Frieren: The Founder and the Elf Who Didn't Understand Love

Chapter 401 401: You’ll Soon Be Like Me

Morning.

Rhodes sat at his desk, perusing a parchment imbued with a faint, lingering mana signature. It was an intelligence report sent overnight from Association members in the southern continent regarding the latest movements of the vassal kingdoms. Since he had personally stepped in to retrieve Frieren, the kingdoms involved in the plot had fallen into a state of chilling, nervous silence.

Saran, the supposed mastermind, had reportedly sealed himself within his own magical tower, refusing to emerge. He was likely obsessed with finding a cure for the systemic rot caused by his own dark sorceries. Rhodes didn't care much either way; if Saran could salvage his life, well and good. If not, Rhodes wouldn't mind bringing back the corpse to display in the Association as a cautionary tale.

His true concern lay elsewhere: had Ella been targeted? Given the scope of the plot against Frieren, Ella, as Serie's eldest apprentice, surely hadn't been overlooked. Still, with her caliber, there was little need for worry. His only real concern was how to pacify Serie.

Upon learning of the attempt on Frieren's life, the Elven Saint had thrown a spectacular tantrum, barring him from their bed the previous evening. After years of falling asleep beside his soft, fragrant Elven Lady, Rhodes had found himself tossing and turning in the lonely dark for the first time in an age. But after a full night of cooling off, he suspected she was ready to soften.

Rhodes set the report aside and took a sip of tea.

"What are you reading?" Serie's voice drifted from behind him.

She emerged from the bedroom, golden hair a chaotic nest of tangles, a few stray locks standing defiantly on end. She padded toward him barefoot, slipping naturally into his embrace. It was clear the Elven Lady hadn't fully shaken off the haze of sleep.

Rhodes curled an arm around her, resting his chin on the crown of her head and breathing in that familiar, cedar-and-flower scent. "News from the south. It seems they're abandoning the plan. At least, the primary conspirator has."

Rhodes didn't hide his thoughts from her; they were two halves of the same soul, and secrets were a luxury they didn't need. He knew, however, that the news would wake her up instantly.

As predicted, Serie's eyes flashed with predatory brightness.

"Hmph," she scoffed, a ripple of disdain in her voice. "Pragmatic of them. Had you not blocked me, I would have—"

"I know," Rhodes interrupted gently. "That is precisely why I blocked you."

Serie tilted her head back against his chest, fixing him with a glare. "What, are you afraid?"

"I'm afraid of you killing them all," Rhodes answered with brutal honesty. "The diplomatic fallout would be… tedious."

He didn't want the Elven Lady's reputation in the human world to be tarnished by rumors of unbridled tyranny or slaughter. He would spare her that infamy; if blood had to be shed, he would be the one to carry the stain.

Serie didn't argue. She lowered her head, muttering, "You always have your own twisted logic."

Rhodes laughed softly, smoothing the tangles from her hair. Serie didn't protest; she leaned into his touch, allowing his fingers to work through her mane. They sat in comfortable silence, savoring the stillness.

"What of Frieren?" Serie asked suddenly. "Still asleep?"

"Yes. She is exhausted. The battle, the toll of the Divine Strike… it was a heavy burden for her."

It had been Frieren's first time unleashing the Divine Strike. Rhodes hadn't even known she'd mastered it. Five hundred years ago, when Flamme was still with them, he had imparted the secret of the spell to her, and Flamme had subsequently taught it to Frieren. But the Divine Strike was no parlor trick; it had taken Flamme herself years to barely grasp the fundamentals. Rhodes had assumed Frieren was still decades away from mastery.

Clearly, she had learned it long ago and simply hadn't thought to mention it. It wasn't malice or secrecy—it was just Frieren. In her mind, she probably just forgot, or didn't think it was worth the trouble of a conversation. Elves were built like that.

"Elven recovery is faster than you imagine," Serie remarked.

"I know," Rhodes sighed. "I just never thought that after five centuries, the first thing I'd see upon our reunion would be her in that state."

Serie remained silent, but Rhodes felt her hand clench into a tiny fist. He reached over to pat her head, a silent comfort.

"By the way, what about the demon?"

Serie remembered the creature Rhodes had brought back. She had spent a few hours the previous night studying the Obedience Magic Rhodes had used; it was a fascinating mechanism. If she could fully map it, she might be able to innovate an entirely new school of mental sorcery.

"She is in the next room. Solifra is looking after her."

Serie's brow creased. "Are you planning to groom her into a second Solifra?"

"Yes."

"She is a demon," Serie emphasized. "She seems harmless now, but who can guarantee tomorrow? Demon malice strikes without a rhythm."

In Serie's eyes, demons were creatures born of a fundamental deficit of the soul. Because they couldn't grasp the concept of "good," they drifted toward "evil" like smoke rising from a fire. Even if Aura seemed weak, should she have a sudden lapse in judgment and strike a mage, the subsequent cleanup would be a bureaucratic nightmare.

How would she explain that? 'Oh, a demon has been living in the Association openly under my nose for weeks?' That would be a humiliation she couldn't stomach.

"You said the same thing when Solifra first arrived," Rhodes noted coolly.

Serie opened her mouth to argue, but the words withered. It was true. When Solifra had been dragged in, Serie had demanded her immediate execution. Rhodes had insisted, and she had conceded. Centuries later, Solifra was her most trusted aide, a pillar of the Association. She had proven that she was not like the others—that she could understand the weight of her own existence.

