Unlike the first time, there was no explosion during the dimensional travel.
Fafnir had fixed that issue some time ago. Now they landed in the middle of a vast, snowy plain in the middle of nowhere.
While his body adapted effortlessly to the freezing cold, his companions did not. Frieren in particular was struggling, but Serie quickly cast a warming spell that enveloped her body.
Frieren's nose began to run. A second later she started sneezing and trembling from the extreme weather.
Serie immediately cast another spell on her granddaughter, and Frieren felt instantly better.
"So cold…<( ´ ω ` )>."
Later, they changed into their winter outfits. Unlike the heavy, bulky garments one might expect from a medieval setting, theirs had a modern feel to them—Fafnir had adjusted the designs to suit his own taste.
They were surprisingly comfortable, but most importantly, they had pockets! The group could slip their hands inside and keep them warm.
Fafnir, however, didn't change his clothes at all. He wore the iconic outfit of the original Fafnir—at least a close version of it.
The cold never bothered him anyway… get it?
After nearly an hour of searching, it became clear that this was not a place where ordinary humans could survive. Unless someone possessed superhuman grit, it was unlikely anyone would risk living in such a hellhole.
After a few more hours of roaming—during which Fafnir was seriously considering giving up walking and simply flying—they finally found what remained of a civilization: a village, or rather, what was left of one.
It had clearly been raided. Corpses lay scattered around.
If he still possessed the human mentality from centuries ago, he might have vomited. But as a dragon, he had seen far worse.
Serie felt little emotion; to her, this was simply common.
Frieren, however, felt a wave of sorrow and anger. The scene reminded her painfully of her own past—her clan slaughtered by demons, a memory she would never forget.
As they drew closer, they had assumed there would be no survivors.
They were wrong.
Fafnir, in particular, stared at the lone girl and couldn't help but think, 'Is my eyes deceiving me, or is that a child version of Esdeath?'
After confirming he wasn't mistaken, he realized exactly which world they had landed in. He gradually relaxed. Aside from the girl in front of him, there was simply no threat in this world worth mentioning.
Of course, that would only be true once she grew up. Right now, she was no threat at all.
He studied her face curiously. She looked completely different from her anime counterpart, yet you would still recognize her instantly despite the 3D effect. She was the same and yet not the same—once you saw her, you simply knew.
It was a bit difficult to describe, but that was the feeling. This future Ice Queen was barely a teenager, still carrying the soft baby fat on her cheeks.
It made him wonder: could he still change her ideology? At this point, she shouldn't have fully cemented that barbaric belief yet… right?
He believed Esdeath wasn't inherently evil—she had simply been misguided. He wanted to run an experiment: could he reshape her nature into something more lawful?
Fafnir had no intention of turning her lawful good. Lawful neutral would be more realistic—though even that might be a stretch given her wild nature.
Right then and there, he decided to "adopt" her. A few decades meant nothing to someone nearly immortal.
So he performed the cliché neck-palm strike. He found it oddly adorable how hard she tried to fight back. Compared to her, he was basically a stat monster.
No matter how skilled she was in combat, it was useless if she couldn't overwhelm him in raw physical stats.
He might not be the greatest at close-quarters fighting, but within this world, he was confident no one could match him in any physical attribute.
Now, like a kidnapper in a story, he slung her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.
He couldn't help but notice that Frieren already seemed to feel a good amount of affection toward Esdeath. Given how similar their tragic backgrounds were, it made perfect sense for her to sympathize.
Sadly, their personalities were completely different, shaped by the very different paths their lives would take.
But Esdeath wasn't yet the irredeemable general from the canon.
This child could still be tricke—*ahem*—taught.
—
The snowstorm was approaching fast. Visibility was getting worse, even for Fafnir's enhanced vision, and he was carrying a "fragile" passenger. Who knew if she might catch a cold or something?
He decided they should take shelter. His companions agreed; they could all see the massive storm rolling in.
For ordinary humans, being caught in such a blizzard was basically a death sentence. To him and the elves behind him, it was nothing.
He cast a spell that used the materials around them—nearby oak trees and stones—to create a sturdy two-story house straight out of a fantasy tale. It was one of the few support spells he had learned from Serie, and it was incredibly useful.
Now they had proper shelter and no longer had to worry about the raging storm outside.
The house even came with a fireplace already stocked with logs. What a considerate spell. Whoever had created it must have been both a saint and a genius.
If something like this existed back on Earth, carpenters and construction workers would be out of jobs.
He lit the logs with a small fire spell, and the entire place was instantly filled with comforting heat.
Then he spread a thick blanket on the floor near the fireplace, gently placed Esdeath's sleeping body on it, and covered her with another layer. Now she was perfectly comfortable.
For some weird reason, he felt the sudden urge to roll her up like a sushi roll in the thick blanket. He resisted the impulse and headed to the dining area where his family was already seated and eating dinner.
With a fake hurt expression, he asked, "You ate without me?"
Serie, who saw straight through his act, completely ignored him. Frieren, however, gave him a cute, guilty look. Then she offered him her chicken drumstick—the last piece, already bitten into.
"G-Granpa, you can have this…" She looked really reluctant to part with it, but she still held it out to him.
It spoke volumes about his place in her heart.
He couldn't take it anymore. He burst out laughing at his granddaughter's adorable gesture and started pinching those chubby baby-fat cheeks of hers.
Who told her to be this cute?
Unlike the canon Frieren, this one had retained her innocence even after the massacre of her clan.
Anyway, it should be illegal to be this adorable, especially since she would continue to look like this for centuries.
It would take her some time to truly grow up.
—
In the middle of the night, Fafnir sat in his room on a chair by the window, a candle flickering beside him as he read a grimoire.
He was deeply engrossed in the book when he suddenly heard the door open. It was Serie, freshly bathed and still steaming from the hot water.
She wasn't even trying to hide her intentions. He wasn't stupid enough to miss the obvious signal.
Ever since she had first tasted the forbidden fruit, she had slept with him every single night. He had once thought dragons were the more lustful ones, but clearly the opposite was true in this case.
She slipped into his bed and gave him that look.
Understanding her intent perfectly, he knew tonight would not be a silent one—at least not in their room.
The night was long.
---
A/N: Anyway, don't expect any romance with Esdeath. He would treat her like a daughter, not a love interest.
He's not Epstein who is a child groomer. Just a heads-up: he'll be adopting lots of sad and abused kids on his way to find a way to revive his first adopted child. However, he'll have his own biological kid much, much later. For now, it's the orphans.