Chapter 357: Leisure
After another day of research, Kurtz returned to the small room he shared with Serie.
He had to admit, now that Frieren's daily badgering had suddenly stopped, he actually missed it.
When he opened the door, he saw a figure seated in a wide, cushioned chair.
It was Serie.
She had just bathed. A plain white robe clung to her, feet bare, her small toes curling absently. Her sleek golden hair hung damp over her shoulders, droplets at the tips catching the magelight in a shimmer of tiny sparks.
She tilted her head, gathering a handful of hair with one hand while trying to pull a wooden comb through the wet, tangled strands with the other.
Her brows drew together, and she let out a soft, irritated click of the tongue, some small knot defying her.
The sight of her languid annoyance was irresistibly endearing, a scene for his eyes alone. Kurtz stepped in without a word, softening his tread, and naturally took the comb from her hand.
Serie had sensed his return long ago. She showed no surprise, simply let go and leaned back, entrusting her hair entirely to the man behind her. She even shifted slightly, making it easier for him to work.
Kurtz's fingers threaded through her cool hair. Over the centuries, he had combed it countless times. The task had long become second nature.
The comb's teeth skirted every snarl, gliding slowly from roots to tips. At the same time, a faint glow of mana shimmered at his fingertips, dispersing over each strand with every stroke. The moisture quietly steamed away, leaving the hair unharmed and wrapping her in a cozy warmth.
Serie half-closed her brilliant golden eyes, like a cat being stroked, a soft hum escaping her throat. Her shoulders loosened completely.
She eased her head further back, resting more of its weight on Kurtz, utterly relaxed under his care. Only the soft rasp of the comb through hair and the calm rhythm of their breathing disturbed the quiet.
"Anything special today?" Kurtz asked idly, still working.
Eyes still languid, Serie answered, "Nothing ever is, same as always. People nearly wear down the Association threshold after the immortality magic. Applications for First-Class certification have exploded. I've had to promote a crowd of magicians just to handle the paperwork."
She curled her lip in distaste. "Right now, the Association houses more magicians than Saint Katia Magic Academy at its height, plus all the other famous continental orders combined. Even magicians from other races have come running. I met several of the elf race today."
"Oh?" Kurtz's hands kept moving, curiosity coloring his tone. "They're interested, too? They don't exactly need it."
"Not really." Serie sniffed. "The one leading them is the old, well, Elder Aeva. You've met her."
Kurtz searched his memory and nodded. "Vaguely."
When the Elf Forest fell, a handful of elders had been abroad and survived. She was one.
Later, during the coalition's creation of the Pseudo-God Strike, their paths had crossed a few times, though they had not met since.
"I'd never have thought even she would be drawn here," Kurtz murmured.
In a sense, the Elder's years outnumbered even Serie's, but without Serie's talent—or Kurtz's help—over the millennia, the titles of eldest and strongest magician had naturally settled on Serie.
"She says the mysteries within the spell fascinate her," Serie went on. "Life-essence is a high-order field worth exploring. Her strength and seniority meant I couldn't refuse by the rules, so I handed it over. She stared at the runes half the day without a clue—wasted effort, I expected already."
Kurtz gave a non-committal hum.
An elf elder's power was nothing to dismiss, yet without the key, even the greatest mastery would only circle the door.
"So how many have passed your First-Class trial so far?" he asked, moving on.
"Thirteen," Serie replied. "Not all chose immortality runes for their reward. Two picked something else, one took a teleportation spell, the space magic enthusiast."
Her tone warmed slightly. She clearly approved of magicians not chasing immortality. In her eyes nowadays, any magician not here for that spell was a good magician.
Kurtz nodded, saying nothing. He understood. With so many seekers of impure motives, the test's difficulty had been honed to near perversity. A dozen successes marked the cream of this era's human magicians, plus a handful of foreign prodigies like Elder Aeva.
"I worry," Serie sighed. "If too many pass, the title of First-Class Mage may stop feeling special."
She had no wish to see First-Class Mages crowding every street in the future.
Kurtz smoothed the last strand, the glow at his fingertips fading. Her hair, now dry and lustrous, spilled freely.
He did not answer at once, reaching instead for the ribbon waiting nearby.
"No need to worry," he said while parting her hair.
Though the era's overall level, thanks to his intervention, might already surpass the original timeline by an age, magic remained far from universal.
For the vast majority, it was still unreachable, a reserve of the gifted or the noble.
He secured one lock with the ribbon, fingers deftly starting the other side. "Gifted magicians are a minority. I'd estimate at most fifty or sixty will ever earn the title, counting decades ahead. If numbers swell too fast, we simply raise the bar. We write the rules. Worst case, we add 'survive ten minutes against me' as a compulsory item," he added with half a smile.
Serie pictured that and quirked her lips, then frowned. "Fifty or sixty is still too many. Thirty at most, enough to define an era."
Kurtz did not argue the figure, merely finished securing the second ribbon. He stepped back and lifted a small mirror, holding it before her.
In it appeared the reflection of the elf miss, twin ribbons framing her face, hair falling in perfect order.
[End of Chapter]