Shatter! The deep void that was assimilating the abnormal magic began to swell uncontrollably, then unexpectedly exploded right in Serie's hands, instantly sending flesh and blood flying. Yet, she teleported away without even blinking.
A presence swept through her original position, and after hitting nothing but air, it shattered a chain of mountains in its path, leaving an eternal rift valley scarring the earth.
The mad dragon in the sky was still circling, having clearly marked out a ring. Whose home ground was it now?
The golden-haired elf reappeared, fully restored.
Both she and Frieren had countless contingency plans. They might seem physically fragile, but in truth, as long as they weren't instantly vaporized, they could be saved. What had happened so far were minor injuries, more like a unique magical exchange.
"The power of space-time!"
Serie, who had been showing off just a moment ago, found her protective barrier being distorted. Despite having made a series of preparations for resistances, only a very few attributes could still affect her.
"That's right. I also tried to incorporate a bit of it into my Flame Lightning."
If she tried to teleport again, she would have to consider the risk of interference. This was Frieren's goal.
After speaking, she proactively dispelled the dragon scale projection. It was not wise to delve too deeply when using the dragon's heart for the first time; it was safest to stop here. Most importantly, the experiment was a success; the Ancient Dragons' Lightning Strike she had learned was indeed highly compatible with space-time.
After all, the power of time brought by Dragonlord Placidusax was similar to that of the First Flame, making them easy to combine.
Besides, there were other ways to interfere.
The silver-haired girl held her hands together and manifested a moon in each. Their anti-magic properties could interfere with the flow of energy while simultaneously cooling the entire space. The magma flowing from the fiery clouds gradually froze, erecting a path to the heavens of black volcanic rock, magnificent and fearsome in its vertical alignment.
At the same time, she herself plummeted at high speed, smashing into the ground with the force of weightlessness.
Two Moons!
The first moon was halfway negated by Serie's magic. The second crashed into her defensive barrier, creating faint cracks, a close call but no real danger.
But there was a third moon—the shockwave of Frieren's own power. Caught off guard, it directly broke through the barrier, sending the golden-haired figure flying backward—
This blow was not light; the one hit carved a tunnel through the mountainside.
Suddenly, a floral fragrance drifted through the air, brimming with the essence of spring as a rich life force arose.
Looking closely, a corolla of ephemeral flowers floated above Serie's head, casting a radiant light. She patted the dust off her clothes and stood up, flanked by vines bearing colorful clusters of flowers, continuously supplying energy to forcibly suppress her injuries.
However, more vines withered, enveloped in a deathly blight.
"This magic originally had no name. It was developed by chance by an ordinary mage. I call it magic that photosynthesizes like a plant."
"Sounds very simple, but you've developed it to the point of raising the dead."
"A keen eye. My own eyes, on the other hand, are becoming less useful. I never expected your magic to be a multi-layered attack."
Anti-magic properties were rare, but for them, it was nothing extraordinary. What could injure the progenitor of magic had to be an unprecedented form of magic, one that also wielded immense elemental power.
Frost flowed within her body.
Ultimately, it had weakened her mana conduction for a short time.
In fact, none of the spells Frieren had displayed so far had ever existed before, nor had any been repeated. It was truly an enviable treasury of knowledge. She absolutely had to discuss magical insights with her.
In reality, the silver-haired girl had also sustained hidden injuries. The wounds from the wind blades were seeping with more cutting damage.
A portion of it was infused with a spatial attribute, making it difficult to completely erase. Large-scale healing wasn't cost-effective, so she decided to endure it for now. A wound that merely shredded capillaries was of no consequence.
Both now had negative statuses, but their fighting spirit hadn't diminished in the slightest.
BOOM!
The two simultaneously chose to throw a punch. Their seemingly delicate and soft arms erupted with terrifying shockwaves—a pure clash of mana.
Since complex spells involving property changes were being affected, they would just brute-force damage with raw energy.
Their rich experience allowed them to adapt their tactics instantly.
For the first time since the battle began, Serie and Frieren engaged in close-quarters combat. But unlike the martial arts of a warrior, this was filled with the terrifying power of mythical-era mages, who could alter the world with a mere gesture.
One white and one golden streak of light flickered, soaring into the heavens and diving into the earth, weaving through mountains. Along their path, vegetation burned and rocks melted.
Any land that became their battlefield was left pitted and cratered. The hurricane that had barely dissipated grew restless again, the tides of mana still seething. Only dark clouds remained.
Not using complex magic, paradoxically, pushed the battle to a fever pitch.
