Frieren: I Reject My Humanity!

Chapter 314 314: War God Perishes

"Tell me about everything that's happened since then, Fern… Where did you and Frieren go? What adventures did you have?"

Heiter settled down beside her, shifting close.

"I'm not telling you."

Fern kept her jaw clenched and her gaze fixed somewhere else entirely — she couldn't bring herself to look at him.

The reason she didn't want to talk was simple enough.

The moment she finished telling him everything… he'd probably ask her to kill him, wouldn't he?

"Is that so… you know, Fern, I already have a pretty good idea even without you telling me."

Heiter's voice made Fern instinctively turn her head — but the moment she met those smugly pleased eyes, she seemed to catch herself, and turned sharply away again.

"Mm… that girl with the green hair and golden eyes filled me in on quite a bit, actually. I hear you've even got someone you're sweet on? I'll have to take a good look at whatever scruffy young man thinks he's good enough for my Fern."

As he said it, Heiter's tone shifted instantly into something that sounded exactly like every overprotective father in the world.

But Fern had absolutely no energy for this conversation. She was too busy stewing in her own misery, cursing Fíliya inwardly — why would she do this to her?

To finally be reunited with the person she'd longed for more than anyone… and then be told she had to destroy it all with her own hands just to escape this place?

What kind of cruel joke was that?

Fern almost regretted it. She never should have won that fight — it would've been easier to just let Heiter cut her down.

"This standoff can't go on forever, Fern."

When Fern refused to respond for a long stretch, Heiter let out a quiet, resigned sigh and changed the subject.

"That young man named Stark… it seems like he's in danger too. Don't you want to go help him?"

Stark… right. Mr. Stark was probably facing something just as dire as she was.

I need to get to him — fast. But…

The frustration churning in Fern's chest grew more and more unbearable, but no matter how she turned it over, she couldn't make herself choose between the two.

"No. There has to be another way."

Fern drew a slow, steadying breath — then rose to her feet and began to study her surroundings.

"…Fern?"

Heiter watched as she paced back and forth, pressing her hands against the invisible walls with a distant, distracted look in her eyes. His heart clenched. He very nearly reached out with a healing spell to ease whatever mental strain was overwhelming her.

In his eyes, Fern looked completely at a loss — clearly shaken by the shock of it all.

"Please don't waste your mana. I'm perfectly clear-headed right now."

Fern had sensed the mana stir, but didn't look back — her attention stayed fixed on the spatial barriers that held her trapped.

Heiter blinked, mildly surprised, and let the spell dissolve. His curiosity immediately turned toward what she was actually doing.

So he'd misread her out of worry, had he?

He watched the focused, unshakeable expression on her face — and found himself quietly moved.

The things an old man like him couldn't imagine… were they always going to be left to the young?

That refusal to give up even in a dead end — that ability to give others something to believe in — it was so achingly familiar. She reminded him of Himmel, back in those days.

…Truly, she is my child.

"In the world of magic, nothing is absolute… even a barrier Fíliya set up cannot defy that truth."

After a long and thorough exploration, Fern seemed to find something. She turned around, a quiet smile of confidence on her face.

"In this world… there is simply no such thing as something that cannot be broken."

She said it lightly — then immediately poured her mana into the [flaw] she had found.

Faced with an impossible choice, Fern's answer was this:

I'll take both.

With a sharp crack — like shattering glass — the space that had imprisoned Fern and Heiter collapsed all at once.

"There."

The moment she returned to Heiter's side, Fern spoke without hesitation.

Ahead of them, scattered through the darkness, were a dozen or so points of light — each one seemingly a marker leading somewhere different.

But how had Fern chosen so quickly, and with such certainty?

Heiter looked at her, curious.

"A gut feeling."

That was all Fern said.

"A gut feeling… how remarkably familiar."

Heiter shook his head, smiling to himself.

"Hm? Familiar how?"

