[Chronicle of Sin - Year -21]
Outside the city of Äußerst, in the Yuru Region, a well-built carriage rattled along the dirt road. Despite the rough terrain, its leather-lined suspension and large wheels kept the interior relatively smooth.
On the two opposing wooden seats inside sat master and disciple—Serie reclined against the carriage wall, gazing out the window, while Gut sat opposite, flipping through a magic tome and jotting down notes at the table between them.
"Ran off, huh?" Serie murmured.
"To think we were trailed by a demon on this trip... Have they forgotten their fear of me after my long silence, or..."
Her gaze drifted to Gut across from her.
"...Or is it because this disciple of mine has created a future they simply can't accept?"
She sighed. "Whatever."
Whether the demons feared her or him, Serie didn't care. If any blind fool dared to attack, she'd eliminate them on a whim—might even add a little fun to this otherwise dull journey.
But the Demonkind weren't brainless.
Ever since the Miraculous Grausam's cover was blown, no other demons dared appear, not even by dusk.
The ride grew smoother—signaling that they had reached a better-paved road. The coachman tapped on the carriage wall, prompting Gut to draw back the curtain.
"Uncle, something up?" he asked.
"Haha, no worries. Just letting you know—we've hit the main road now. Much better terrain," the coachman replied.
"We're nearing Fortress City Vorig, the front-line stronghold for this whole region. Military checkpoint ahead. Be sure to have your ID ready and check your belongings—no contraband."
"Got it," Gut nodded, thanking the coachman before relaying the info.
"Master, we're almost at—"
"I heard," Serie said without opening her eyes. "I've been here more times than I can count."
"Fair enough..."
Gut gave a wry smile. She'd been a bit prickly today—probably still holding on to the embarrassment from last night.
Though... that made her even cuter.
Suppressing the urge to pet her elf ears, Gut unfurled the map, tracing their day's travel.
Unlike Frieren's pilgrimage to retrace her party's steps, Serie aimed for direct transit to the Holy Capital—Schlacht, making no detours. No sightseeing at the Offen Mountains, no wandering the Roya Highway, no visits to the Kühl Region.
But seeing Kühl Region on the map made Gut pause.
He had passed through it while traveling with a merchant caravan to Äußerst. That was where he'd encountered Grandpa Voll, a dwarven warrior who had defended a village for three centuries out of love for his deceased human wife.
Even on his deathbed, Voll had forgotten her face and voice. Only a blurry silhouette and the act of guarding remained in his mind.
Thanks to a conversation with Frieren, Voll finally recalled the glimpse of her back in a dream before passing on.
Gut tapped the map thoughtfully, then asked Serie:
"Master, when you start to forget someone... what do you forget first? Their voice? Their face? Or... their traits?"
"None of those," Serie answered, shaking her head.
"It's their flaws."
"The first thing to fade is always their imperfections."
She paused, her expression softening with nostalgia.
"Gut, I've had many disciples."
"I remember their voices, their faces, their quirks, their favorite spells... all of that is etched deep in my mind."
"But their flaws? I... can't quite recall."
"Take Flamme, for instance."
"She's still that little girl in my memory, barely waist-high. Always holding my hand, leading me through flower fields, shouting her dreams with pride."
"A sweet, ambitious child."
"But—there's something hazy, something I've nearly forgotten. She did have a rebellious phase, one that caused me a great deal of stress."
"She wasn't always so obedient."
"And then there's Bodhi—the creator of your Body Tempering Art."
"He wasn't exactly easy to deal with either... Hmm, what did he do again...?"
As the carriage rolled steadily along, Serie rambled on, recounting the defiant misdeeds of Gut's predecessors—stories of powerful mages, once just unruly students.
To Gut, she seemed more expressive than ever before. It reminded him how the elderly often enjoy reminiscing.
And for someone like Serie, who had lived for centuries, how long had it been since she shared such memories?
By the time the carriage halted outside the walls of Vorig, Serie blinked, suddenly realizing how long she'd been talking.
She accepted the waterskin Gut handed her and took a long drink. Just as she rose to disembark for the checkpoint, Gut tugged at her robe.
Serie turned, only to see her disciple looking at her with uncharacteristic seriousness.
"Master, I'll probably do something really terrible to you someday."
"So... don't worry."
"You'll definitely remember my flaws."
"Pfft—" Serie gave a dry chuckle.
A complicated smirk twisted her lips into something between affection and challenge.
"When you surpass me in strength, then you can talk like that."
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Powerstones?
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