea, but the woman brewing it sat in her high-backed chair, restless.
Her golden hair cascaded loosely over her shoulders, and the liquid in her teacup shivered rhythmically—a mirror to her agitated mind. Just moments ago, Rhodes had torn open a rift in space, offering only a curt "There's a situation involving Frieren," before vanishing. She had moved to follow, but Rhodes had stopped her with a flat, "I don't have enough mana to bring two people," before the rift sealed shut behind him.
Not enough mana?
Serie had been so incensed she'd nearly hurled her teacup across the room. She had lived for eras; her mana reserves were a fathomless ocean that defied counting. She could perceive the soul of any spell at a glance. To claim he lacked the mana to ferry her? It was a transparent lie—he simply hadn't wanted her to go.
She eventually exhaled, settling back down and pouring herself a fresh cup of tea. She waited. She waited for the man to return, and for him to offer her a very long explanation.
During the wait, her thoughts drifted. Frieren had been gone for five hundred years without a word. While she was accustomed to the languid, diluted perception of time inherent to their kin, five hundred years… was a stretch. Living alongside Rhodes for so long had subtly altered her, sharpening her awareness of the relentless march of time.
It was, in a way, a blessing. Only by sensing the passage of time did the present moment carry its proper weight. Clearly, Frieren hadn't learned that lesson yet.
At least Ella sends the occasional magical message, Serie thought, a prickle of annoyance rising. She reports where she is, what she's seen. Frieren just evaporated.
Did she spoil the child? Or was Frieren hiding a grief deeper than she dared show, choosing the road to escape the silence of Flamme's passing? She didn't know. All she knew was that she sat here, waiting for a grand-apprentice she hadn't seen in half a millennium, feeling a strange, fluttery anticipation in her chest.
The door creaked open. Serie looked up.
Frieren stood behind Rhodes, her silver twin-tails a chaotic, frizzy mess. Her mage robes were a ruin, scorched and stained with fresh blood. Her skin was a pallid, translucent white—the tell-tale sign of a total mana-exhaustion.
Serie's eyes widened. Her muscles tensed to stand, to demand answers, when her gaze shifted to the figure trailing behind them.
It was a demon—bleeding, one horn snapped, shivering in the doorway.
As Serie's gaze fell upon her, Aura felt her heart stutter and die. Only a second ago, she had been savoring the relief of being alive, curiously observing her surroundings and thinking, So this is what the Continental Magic Association looks like.
The next second, a killing intent, dense and suffocating, collapsed upon her like an anvil. Aura's knees buckled, and she hit the floor. She didn't want to kneel, but her body refused to stand against such overwhelming pressure. Besides, she'd spent so much time on her knees lately that it hardly felt like a change of pace.
"Serie."
Rhodes's voice cut through the air. With a flick of his wrist, the killing intent pinning Aura to the ground dissipated, though only partially. Aura gasped for air, huddled in the dust, cold sweat soaking her skin. She knew, with the primal certainty of a hunted thing, that she had been a hair's breadth from total annihilation.
Serie ignored the demon, keeping her eyes fixed on Rhodes, waiting for an accounting. Rhodes walked to the table, picked up the cup Serie had poured, and took a sip.
"Frieren picked her up," Rhodes said casually. "I thought she'd make a good companion for Solifra."
Serie's brow furrowed. She glanced at the shivering demoness—pathetic, weak, and a wretched sight. None of that changed the nature of what she was.
Demons were meant to die.
"Rhodes," Serie said, her voice dropping. "You know my stance on the demon kind."
"I do. But this one is different."
"How?" Serie challenged.
She had made an exception for Solifra, a decision that had taken centuries of observation to justify. To Serie, one exception was a curiosity; a second was a liability.
Rhodes set his teacup down and looked at Aura. "She is more emotionally complex. And, most importantly, she has never killed a human."
Serie's eyebrow arched. "A demon who hasn't killed?"
"Mhm. She was born, crossed paths with Frieren shortly after, and became her slave." Rhodes paused, adding, "Think of her as a pet to keep around the house."
Lying on the floor, Aura felt a turbulent tide of emotions. A pet? She, a demon of noble ambition who aspired to the ranks of the Seven Sages, was now to be a household pet?
Her first impulse was a flash of white-hot rage.
Then, the rage vanished.
Whatever. If being a pet keeps me alive, so be it.
Aura sighed. Ever since she'd been blindsided by Frieren and forced into the contract of the Obedience Magic, her standards had plummeted to the floor. Being a pet wasn't exactly the worst thing in the world.
Serie watched the play of expressions on the demon's face: from terror, to humiliation, to… acceptance. It was an array of emotions so human it was uncanny. The creature was, she conceded, interesting. But she still wasn't yielding.
"Solifra is a special case," Serie insisted. "She has been with us for centuries. She is no longer like the common rabble of her kind. But this one—" She looked at Frieren. "How did you even find her?"
Frieren, having accepted a cup of hot tea from Solifra, blinked. "Hmm… about a month ago. I found her near a small village in the south. She was about to attack it."
Serie's eyes grew glacial.
"It didn't go well for her," Frieren added. "She tried to use Obedience Magic on me, but the spell calculated that my mana was greater than hers. So, she became my servant."
Frieren gave a brief, clinical explanation of how the Obedience Magic functioned. As Serie listened, the hard lines of her expression softened, and she let out a dry laugh.
"Interesting," Serie remarked. "Show me the spell."
Frieren set her tea down and held out her hand. A faint, glowing geometric array pulsed in her palm. It was the distillation of her research into Aura's magic—a complex Runic map. She didn't have the demon's innate mastery of the spell, but she understood the mechanics now, and she was already hunting for a counter-measure.
Serie took the array, studying it with the intensity of a surgeon. "I see. A bidirectional, forced comparison of total mana reserves. The loser automatically becomes the thrall of the winner… I've never seen magic like this. It is clever." She looked up at Frieren. "Give this spell to me."
"I can't break it."
"I know you can't break it," Serie said, waving a hand. "I'll handle that. It's perfect for keeping that—what was her name?"
"Aura," Frieren said.
"Right, Aura-something." Serie nodded. "From now on, we'll use this to keep her on a leash so she doesn't cause any more trouble."
Lying on the floor, Aura felt the bottom drop out of her world.
If the Obedience Magic remained in Frieren's hands, she still clung to a sliver of hope. Frieren was distracted, detached—perhaps one day she would lose interest in the spell, and Aura would find the loophole to seize control.
But if it fell into Serie's hands…
The legendary Elven Saint, who had walked the earth for two millennia and turned countless demons into dust—there would be no escape. She would be a thrall forever, barked at and commanded until the end of time.
Whatever.
Aura exhaled, pulled herself to her feet, and dusted off her knees. At least I'm alive. As for the rest… I'll worry about it later.
With that, her mood miraculously brightened again.
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