Headquarters of the Continental Magic Association.
Serie, who had received the news immediately, opened the letter nonchalantly, her eyes scanning ten lines at a glance. Her usual cool and playful expression tightened, replaced by a deep curiosity in her eyes.
"To think such a large-scale dream world exists... that Frieren really knows how to cause a stir."
She carefully read the research report penned by Zenze.
The magic, currently codenamed "Nightmare City," was the largest-scale illusion in history, far surpassing the "Passage to Paradise" magic of Grausam the Miracle-Worker, one of the Seven Sages of Destruction.
It was like comparing a firefly to the moon.
The only reason he had led the team was because of his title as the strongest illusionist. To realize upon arrival that he was merely a frog in a well was a truly bittersweet feeling.
Serie also disliked mind-control abilities, but Frieren's dreamscape—majestic, open, and even reality-distorting—was another matter entirely. It was far superior to Grausam's heart-manipulating tricks, as if it had summoned an entire world.
And it did indeed possess contagious properties.
According to Zenze: "A diffusivity similar to 'All Things Turn to Gold' has been observed."
However, the caster was not a bloodthirsty demon; she had been suppressing this characteristic all along. Of course, if something went wrong inside and control was lost, it would devour the nearby Northwind Fortress in an instant.
Nightmare City exhibited traits of magic that surpassed curses and reached the level of a goddess's miracle, and it could not be underestimated.
Moreover, it exuded an elusive, malevolent nature from the inside out.
Very frightening.
It wasn't just the research report; the many mages who sent letters back shared the same impression. Whispers, roars, and angina would frequently appear in their minds. Even far from the scene, they would have nightmares, as if a faint connection could cause mental interference.
The reports on the nightmares' content were also largely similar, basically describing the same thing:
They found themselves as hunters, endlessly trapped in a hunt, forced to constantly battle beast-like humans. Then, one day, they would notice signs of their own bestial transformation and wake up with a jolt.
The victims were often left with lingering fear and finally learned the true name of that Nightmare City: Yharnam. They would likely never forget it for the rest of their lives.
"A true curse wouldn't let you wake up."
Serie commented, "Either the magic itself has a flaw, or Frieren has restrained its power. I'm guessing it's the latter."
Hearing this, the disciples looked at each other, especially those specializing in illusions, who felt a bit embarrassed.
It was mortifying not to be able to help their master analyze the situation; they couldn't even comprehend Frieren's magic at present. It was something more profound than a curse, completely inscrutable. When it would end, whether the elf was safe, what was happening with the demons inside... they knew nothing and could only wait for the outcome.
This was the source of their anxiety.
With a divine-era mage, who served as their backbone, in a life-or-death situation, the allied forces of the human kingdoms were naturally tense, and the Magic Association, from top to bottom, was even more concerned.
Frieren was one of the most staunchly pro-war figures among their top powerhouses.
She was more focused on targeting the demon race than the outwardly weary Serie, and her verifiable kill count, both in quantity and quality, was far ahead. Her very existence was a rallying banner.
That was why she was targeted by the demons, and her safety would affect the situation on the front lines.
Lehmann asked, "In your judgment, master, how much longer will the war in Elf Town take to conclude?"
"Soon. It will be a matter of months, it won't drag on for a year."
For Serie, who had lived for millennia, this was a rather precise and brief timeframe, but for humans, it offered little practical reference.
The front lines couldn't wait.
"In that case, the demons' forward forces might advance, and there could be a large-scale conflict."
"No, Lehmann, it's too early to make that judgment now. How could Schlacht the Omniscient, after preparing for so long, act rashly? On the contrary, he will wait. He will wait for a clear result before taking the next step. He is the most cautious one among the demon race, always looking three steps ahead for every one he takes. He will not act before the outcome in Elf Town is decided. You can all rest assured."
"Wait, since the Omniscient one has been observing all along, shouldn't he already know the result?"
"It's not that easy. It's not like he's perpetually staring into the future. Besides, I've verified it: divination-type abilities have little effect on Frieren."
"I understand."
"The Association's manpower should be redeployed to Elf Town; reliable people are needed there more. The front lines can wait. If Frieren wins, it will be the demon race, having suffered heavy losses, that will have to retreat."
Serie was full of confidence in her kin, whom she had never met.
It was rare for their master to be so certain, and she was clearly exuding a sense of high spirits, which was truly unusual.
Perhaps the series of never-before-seen magics had rekindled her passion; even a divine-era mage of a thousand years felt a surge of excitement. It was Frieren's past deeds that had accelerated her founding of the Association, and today, her fighting spirit was even higher.