Only one tactic remained: hammer the target's defensive barrier with all their might. No dodging, no evading, no mercy. Every single move wielded an amount of mana that a great mage could not achieve in a lifetime, yet now it was being spent with wild abandon.
Association Headquarters.
Everyone watched with bated breath, already exhausted from just observing, yet the combatants were still full of vigor. Their stamina was frighteningly high.
"What do you all think?"
Zanne looked meaningfully at Boc, who let out a breath and replied, "The destruction they've caused so far is enough to destroy a nation."
"I wonder if the ancient demonic beasts of legend were this powerful?"
Flamme's follow-up question left the envoys speechless. After all, rumors were just rumors; who knew if they were true? But the power of the two mythical-era mages was real and right before their eyes. The scale of their simple exchanges was enough to annihilate a country.
And don't forget, they still weren't going all out, nor had they pulled out the trump cards reserved for a death match.
Conservatively, destroying a large nation like the Empire wouldn't be difficult.
Anything beyond that was no longer something mortals could judge. For example, some curse magics were said to be able to plunge the entire surface into a fiery calamity. Serie and Frieren had definitely mastered such abilities.
Both of their apprentices had offered words of caution, likely aware that their masters possessed even more terrifying magic. You have been warned.
Thud, thud!
As they were pondering, the battlefield changed again. Frieren was now repeatedly throwing Serie to the ground, even pinning her down and pressing the attack, giving her opponent no chance to counter.
She wasn't getting hurt under the layers of magical protection, but it was certainly a sorry sight.
The fight evolved into Frieren using a set of wrestling techniques to throw her until the world spun. In response, Serie simply lay where she was and attacked from the ground, landing heavy blows that sent tremors through Frieren's barrier and her entire body. The battle devolved further into a brawl.
Although both were mages, their resilience, stamina, and willpower were flawless. The only option was to try and break their balance.
"You planned this from the start, didn't you?"
After eating another throw that left her dizzy, Serie couldn't help but complain. She was currently embedded in a deep crater. She wasn't hurt, but being constantly sent spinning was humiliating.
"I didn't expect your close-quarters combat to be this weak. You should practice it when you have the chance."
After Frieren's flat reply, her small fist smashed viciously onto the defensive barrier over Serie's face, burying the golden-haired elf even deeper.
It's almost over.
In fact, the fighting intent within both of their mana pools was beginning to wane.
A spar needs a standard. In Serie and Frieren's eyes, they had now entered garbage time. They were using anti-magic methods to limit each other's output, resulting in a stalemate of mutual control.
They could have reached a tacit agreement not to interfere with each other and resume using magic after a while, but it lacked the right momentum.
This wasn't a life-or-death battle that required a definitive outcome; the mood was more important.
Most crucially, in a sense, a winner had been decided. Right now, Frieren was clearly beating Serie so badly she couldn't get up, her combo leaving the other looking like a painting hung on a wall.
RUMBLE!
From a distance, only explosions could be heard, not knowing it was the mana cloaking their fists colliding with the protective barriers. Every punch was like an earthquake, with destructive power rivaling the magical bombardment from earlier.
The damage was minimal, but the humiliation was immense.
Whenever she tried to counterattack, the silver-haired girl would use a move to borrow her force against her, sending her tumbling back down.
Frieren was now fully executing her tactical thinking of "making the enemy lose their balance," giving her opponent no chance to stand.
Serie was basically forced to lie on the ground the entire time. Even her desperate leg sweep was dodged, followed by several more fierce punches to the barrier over her face, sending ripples blooming across her cheeks.
She had to admit she had been neglecting her training, faltering at a critical moment.
She had countless spells to deal with warriors, and as the progenitor of magic, she knew a thing or two about martial skills. She wouldn't even be too bad if she switched her class to warrior. The problem was, her opponent's skill as a mage was on par with her own, and her skill as a warrior was overwhelmingly superior.
This was awkward.
For a moment, Serie couldn't come up with a counter-plan and could only endure. For a mage who favored an offensive style, this was almost worse than losing.
"Where did you learn this? I can still tell good skill when I see it. This is a level of martial art that even the strongest demon warriors can't match."
"This also comes from my magic."
"I've heard of it. The magic that allows you to comprehend other magics in dreams, right? Truly amazing."
She let out a long sigh as if in admiration, lying on the ground, and proactively dispersed a portion of her mana. Seeing this, Frieren also ceased her assault and plopped down beside her. Both were tired.