"She is different," Serie finally managed.

"How so?"

"Solifra… she is unique."

And she was. A demon imbued with the sanctity of the Goddess, capable of wielding Holy Magic—it was a biological miracle. Compared to Solifra, Aura was just… a demon, albeit one with a strangely vibrant emotional spectrum.

Rhodes smiled. "Every demon thinks they are unique. And this Aura… she is indeed special."

Serie looked at him, exhaling a long, weary breath. "You are always like this."

"Like what?"

"Ever hopeful." Her voice was laced with a strange, conflicting emotion. "You have lived for so long. You have seen so much rot, so much malice. Yet you are always willing to offer a chance, even to a demon."

Rhodes drew her closer. "It is not that I am hopeful about everything. It is only for those who earn it."

Serie fell silent, resting her head against his chest. She didn't need to understand his motives. So long as he walked beside her, she could afford to be as whimsical as she pleased.

In the adjacent room.

Aura sat up, rubbing her eyes and yawning. She had no idea how long she'd slept, only that it was the deepest, most tranquil slumber of her life. The mattress was soft, the covers were warm, and there was no predatory threat to keep her vigilant. It beat the cold, damp forest floor by an eternity.

Life is good. I don't miss the woods.

She sat on the edge of the bed, dazed, and caught sight of herself. She was still wearing the clothes Solifra had given her—a bit wrinkled, but a luxury compared to her old, rotting robes.

She walked to the window and threw it open, peering out at the bustling, chaotic beauty of the Imperial Capital. It felt like a dream.

"You're awake?" a voice called from the doorway.

Aura jumped, spinning around.

Solifra stood in the threshold, holding a tray with a simple breakfast.

"H-hello," Aura stammered, feeling awkward.

Solifra entered and placed the tray on the table. "Don't be so stiff. We have a long time to get to know each other. And you should enjoy this peace while you can, because…"

Because you'll soon be just like me—buried in the mountain of Association paperwork and diplomatic nuisances.

Solifra left the rest of the thought unspoken. Aura looked curious, but seeing the cryptic smile on Solifra's face, she wisely decided to stay silent. If she was going to die one day, she might as well die on a full stomach.

"Have you eaten?"

"Yes," Solifra replied, taking the seat opposite her. "With Rhodes-sama and Serie-sama."

Aura froze, a strange, tangled feeling rising in her chest. She couldn't name it—perhaps a spark of envy?

It must be nice. To be that close to those two, even as a demon.

She took a bite of bread. Soft, airy, with a faint sweetness—it was divine. "What am I supposed to do today?"

Solifra looked at her, searching. "What do you want to do?"

"I…" Aura hesitated. "I don't know. I've never… when I had nothing to do, I just wandered. I looked for food and hid to sleep."

Solifra sat in silence for a moment. "Then stay here and rest today. Once you are fully recovered, we will see."

Aura nodded, returning to her meal. As she ate, she asked, "Solifra-sama, what do you usually do?"

"Don't call me 'sama'. I manage the affairs of the Association," Solifra said. "Rhodes-sama and Serie-sama leave much of the work to me. Documentation, reception for visiting mages, mediation of disputes, and so on."

"Sounds busy."

"It is not so bad. At least, it is more comforting than the first days after I arrived."

Aura looked up. "What were you like… when you first arrived?"

Solifra was blunt. "Exactly like you. I didn't know if I would be dead by sundown. So, I worked myself to the bone, trying to prove I was useful."

Aura was stunned. The calm, collected Solifra had once been as terrified as she was.

"Then… what happened?"

"Time passed. I stopped being afraid," Solifra smiled. "Rhodes-sama is kind; he taught me much. Serie-sama gradually accepted me."

She looked at Aura with a glimmer of something soft. "You will be the same. Just live, and work diligently."

Aura nodded, vowing to remember the advice.

Solifra stood. "When you are finished, could you leave the dishes in the dining room? I will clean them at noon. I have work to attend to. If you are bored, you may wander this floor; Rhodes-sama has not restricted your freedom. But—heed this—do not descend to the lower levels. While your clothes have a concealment enchantment, until Rhodes-sama grants permission, it is better to avoid the eyes of other humans."

"Understood! I won't wander off, I promise!" Aura bobbed her head with vigor.

Once Solifra left, Aura sat alone, picking at her breakfast and ruminating on the advice.

Live. Work diligently.

Was that the path to gaining the recognition of the God-slayer and the Elven Saint? If so, she had no choice but to give it her all.

After breakfast, she returned the dishes and wandered back to her room, aimlessly. She stood by the window, flipped through a few books on the desk—finding only incomprehensible magical theory—and finally decided to venture out.

Solifra had said she could walk this floor, so a stroll through the hallway should be harmless, right?

She cracked the door open and peeked out. The corridor was empty, illuminated by the rhythmic pulse of the overhead crystals.

Aura stepped out and began to walk. This was the pinnacle of the Association, reserved for those in Rhodes and Serie's inner orbit. She walked for a long time without seeing a soul. The doors lining the hall were sealed tight—the vaults, as Solifra had mentioned.

She leaned close to one, tempted, but the heavy iron locks held firm. She gave up.

As she reached a junction, the sound of footsteps rang out. She panicked, instinctively shrinking back to hide, but it was too late.

Around the corner, Frieren appeared.

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