"I almost forgot something. Did Flamme also enter the dreamscape?"
"Yes, regrettably."
"There's nothing to regret. Frieren is there. Risk and opportunity coexist. She will gain something from this; otherwise, it's difficult for a mere human lifespan to amount to much."
After this profound remark, Serie yawned and turned to return to the back garden.
She had handled enough official business for the day; it was time to rest.
The disciples left in the meeting hall looked at each other, and after exchanging some information, they departed. They had to stabilize the allied army quickly; after all, the demons' push into the heart of the continent would inevitably cause panic and shake morale.
At this critical moment, the Association had to act as a stabilizing cornerstone, preventing opportunistic demons from launching surprise attacks amidst the chaos.
Another task was to send more personnel to Elf Town. Even if not for combat, they had to consider the issue of post-disaster reconstruction. The value there was not just Frieren; the wealth hidden within the entire town was equivalent to that of a kingdom and was also tied to military funding.
There could be no mistakes.
Ever since Miriadel had made a fortune through brewing and banking, the place had become the most trusted vault for the nobles of the central lands.
Even now, that hadn't changed; in fact, its value had only increased.
Who could possibly withstand an attack from a team of two Seven Sages of Destruction, a demon general, and several great demons? The Elf Bank did. Not only did it hold them off, but it also trapped the attackers inside, meaning any would-be thieves couldn't escape either.
As long as they could emerge from the shadow of war, one could imagine that even more funds would inexplicably flow in.
Therefore, the town's survival was crucial.
Similarly, far away in the demon territory, Schlacht and the other Seven Sages of Destruction waited anxiously. Even for a race lacking emotion, they felt the pressure.
Had all their meticulous planning failed to achieve immediate results?
In a sense, they had already half-lost. Even if they killed Frieren, the perpetrators would not be able to escape unscathed; they would most likely perish there, turning it into a sacrificial pawn tactic. A loss, and that was the best-case scenario.
The worst-case scenario was that the elite demon team, assembled with vast resources, would be completely annihilated.
They could only wait.
...
Yharnam, Hunter's Workshop Chapel.
The silver-haired, twin-tailed girl, who had been resting with her eyes closed for a long time, finally opened them. She stood up from her wheelchair, rolling her shoulders and stretching her stiff muscles.
At the same time, the Doll beside her tacitly straightened her collar, draped a trench coat over her, and placed a winged cap on her head. Of course, she also brought her a gun and a blade, fully arming her. It was the Night of the Hunt, and the First Hunter was, naturally, the master of the dream.
"The Old God is but a temporary usurper. This dream ultimately belongs to you. I await the hunter's reclamation of it."
"Of course. I've found it. It's in the Fishing Hamlet."
She looked at the two who had come to inquire.
Flamme, blissfully ignorant, had an excited expression, eager to try. She had also changed into a similar outfit; only this child was enjoying the novel experience. After all, treating it as a dream, she paid no mind to the terror.
Miriadel, who knew more of the details, looked troubled. She sighed and rubbed her forehead. The respectable drunkard elf had even put away her liquor, having lost her appetite.
"...You all look so serious. Is the Fishing Hamlet that tough to deal with?"
"It's difficult to begin with. Considering the current situation, it has likely gathered most of the Old God's minions. That place is grim and foreboding."
"Specifically?"
"Long ago, the Church learned that the waves had washed an Old God ashore at what is now the Fishing Hamlet. They organized an expedition and found the area already corrupted, teeming with a mix of fish-like monsters and humans. The expedition team slaughtered them all and took the infant gestating within the Old God's corpse, naming it the Orphan of Kos. Naturally, they were also cursed: with an endless dream of the hunt."
"He is a very difficult enemy. When you fight him, reality and dream blur together, and he likes to scream and shout. It's incredibly noisy."
Speaking of this, even Miriadel shook her head in discomfort.
"Actually, the Moon Presence is also scheming in the background, but its influence is mainly suppressed by my main consciousness. The one with a deeper impact on the dream right now is the Orphan of Kos. Take him out, and this will end."
"Are you sure? After all, more than one restless Old God is targeting you."
"After scheming with tigers for so many years, of course I have safeguards. Don't worry, all it takes is placing one more weight on the scales."
"Alright, then let's not delay. Let's set out."
"I trust you, Master."
The three of them made their final preparations, which included a large number of throwing items. They brought everything, miscellaneous as it was; you could never have too much, only not enough.
"Say, do you think this counts as the second Fishing Hamlet expedition team?"