Because they each had to restrain themselves, it was like weight training, which was ironically more tiring and unfamiliar.
For instance, Serie didn't use any curse-type magic, and Frieren didn't use large-scale attacks with Gravity Well. High-intensity combat that deviated from their usual styles would bring more fatigue.
This is where it ends.
The two looked at each other and smiled, just lying there and admiring the afterglow of the sunset.
It had been exhilarating, tiring but joyful.
The current situation rarely offered a chance for them to fight properly at their level. The long-overdue intense exercise was a pleasure for both body and mind.
Magic is also a form of communication. A caster's style, philosophy, and will are all poured into it. A clash is like a heart-to-heart talk. They had learned all they needed to know, and there seemed to be no need for pleasantries.
"Pick a time to go back to Elf Town. It's changed a lot, and you might even find some acquaintances there."
"Most of the people I knew died in the wars of the mythical age."
With a nostalgic look, Serie smiled, "You want me to lend my support to the elves' influence, to emphasize this identity to help the town develop? You and that Miliardel are really dedicated to the collective. In that, you are different from all other elves."
"So, your answer is?"
"My appearance fee is very expensive. I'll have to think it over carefully, it might take a few years."
"—You lost, so you have to listen to me."
Hearing this, the corner of the golden-haired elf's mouth twitched. How forceful. When it came to the elves' interests, this young junior was very serious. She subconsciously wanted to object, at worst they could just fight again.
Never mind. She was long past the age of being competitive. It didn't matter. Besides, contributing to her own race was a good thing in itself.
After a moment's hesitation, she nodded.
"I once recruited many of my kin to join me in campaigns to win glory and establish our name, but they all ignored me. The elven comrades-in-arms I met on my journey were also those who had long since set out on their own. In my view, elf society is a self-shrinking cage that will sooner or later drive itself to extinction."
"I have a dark thought: the demon race's subjugation of the elven villages is something they brought upon themselves."
"Those without the will to fight, whether they're elves or not, it doesn't matter if they die. Their thinking deserves their suffering."
Serie finished her indignant speech, then sat up and looked seriously at her junior.
"You're different, Frieren."
"You have more courage than I to fight against the dullness of elven society, persisting day after day for a hundred years, and you even changed them. In this, you are so much stronger than me."
"You're right, I lost. A person who has given up on their kin can never win against one who has always held hope for them."
She smiled radiantly, more relieved than ever before.
These words seemed to have been bottled up for a long time, just waiting for this moment to voice her true thoughts.
In a few more years, she probably wouldn't even recognize her elven identity anymore. If the demons succeeded in wiping out the elven villages, she would truly become a rootless wanderer. How long could even the strongest lonely soul survive?
Even someone as strong as Serie would sooner or later be afflicted by the malaise of a long-lived race. In the end, by not stopping the demons, wasn't she also a part of the self-destruction?
She had become the very thing she hated.
Thankfully, Frieren's efforts ensured that this would not happen.
The golden-haired elf wiped her eyes, her fatigue swept away, and the mana within her was actually becoming more active. It was clearly a restrictive, weighted spar, yet she had grown stronger for the first time in a long while. This was... utterly exhilarating. Her magic was responding to her.
"Actually, I'm not as amazing as you think. It also took me years, and I often wanted to give up."
Frieren murmured, "I didn't change many people. I just changed Miliardel, and then we worked together, and before we knew it, we had come this far."
That was a close call.
If she didn't have her childhood friend, or Flamme, she would have walked the same path as Serie.
"No need to be modest. Only by remaining steadfast yourself can you change others. You did the right thing. I was the one who lacked courage."
"When I was young, I was driven away by the village atmosphere. When I grew up and had power, I was too disheartened to return. Thinking about it now, I was just letting it all rot."
"You were just being stubborn all this time by accident?"
"That's right. Someone not strong enough can't correct me, not even the Demon King. But you did, Frieren."
That's why she was happy from the bottom of her heart, not just because of her growth in power, but also because she had let go of years of resentment.
"Now you're getting proud. I've never heard anyone speak of being obstinate so heroically."
The two looked at each other and smiled.
They had affirmed each other's beliefs. Frieren had convinced Serie. The elven race, which was finally showing signs of a revival, should press on and grow stronger. It needed nourishment, as much as possible.
At this moment, the sun was setting in the west, its golden light sinking into the earth, replaced by the river of stars hanging upside down, dotting the night sky.
The night was deep.
But tomorrow, the sun will rise again, just as the elven race welcomes a new dawn.
_____
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