Frieren finally arrived at the city of magic. The journey had been long and hard, the roads winding through forests and hills that seemed to stretch on forever. They had not stopped anywhere to rest, not properly, not for more than a few hours at a time. They had just stopped for sleeping and eating, sleeping in shifts, eating whatever they could carry or find along the way. Sein's feet ached. His back ached. His patience, which had never been great, was worn thin.
He looked at Frieren, who walked beside him with her usual calm composure, as if the journey had been nothing more than a pleasant stroll. "You said that Serie hates you," he said. "Why?"
Frieren's expression did not change. Her eyes were fixed on the road ahead, on the towers that rose in the distance, on the city that was slowly growing larger. "We had different ideologies about magic," she said.
Sein blinked. "That is it? That is the reason she hates you?"
Frieren nodded. "She believes that magic should be studied and perfected, that it should be treated as a science, a discipline. I believe that magic should be felt and experienced, that it should be treated as something natural, something that cannot be achieved by confining yourself to rules and regulations. Serie believes magic is an instrument for power, battle, and dominance, whereas I view it as a joyful pursuit of minor wonders. I reject her elitist philosophy on magic; she is frustrated that I, an elf with immense natural genius, squanders her boundless potential and lifespan on meaningless novelties instead of striving to surpass Serie herself. Also, I am the ideological descendant of Flamme, Serie's rebellious first human student who popularized accessible magic for humanity."
Sein rubbed his temples. His head was starting to ache. "And you are telling me this now?" He sighed, a long, heavy sigh that seemed to carry all the weight of the journey. "What if she does not catch Linie? What if she refuses to help us?"
Frieren shrugged. "I suspect not. She must have killed Linie by now, just to annoy me." She paused, her voice flat. "Though, that is fine. As long as Linie is dead, I do not care how it happens."
Sein stared at her. "That is... that is not reassuring."
Frieren did not respond. She kept walking, her staff tapping against the ground, her silver hair catching the light.
The gates of the city loomed before them, tall and grand, decorated with carvings of mages and monsters and battles that had been fought long ago. Guards stood at the entrance, their armor gleaming, their faces stern. They held up their hands as Frieren and Sein approached.
"Passes," one of them said.
Sein reached into his pocket and pulled out the papers Kraft had given him. The guards examined them, nodded, and stepped aside.
The duo walked through the gates and into the city. The streets were crowded with people, mages in robes, merchants hawking their wares, children running between the legs of adults. The buildings were tall and grand, their walls decorated with symbols that glowed with a faint, steady light. The air smelled of magic and flowers and the distant hint of something cooking. There was also a trinket shop, that looked fresh, selling idols and merchandise of various heros. For some reason, Frieren felt a strange urge to blow the shop to bits.
She looked away. 'I'm probably not getting enough sleep,"
Sein looked around, taking it all in. "The First Class Mage Exam will be taking place in seven days," he said. "That is not a lot of time."
Frieren nodded. "It is more than enough. All we need to do is confirm whether our target is alive or dead."
They made their way toward the biggest tower, the one that rose above all the others, its spire reaching toward the sky like a finger pointing at the heavens. The tower was made of white stone, polished to a smooth shine, and it gleamed in the afternoon light. Mages in uniform walked in and out of its doors, their faces busy, their steps hurried.
They entered the lobby. It was a vast space, open and airy, with a high ceiling that seemed to disappear into the shadows. A long queue of people stretched across the floor, winding back and forth like a snake. Most of these people were looking for applications to get into the exam. They clutched papers and scrolls, their faces anxious, their voices low.
Sein looked at the queue, then at Frieren. "During my time," he said, "there was no such thing as a class. A mage was defined by their feats, by the spells they had mastered, by the enemies they had defeated. Even a few centuries ago, mages used to carry an insignia to identify themselves if they ever needed to. But this association, this system of classes and exams, it was created not even a hundred years ago."
Frieren nodded. "Ironic. The founder was none other than Serie, who has seen the mythical era."
They walked toward a staff member who stood behind a counter, a young woman with glasses and a tired expression. Frieren spoke, her voice calm and direct. "We need to meet Serie."
The woman gave them an awkward look, the kind of look people give to lost idiots who have wandered into the wrong place. "I am sorry," she said, "but Serie-sama does not take unscheduled visitors."
"It is very important," Sein insisted.
"I don't think so,"
Sein stepped forward. "We have an appointment."
The woman's expression did not change. "You must have an appointment with a doctor," she said, her voice flat. "Not with Serie-sama."
Sein's shoulders slumped. He turned to Frieren. "This is going to be difficult."
They sat in the lobby, on a bench that was hard and uncomfortable. The queue of applicants stretched before them, endless and slow. People came and went, their voices low, their footsteps echoing off the stone floor.
Sein leaned back, staring at the ceiling. "Is there anything that your great mage status could do to get us out of this?" he asked.
Frieren reached into her pocket and pulled out a pendant. It was old, very old, the metal tarnished, the gem dull. She held it up, examining it. "It has no value in today's time," she said.
Sein sighed. "Great."
Just then, an older looking man approached them. He was tall, thin, with gray hair and a beard that was trimmed close to his face. His eyes were blue and sharp, and he carried a staff that was topped with a jewel that glowed faintly. He looked at Frieren, then at the pendant in her hand.
"May I see that?" he asked.
Frieren handed it to him. He examined it for a long moment, turning it over in his hands, studying the engravings on its surface. Then he nodded and handed it back.
"You are Frieren," he said. It was not a question.
Frieren nodded. "I am."
The man smiled. His smile was warm, genuine, the smile of someone who had been waiting for a long time and was glad to finally see the person they were waiting for. "I am Lernen," he said. "One of the students of Serie-sama. I am the first ever First Class Mage."
Frieren's expression did not change. "I see."
Lernen continued. "Serie-sama has already informed me that you would be arriving. I have been waiting for you."
Sein blinked. "She knew we were coming?"
"Yes," Frieren said. "I informed her beforehand."
"Master said you had something to talk to her with,"
Frieren nodded. "Yes. I need to talk to her."
Lernen's expression grew thoughtful. "It is the time of the mage exam," he said. "The staff are very busy. But I shall personally escort you there."
Frieren nodded. "Good enough."
Sein let out a breath he did not know he had been holding. "Finally," he said. "Some progress."
They sat back down to wait. The queue continued to move, slow and steady. The mages came and went. And the evening approached, bringing with it the promise of answers.