Chapter 20 – The Difference Between Pumpkins and People
"Hmph, hmph~ Elias, you have no idea how amazing I was today!"
Frieren proudly waved a crispy fried chicken drumstick like a trophy while munching through it with visible joy. Between bites, she rattled off her "heroic deeds" of the day.
"Today I reinforced the villagers' roofs, helped the caravan load their pumpkins, and made the children a magic bamboo dragonfly that never falls!"
She puffed her chest and declared triumphantly:
"The kids all said I'm the greatest mage in history!"
Elias sat across from her at the dinner table, watching her radiant grin.
For a long moment, he didn't know what to say.
Since when, he wondered, did he start caring about the feelings of such a troublesome elf?
Finally, he sighed and replied flatly:
"Is that so? Then… about the village chief's hair—"
"Did it grow back?!"
Frieren slammed the drumstick down, eyes sparkling like twin gems, her whole body trembling with anticipation.
Elias hesitated. Damn it. Was this… empathy again?
He could already feel his emotional defenses cracking.
No—he couldn't let it win this time.
"I'm afraid not," he said, his tone even. "The hair didn't grow. But the nose hair did."
...╭(°A°`)╮
"W–What?!"
"The greatest mage in history—me!—spent ten whole nights modifying that potion, and it still didn't work?!"
Completely crushed, Frieren slumped over the table, muttering into the wood.
"But the spell that turned pumpkins square worked in just three days… how could this one fail…"
Elias sighed and folded his arms.
"Frieren, you underestimate humans."
She blinked up at him, still pouting.
"While both are living beings, the magical systems that govern animals are hundreds of times more complex than those for plants."
He began his explanation with the air of an old scholar.
"In the Age of Myth, the Sage Aivis spent three months just establishing the magical framework for cockroaches."
"And humans," Elias continued, "are far more intricate than cockroaches—biological miracles, in a sense."
"That's why even demons, with lifespans of millennia, have made little progress in studying them."
"Only the so-called 'Elder Sage of Corruption,' the genius who invented Killing Magic [Zoltraak], made any real breakthrough. And that discovery… was what triggered the Great War."
He paused, then gave her a pointed look.
"So, Frieren, do you now understand how shallow your grasp of humanity truly is?"
——
«(.)»..zzZZ
Elias froze. His entire body trembled.
A violent surge of magic flared within him—his power reacting to pure, unfiltered rage.
"Fri… ren…" he hissed through clenched teeth.
«(´⊙ω⊙`)»
"Oh, uh—sorry! Guess I fell asleep. You were saying something about… cockroaches? Please, continue."
"…Forget it," Elias said flatly. "I surrender."
He exhaled slowly, forcing his mana back under control.
"The point is, the chief's hair isn't such a simple problem."
"Really…?" she murmured. "I just thought…"
Her tone softened, her eyes dimming.
"The chief said he wanted to grow his hair back before he leaves this world."
"He wants to go to heaven looking the way his wife loved him most…"
"I just wanted to grant that wish. Why did it have to fail…"
Her voice trailed off.
Elias looked at her—the way her ears drooped, her shoulders slumped—and for the first time in centuries, something deep in his chest stirred.
Not irritation. Not pity. Something older.
A memory.
"…Frieren," he said quietly, "go to bed early tonight."
She gave a small, tired laugh.
"Elias, you really haven't changed at all. You hear a sad story and your first instinct is to tell me to sleep?"
"Of course," he replied calmly, standing up from his chair.
"Because tomorrow… we're leaving."
"Huh? Leaving? Where are we going?"
Elias turned away, his silhouette half-swallowed by shadow—
but a faint smile curved his lips.
"To fulfill the chief's wish."
At dawn, when the first rays of sunlight brushed the horizon, a lone carriage rolled out of the quiet village and headed north.
By the third day, it had crossed endless grasslands.
By the seventh, it had passed through forests dense enough to blot out the sky.
Finally, the wheels came to a halt before a broad stone bridge spanning a silver river. Two figures—one tall, one short—stepped down from the carriage.
Elias stood upon the bridge, gazing in both directions as if trying to recall a half-forgotten memory.
"…We should head upstream, I think," he murmured.
"No problem!" Frieren replied confidently, striding forward.
"Wait. No—" Elias turned and pointed the other way.
"Downstream. Definitely downstream."
Frieren: «(=_=)»
"Hey, do you actually remember where this village is?"
"Frieren," Elias said calmly, "I'm an old man. You can't expect perfection."
He frowned slightly, lost in thought.
"The last time I came here was… about thirty years ago."
"Thirty years…" Frieren muttered under her breath.
"I just hope that village still exists."
And so they followed the river's flow downstream.
When they grew hungry, they caught fish and shrimp from the shallows, roasting them over Elias's controlled flame magic.
At night, they camped beneath the stars, falling asleep to the murmur of the river's lullaby.
By the third day, when Frieren had begun to grumble about eating "nothing but grilled fish again," they finally arrived at their destination.
"This is incredible…" she breathed, stepping past the weathered gate. "To think such a remote place would hide a warrior's village."
Men carrying axes and swords passed them by, nodding politely before returning to their drills.
"Elias," Frieren whispered, "are you sure this is the right place? What does a warrior village have to do with the chief's hair?"
Elias replied with quiet confidence, "Because the world's foremost expert on hair lives here."
Before Frieren could ask further, a booming voice cut across the square.
"Excuse me—Lord Elias, is that you?"
A man with a spectacular explosion of curls hurried toward them, grinning ear to ear.
"So many years have passed, and you haven't aged a day…"
Frieren stiffened instantly.
Someone knew Elias—and judging by his tone, he even knew the truth of what he was.
But Elias remained perfectly composed, studying the man's face.
"…You're not Conrad, are you?"
The man bowed deeply. "No, my lord. I am Yonas, Conrad's son. I simply share his fondness for… extravagant hair."
"Ah," Elias murmured. "Your father gave me a haircut once—thirty years ago, wasn't it?"
"Exactly 11,096 days, to be precise," Yonas said proudly. "He never forgot that honor, not even on his deathbed."
"…He's passed away then," Elias said softly.
"I'm afraid so," Yonas replied. "But before his passing, he passed down all of his techniques and research to me."
A small flicker of relief crossed Elias's otherwise stoic face.
The ten-day journey hadn't been in vain.
"Tell me," Yonas asked curiously, "did you really travel all this way after thirty years… just for a haircut?"
Elias shook his head. "Something more important."
He spoke plainly, wasting no time.
"I remember your father once lamented that he couldn't find a way to cut the hair of the bald. It was then that he began his study of Hair Magic in Humans. I've come to acquire the results of that research."
Yonas's expression dimmed, and he exhaled heavily.
"I'm sorry to disappoint you, my lord. My father spent half his life on that research… but he never completed it."
"There was one key magical ingredient he never managed to obtain. He went to seek it himself…"
Yonas lowered his gaze.
"…and was killed by monsters before he could return."