Frieren: I Reject My Humanity!

Chapter 311 311: Miss Eggplant and Mr. Tomato (Part 1)

"Everyone… so Stark and Lady Frieren have been separated from us too."

Fern steadied herself and looked around at the surrounding darkness, her heart tightening with unease.

At least, even though she couldn't see anything, the sensation beneath her feet was solid ground — real, firm earth. That horrible feeling of endless freefall, where even Flight Magic was useless, had finally vanished. Fern began carefully moving forward.

After pressing through the long stretch of darkness, Fern spotted a source of light ahead.

She drew closer, step by step. Then the world opened up — and she found herself looking at a scene she knew.

The sudden brightness made her instinctively shut her eyes. She waited until she'd adjusted, then slowly lowered her hand from her face.

Not far ahead, a figure was standing.

And the building behind that figure — she knew it too. Intimately.

…Isn't that where the journey began?

This was where she had grown up. Where she had met her teacher, Lady Frieren. And where she had seen her adoptive father, Heiter, off on his final journey.

Their eyes met. A sharp sting rose in Fern's eyes instantly — but she kept it contained.

Memories of that man came flooding back all at once, including no small number of the outrageous things he used to boast about.

[Fern, don't let my current state fool you — I was quite the handsome young man back in the day, you know.]

"Oh, honestly… where exactly was any of that, I'd like to know. You looked about the same as you did when you were old, and on top of that… anyone could tell at a glance you were completely incorrigible. And you call yourself a monk who serves the Goddess."

The tears Fern had been holding back finally spilled over — but she quickly wiped her face with the wide sleeve of her robe, then raised her staff and settled into a fighting stance.

Because she could see it clearly. The Heiter standing before her was under someone's control — just like Himmel had been.

That genuinely startled her. Even more so than when she had faced the hero Himmel.

After all, clergy were naturally resistant to all manner of abnormal conditions. Even a low-ranking cleric could automatically resist most status ailments — to say nothing of someone like Heiter, who stood at the very pinnacle of his calling.

Fern couldn't begin to imagine how anyone could seize control of a man shielded by the Goddess's own blessing. And yet the evidence was right in front of her.

Fíliya had done it. Somehow.

"Fíliya… is this your trial for me? Whatever the case… I still have to thank you. For letting me see him one more time."

Fern let the softness drain from her face. Her gaze steadied, then hardened.

Once she entered combat mode, Fern was not the kind of person to be held back by her feelings. The enemy before her was someone she had thought of every single day — the destination of her long journey — and even so, she would not be swayed.

"Come then, Mister Heiter… No. Father."

Alone, with no one else around, Fern finally let herself say it — that word.

For reasons unknown, Heiter — who should have been entirely under the enemy's control — gave the faintest shudder when he heard it.

But his eyes remained hollow, and no words came from his lips in answer.

The brief struggle was swiftly swallowed by hostility.

The holy scripture in Heiter's hands began to blaze with light. Its pages whipped through the air — and his attack came bearing down straight toward Fern's face.

…

Elsewhere — an open battlefield.

The crash of metal and the thunder of crumbling stone rang out across the land. On a stage built for a duel, two fighters moved in a violent dance.

But the steps of one young man were clearly faltering — he was on the verge of collapse.

Knocked from the cliff's edge yet again, Stark frantically drove his axe into the rock face and hauled himself back up, hand over hand.

"Ha… hah…"

The red-haired boy gasped for breath. The mounting exhaustion had already begun to bring on dizziness and ringing in his ears.

But he told himself: ignore everything else. Pour every last scrap of yourself into this fight. This is the most important thing you've ever had to do with your life.

"What's the matter — without that little girl's help, is this really the best you can manage?"

Rivale watched Stark's weakened state without any rush to press the attack, savoring the sensation of applying pressure.

Those words landed in Stark's ears like a blade.

Rivale's tone was perfectly calm — no deliberate mockery, no desire to humiliate. But to Stark, they cut deeper than any taunt.

In that moment, he couldn't help but look back over the long journey.

He was supposed to be the fighter — the one who charged in first and took the hits. But over all those days and miles… had he protected Fern more?

Or had Fern and Frieren protected him more?

[Why — why was it someone like me who got to survive?

The death of my father. The destruction of my clan. He had never forgotten. But… had he actually done enough? Had he truly worked hard enough to earn his revenge?

No — he couldn't let his mind wander.

Stark frantically told himself to stay calm. But faced with this particular opponent, it was proving impossible to keep the noise out.

"Heaven's Strike!"

Stark roared the words and launched himself into the air.

But his exhausted body could no longer support him. The gap between him and Rivale was simply too vast. His signature move — his best technique — landed without effect. Rivale caught his full-powered blow with casual ease.

"…"

Rivale sent him flying again with a single kick.

Stark was running on empty, already teetering on the edge of being unable to stand — but he jammed the haft of his axe into the ground and used it to prop himself upright. There was no way he was going down in front of that man.

"What a shame. In the end, neither the Demon King nor that little girl chose the right person."

Rivale looked at the red-haired boy before him without expression. His opponent was a guttering candle — and yet Rivale's face showed not satisfaction, but dissatisfaction.

"Perhaps I ought to lodge a complaint. I gave so much, and the Demon King promised me a fight to the death — and yet she never delivered. On top of that, she sent the hero's party somewhere else entirely. If I could at least have had the honor of being swarmed by all of them at once, that might have been worth what I put in."

It was as though Rivale had lost all interest in Stark entirely. He simply picked out a nearby rock that looked comfortable, sat down on it, closed his eyes, and began to think about other things.

"No… opening…"

Staring at that figure sitting there as if resting — as if he couldn't care less — Stark couldn't bring himself to attempt a surprise attack. Honestly, staying on his feet at all was already an effort. Even if he did try something, he didn't believe for a moment it would accomplish anything.

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