Miriadel quickly regained her spirits and joked, only to see Frieren roll her eyes. Knowing the truth, they understood that the "Fishing Hamlet expedition" was not an auspicious term; it was practically jumping into a pit of fire.
A significant portion of the calamities stemmed from the actions in the Fishing Hamlet.
The villagers there were also unlucky, becoming victims of the Old God's corruption only to be slaughtered by the very hunters who were supposed to rescue them. The hatred they left behind was chilling.
Not to mention the blurring of reality's boundaries under the influence of the Orphan of Kos.
He is very dangerous.
Let's not forget the current backdrop: Frieren's main consciousness and the Moon Presence's consciousness are co-creating the dream while vying for dominance. They are already in a dream; if the Orphan of Kos pulls them into an even deeper layer, it will be trouble. Mental resistance and willpower are especially important.
The two old hunters were one thing; it was just revisiting an old haunt, albeit with a bit more difficulty this time.
But the remaining newcomer needed looking after. There was no stopping her, so they could only keep an eye on Flamme's safety. In Yharnam, strength alone isn't enough to survive.
The red-haired girl, however, wore a fearless expression, a far cry from the nervousness she'd shown upon arrival.
Once you get used to it, you stop worrying.
Besides, with Sister Miriadel and Master Frieren here, they would hold up the sky if it fell. She just needed to focus on fighting.
The trio finally plotted the fastest route on a map of Yharnam and confirmed their supplies. With everything ready, this battle had to liberate the main consciousness from its semi-slumber and secure control over the entire dream.
"May you have a safe journey. I will always be waiting for the hunter in the chapel."
The Doll at the door bowed slightly, seeing them off.
"Thank you, Sister Doll. We'll definitely bring Master back safely."
"I'm never coming back here again," Miriadel said, waving her hands frantically. "After this is over, I have to reward myself with a drink. This is exhausting."
"You reward yourself like that every day."
After a brief farewell, they embarked on their expedition. Thanks to Frieren's authority, the common monsters along the way didn't dare to harass them, clearing a path and allowing them unimpeded passage. It was much easier than their arrival, and they traveled day and night, even if they couldn't tell if night truly existed.
Aside from the suppressed Old God and the main consciousness that would ultimately seize control of the dream, this splinter soul held the highest authority.
For years, she had managed every aspect of Yharnam, even maintaining its fixed cycles of operation. That was why Miriadel saw many familiar enemy faces, as the cycles also served to deplete the Old God's accumulated power.
Yharnam is a cage.
It imprisons the Old God's will to prevent it from leaking out, and the warden is Frieren's splinter soul.
Clearing the path for a smooth journey was a trivial matter. No matter where they turned, it was quiet and peaceful, with no more beast-men, mobs, or hunters.
All that could be seen were magnificent buildings and wide streets. The light from the streetlamps was soft and bright, and the feeling of stepping on the stone pavement was grounding. One might think they were here on a tour.
With their speed, the three of them practically flew across rooftops the entire way.
Frieren was at the vanguard, scouting the surroundings while clearing the path. For elite monsters not affected by her intimidating presence, she would either bypass them to save time or kill them quickly, her movements as fluid as running water.
Miriadel brought up the rear, clearing out monsters trying to ambush from corners while providing support fire and defense.
With them coordinating from front to back, no enemy could stand against them; even elite foes wouldn't last five moves.
It was too fast.
Flamme, caught in the middle, often only saw Frieren go in for a gun parry, hitting the enemy with a blow like a Grave Scythe, followed by a visceral attack that sent blood splattering. If the opponent was tougher, a telepathic Miriadel would follow up with a Saw Cleaver transformation attack, pressing them until they were dead.
They never gave their target a single chance to act; their reactions, judgment, and combos were all flawless.
Is this the strength of an old hunter?
The red-haired girl, feeling like she was being carried, kept quiet and didn't interfere recklessly. After all, she didn't know how to handle many of the bizarrely shaped enemies. It was best to leave it to the two veterans and conserve her strength. There would be plenty of trouble when they met the Old God.
Flamme knew the map by heart and estimated they weren't far from the Fishing Hamlet. At their current pace, it wouldn't take long to arrive.
She grew a little nervous. How bizarre would the mastermind behind this dream be?
But fate had other plans.
An angry roar suddenly erupted ahead. Several demons leaped out from the ruins of a collapsed house, looking disheveled. Chasing them was a monster with only its upper body remaining, flames burning behind its arms. Its blood flowed like lava, and the rising heat was hot enough to scald the skin.
"It's been a while, Laurence. Thank you for entertaining my guests."
A nostalgic look appeared on Frieren's face.
______
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