"Mm… back then, Himmel and Frieren both loved to use that exact excuse. Whenever they were completely lost and just picked a direction at random, they'd say 'a gut feeling' — and yet somehow, every single time, they'd end up exactly where they needed to be."

"Well, doesn't that just prove that gut feelings work?"

Fern smiled back at her foster father.

"Mm… I suppose it does."

And so, without another word between them, the two shot toward the point of light that had spoken to Fern's gut.

Just as Rivale's axe was about to fall — a swift, precise, condensed burst of Ordinary Attack Magic struck him squarely in the face at almost the exact same instant.

"What?!"

Rivale recoiled in surprise. He knew that black, thread-like magic — of course he did. It was a beam of far greater power than the pure white variant, a piercing attack that cut straight through defenses.

It was exactly this kind of strike that had wounded him before.

Forced to break off the execution, he redirected the force of his martial technique to neutralize the spell.

When the dust and smoke cleared, Stark had already been pulled away by Fern.

"Mr. Heiter… how is he?"

Now that they were out of their private space, calling him 'Father' somehow didn't quite make it to her lips.

"He's running on fumes… how on earth did this child push himself to such a state."

Stark's mouth was frothing with a slow, bubbling stream of blood. He seemed dimly aware of something, but was clearly in no condition to respond.

"Can you save him?"

Fern asked, unable to keep the anxiety out of her voice.

"Hmph… I am the monk of the hero's party. As long as this boy hasn't fully crossed over, I can pull his soul back."

"Please… I'm counting on you."

The tension drained from Fern's shoulders the moment she heard those words — relief washing over her, along with the quiet gratitude of having made it in time.

"Mm. I'll restore his vitality right away… but that man over there is going to be a problem."

Heiter's gaze drifted to Rivale not far away, and a shadow of unease crossed his face.

A demon this powerful… even throughout all those years of adventuring, only the Demon King himself had carried a more overwhelming presence than this.

"I'll… hold him off."

Her own heart was far from steady — but in that moment, Fern planted her feet, raised her staff without flinching, and stepped in front of Rivale.

When would he make his move?

Fern kept her eyes locked on Rivale's every motion — but Rivale only looked back at her with an expression of genuine, unhurried interest.

"Now this is something. To actually breach the Demon King's barrier… is this the potential of humankind?"

"…Aren't you going to attack?"

Fern's brow furrowed slightly, and she kept one eye on Heiter out of the corner of her vision. If Rivale wanted to talk, she was more than willing to oblige.

After all, every second she could stall was another second of treatment for Stark.

"Relax, little one. I have no intention of interrupting your healing. On the contrary — I'm asking you to hurry up and get that young man back on his feet. Only then… will things get truly entertaining."

…I see.

Fern lowered her staff — then turned without hesitation and walked to Stark's side, her back to Rivale, completely unguarded.

She had crossed paths with many demons alongside Ms. Frieren over the years.

But of all of them, only Rivale could be called one with genuine integrity.

So Fern chose to take him at his word.

Under Rivale's silent, watchful gaze, Heiter quickly reversed Stark's near-death state. By the time he was fully restored, aside from the white that had crept into his hair — which no magic could undo — he looked completely whole again.

"Your hair."

Fern reached out and caught a few strands of his white hair between her fingers, something sad flickering in her eyes.

"…What happened? Why has it gone white?"

Stark seemed to only just be noticing.

"If Fíliya sees this, your nickname's probably going to change from 'Fresh Tomato' to 'Moldy Tomato.'"

Fern looked at him and shook her head.

"Is that so… well, at least I'd have to make it to her face before I'd ever hear something like that."

Stark gave her only a brief reply — then immediately turned to face Rivale, settling into a combat stance.

His dearest wish, of course, was to take Rivale down alone. He'd already given that everything he had.

But he'd failed. And though he had no idea how Fern — or this strange older man — had managed to come to his aid, Stark wasn't about to say something as irresponsible as "let me fight him one-on-one" at a moment like this.

