Did she really think she could just run away after offending Zenith? When Serie fully suppressed her mana, she did indeed vanish from mana detection, but she left behind one fatal flaw.
She was still wearing the amulet Zenith had tossed to her. *'I might not be able to find you, but you think I can't track an amulet I crafted with my own two hands?'*
Within minutes, Zenith dragged Serie out of hiding and tossed her into a Minecraft wooden boat.
As everyone knows, a wooden boat in Minecraft is a powerful sealing item. Even an Enderman can't teleport away once they sit in one.
Sitting in the wooden boat, Serie could speak and blink, but she couldn't move. The mana inside her body felt completely disconnected, refusing to answer her call.
"Did you know, Serie?"
A feather appeared in Zenith's hand. "Sensations stack. When a feather brushes across the sole of your foot, most people feel a tickle. But when that tickle is multiplied a hundred times, a thousand times, and erupts all at once... tsk tsk, what a feeling."
South Hero and Orcini simultaneously took a step back, drawing a clear line between themselves and this pervert.
A drop of cold sweat rolled down Serie's forehead. Although her imposing aura as a great mage had never quite worked on Zenith, she still managed to maintain a shred of her dignified image.
But this time, it seemed she wasn't going to escape.
Serie successfully joined the party, filling the role of the mage. Aside from her legs trembling slightly when she walked and a faint flush on her face, everything was perfectly normal.
Zenith led the way at the front, Serie walked in the middle, while South Hero and Orcini trailed far behind at the back of the group. The duo's attitude toward Zenith had undergone a massive shift—from initial respect, to mid-journey confusion, and now, utter bewilderment.
They had certainly learned something new today. It was their first time realizing that a tiny feather could wield such devastating power.
Himmel's party was traveling from south to north, while Zenith's group was heading in the opposite direction. If his calculations were correct, they would cross paths near the Village of the Sword.
Just like in every Dragon Quest story, the ultimate sword capable of slaying the Demon King was absolutely indispensable. Swords were the ultimate romance of battle, an unavoidable trope in this kind of world.
Himmel had failed to pull out the Hero's Sword left behind by the Goddess. Instead, he believed that whatever sword was wielded by the hero who slew the Demon King would become the true Hero's Sword. It was a pursuit that defied destiny itself, and it had piqued Zenith's curiosity.
He really wanted to see exactly what kind of sword would refuse to be drawn by a guy as saintly as Himmel.
The Village of the Sword was located in the central region of the continent. From the outside, it looked like nothing more than an ordinary little hamlet. The only difference was the unusually high concentration of monsters in the area.
Drawn by the Hero's Sword, the surrounding monsters flocked to the village, desperate to destroy the divine blade that was their natural bane. But how could they possibly succeed?
The rust-mottled holy sword remained embedded in the stone, waiting for its master, while the guardians who honored the ancient covenant lived there generation after generation, working at sunrise and resting at sunset.
Many years ago, this place had been a holy land for adventurers. Everyone hoped they would be the one to pull out the legendary divine sword. But nowadays, aside from adventurers accepting commissions to clear out monsters, hardly anyone ever visited.
"How rare. To think two adventurer parties would arrive here at the exact same time."
The village chief was a rather spunky young girl with pink hair—the 47th generation chief of the Village of the Sword. "Are you guys planning to try pulling the Hero's Sword too? The other party is already over there. I'll take you to them."
*The Hero's Sword, huh.* South Hero and Orcini let out a collective sigh. It was the divine blade every warrior dreamed of drawing, just as everyone who set out to defeat the Demon King fantasized about being the chosen one.
The other party could only be Himmel's group. They had already cleared out the surrounding monsters, and from a distance, Zenith could see the four-person squad playfully bickering.
There was the handsome, blue-haired Himmel, sporting a prominent tear mole under his left eye and his usual bright, optimistic demeanor.
Beside him was the red-caped dwarven warrior Eisen, who perfectly fit every stereotype of his race; the "corrupt priest" Heiter, reeking of alcohol and swaying as he walked; and finally, Frieren.
Frieren had sensed Serie's absurdly massive mana from a mile away. As the great mage approached, Frieren's expression visibly cooled.
Their worldviews and ideals clashed completely; she truly couldn't muster any fondness for her grandmaster.
"And that mage with the IQ of a baboon," Frieren added.
Zenith's eye twitched. *'Is that really the first impression I gave you? I mastered that entire grimoire in just six months!'*
"Long time no see, Frieren," Zenith greeted casually before shifting his gaze to Himmel. He was so young. The guy radiated a vibrant, youthful energy that made it incredibly easy to like him at first sight.
"Lady Serie." Himmel clearly recognized the great mage, but surprisingly, he also knew Zenith. "Hearing about you doesn't compare to meeting you in person. You must be Lord Zenith. That flight amulet has been a massive help."
He spoke so gently that it was impossible to dislike him. If Himmel hadn't mentioned it, Zenith would have almost forgotten about the flight amulet he had given Frieren back then. "It's nothing, nothing. Meeting here is fate. I'll have a gift for you later, too."
If one had to debate who was stronger between Himmel and South Hero, from Zenith's current perspective, the fully developed South Hero definitely had the edge in raw power.
No matter how much of a genius he was, Himmel was only fifteen years old at most. Even if he had started practicing the sword in the womb, he hadn't been at it for very long.
But he was handsome, and his style points were off the charts.
Everyone knew that in battle, style points were a crucial metric for determining victory. Compared to South Hero's little mustache, Himmel's combat style—delivering a one-hit kill and smoothly sheathing his sword on the spot—was clearly much more in line with mainstream aesthetics.
Although the Creation Goddess remotely handing him a script annoyed him a bit, she had genuinely paid upfront. Zenith was a man who respected the spirit of a contract; since he had taken the benefits, he naturally had to do the work. Extending Himmel's lifespan by a few years would be a piece of cake for him, but he didn't want to just hand over the extra years so simply.
*'What bad intentions could a baboon possibly have?'* The baboon merely wanted Himmel to fake his own death, hold a grand funeral, and then suddenly pop back up. He could disguise himself as a new party member and tag along with Frieren on her "dead husband memoir" journey.
As for the coordinates to the world of Arda, Zenith had finally remembered where that was recently. It was Middle-earth—the world of the melee mage Gandalf, *The Lord of the Rings*, and *The Hobbit*.
It was a pure high-fantasy setting, but with much lower mystical elements, leaning heavily toward medieval warfare and traditional adventure. While it did have elves, dwarves, and the like, the proportion of magic was very low. The role of wizards was mostly to guide, highlighting the impact of ordinary mortals.
Zenith wasn't particularly interested at the moment. Going on back-to-back journeys in the exact same genre would get boring fast. He planned to save that world for now and visit it later when he had the chance.
With Zenith's group around, Himmel and his friends appeared slightly reserved. After all, they weren't very familiar with each other, and the relationship between Frieren and Serie was notoriously poor.
Fortunately, they had already reached the cave housing the Hero's Sword. There were no mystical phenomena or flashy decorations; the god-given blade simply sat there, thrust into a pile of rocks all by its lonesome.
Everyone was itching to give it a try.
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