"I apologize… I can't beat you on my own. So we're going to gang up on you now."

Stark said it plainly, eyes fixed on Rivale.

As Stark settled into his stance, Fern and Heiter moved into position without a word.

"No matter. Did I not say so? Whether it's two against one or three against one, carry no guilt over the numbers. All I have ever sought is a fight to the death where I can give everything I have — I've never set a limit on how many can come."

Rivale looked at the three of them — and at last, truly began to prepare himself to fight at full strength.

"Is that so… You are, without question, formidably strong. So we will meet that pride of yours with everything we've got!"

The moment Fern's words fell, the three of them — fighting together for the very first time — unleashed a perfectly coordinated assault as if they'd trained side by side for years.

"…Then show me the full measure of human potential!"

Rivale answered with his own counter.

Time passed — how much, it was impossible to say.

In the space that had been shaped by that battle to the death, the three human silhouettes were gone.

Only a single set of unhurried footsteps rang out, crisp and clear, breaking the dead silence.

The God of War of the Demon Race — Rivale — lay on the ground, and tilted his head, trying to identify the approaching figure by sound alone.

"…My Demon King."

Fíliya came to a slow stop before him, regarding him with an utterly calm gaze.

"Was it to your satisfaction?"

"Satisfaction… more than I could have hoped for."

"And yet you lost."

"When will the Demon King understand — for someone like me, winning and losing was never what mattered."

"I see…"

Fíliya looked on as Rivale's body slowly began to turn to ash and fade.

If she hadn't transported the victorious three away and suspended time in this place, he would have dissolved long ago.

But even so, she had only delayed the pace of his death. His end remained inevitable.

Under normal circumstances, that would be that… except the current Demon King possessed the power to reverse endings.

"I will ask you only once: do you still have the will to live? It is not too late. I can reverse your death."

"No. Let it end here. If I don't die… then that young man's revenge becomes a joke, doesn't it."

Rivale gave a quiet, easy laugh.

"Is that all? No other reason?"

Fíliya rested her chin in her hands and slowly lowered herself to sit before him.

"Mm. If you're asking — yes, there is one more."

Rivale opened his hollow eye sockets. Whether his eyes had been destroyed in the battle or had already crumbled to ash as death drew near, there was nothing left inside them.

"Then say it."

Looking at this dying God of War, Fíliya, for once, offered him a rare measure of patience.

"The real reason — the biggest one — is simply this: the world you intend to create, my Demon King… fills me with absolute revulsion. This is my most sincere, heartfelt contempt."

"Demons have no need of order. For a warrior like me, a world where one cannot kill freely is nothing short of hell."

Fíliya raised an eyebrow slightly as she listened.

"So you never agreed with my vision… then why did you serve me all the same?"

"Because you defeated me. I simply honored my word. You beat me as a warrior should be beaten — and I offered my loyalty in return. That is all a demon's allegiance has ever been."

"I see."

Fíliya nodded — then slowly rose to her feet.

"One last request."

Rivale turned his head toward her. Though there was nothing left in his eye sockets, he still found her by instinct alone.

"Mm."

Fíliya nodded, indicating she would hear it.

"Even if you one day find a way to resurrect demons, my Demon King… I ask that you never, under any circumstances, bring me back. Never."

"You despise my world that much?"

"Of course. I could not survive in such a hell."

"Understood."

Fíliya nodded once more — and slowly gathered a mass of black light in her hand.

"This magic will erase your existence entirely. If you are killed by it, there will be no possibility of resurrection — any means, by anyone. Is that acceptable?"

"Is that so… to die beneath a spell like that… I am truly honored."

"No…" Fíliya cut him off. "The honor is mine."

"…"

Rivale was clearly puzzled.

"Though your ideals and mine are complete opposites — you are, without question, someone worthy of respect. I never imagined I would find something so noble and so pure in a demon."

"Go well."

And with those words, Fíliya sent Rivale on his final journey — with her Magic to Disintegrate All Things.

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