The forest at night was shrouded in an air of mysterious silence. The last rays of sunset disappeared beyond the horizon, the deep blue sky gradually darkening to pitch black, dotted with countless stars twinkling like watchful eyes in the vast expanse above.
The nearest town was still a distance away, so tonight, they would camp under the open sky.
Dinner consisted of the bread they carried with them and some fish Stark had caught from a nearby pond.
Incidentally, a long time ago, when Aesc had traveled with Himmel and the others, they once held a fishing competition to see who could catch the most fish. Everyone else had reeled in dozens of large fish the size of their heads, while Aesc managed to catch only a single tiny fish no bigger than her pinky finger.
This cursed luck of E-rank...
Ever since that day, Aesc had never joined anyone for fishing again.
"In a few more days, we'll reach the magic city of Oisades," Fern said matter-of-factly.
From the beginning, Frieren had told Aesc that their destination on this journey was the Heavenly Land, also known as the Land of Soul's Rest. It was said to be the place where all souls go after death.
According to notes left by Frieren's master, the Land of Soul's Rest was located in the far north of the continent, in a region called Erd, which was now home to the Demon King's castle.
After Himmel's death following the Demon King's defeat, the demon tribes had become active again, making the northern highlands a particularly chaotic and dangerous place.
As a result, a rule was implemented: any group entering the northern highlands must be accompanied by at least one first-class mage.
Although both Aesc and Frieren were far stronger than the average first-class mage, rules were rules. They decided to head to Oisades to take the qualification exam for first-class mages.
Frieren had protested, "As long as there's one first-class mage in the group, that's enough, right? Aesc and Fern can take the exam. There's no need for me to bother."
Aesc, however, had smiled and replied, "It'll be fun. Besides, having more people increases our chances of success, doesn't it? Why not?"
Frieren had sighed, her expression resembling the blank, TV-faced look of frustration she often wore when she was irritated—or when she was lying. "What a bother... Exams like these won't even matter in a few decades anyway."
"Still... is Aesc really up for it?" Stark frowned. "I've hardly seen her use any powerful magic during our travels. Her fighting style is mostly just flashing her staff before charging in to punch things—or pulling a sword out of her staff and showing off fancy swordsmanship."
"Oh? You're curious about my magic?"
Aesc's eyes narrowed slightly as she gave Stark a sweet yet unnervingly sharp smile.
"If you're so curious, I can demonstrate right now~. I happen to be pretty good at healing magic. I'll make sure you're in perfect condition to walk tomorrow morning~!"
"Terrifying!"
"Really, Lady Aesc, please stop scaring Lord Stark," Fern interjected with a sigh.
Over time, Fern had come to notice something: although Aesc and Frieren were both elves, Aesc's emotions were far more expressive.
Most of the time, Aesc was polite and gentle, but in battle, she was fiercely aggressive. She had a passion for studying and collecting stories rivaling Frieren's interest in magic, and occasionally, she indulged in mischievous little pranks like the one just now.
Fern had assumed all elves were like Frieren—reserved and composed. She was somewhat surprised to discover that wasn't the case.
Having pulled out a book, Aesc seemed to catch Fern's curious gaze.
"Are you telling a story today?" Fern asked instinctively.
"No, not today. I thought we'd talk about something different," Aesc replied.
She released the book from her hand, and it floated beside her, its pages flipping on their own as if guided by invisible magic.
"I just remembered that I once studied an ancient language. Interestingly enough, all of your names—and Himmel's—appear in its vocabulary. Would you like to hear what your names mean in that language?"
Frieren approached, peeking at the book. Her brow furrowed slightly.
"What language is this? I don't recognize it."
"Well, you can't expect to know every language, can you? This one might be even older than you," Aesc teased.
"...Did you just call me old?"
"No, you misheard. Stark's the one who called you an old lady."
Aesc skillfully deflected the blame, successfully redirecting Frieren's ire.
"It's fine. I'll remember it. When the time comes, Stark will regret it," Frieren muttered ominously.
"Guh... I suddenly feel like going back to my master..." Stark groaned.
That incident had happened before Stark joined Frieren's group. Back then, Frieren had recruited him as a vanguard for a dragon-slaying mission. Stark, terrified, had been reluctant to face the dragon. To convince him, Frieren lowered her expectations, asking him only to hold the dragon off for ten minutes.
Though timid, Stark ultimately stood up to protect the villagers from the dragon. During the fight, however, he realized Frieren had no intention of helping. Feeling duped, he had blurted out "old lady" in a moment of heated frustration.
Aesc patted Stark on the shoulder, her tone lighthearted. "Relax, relax. Think positively... Frieren has such a poor sense of time that by the time she gets around to her revenge, you'll probably already be long gone."
Later that evening, the group sat on their sleeping mats, gathered around Aesc's floating book.
"Let's start with Stark," Aesc announced.
Stark shot her a confused look, unsure why he was first.
"The word 'Stark,' in this language, is an adjective meaning 'strong, powerful, unyielding, resilient, or intense.'"
"That suits Lord Stark perfectly," Fern commented, glancing at him. Stark, however, averted his gaze, scratching the back of his head in embarrassment.
"No way... resilient? I'm just a coward who trembles in fear whenever we face a strong enemy..."
"I don't think so," Aesc said gently.
Stark looked up, meeting Aesc's soft, encouraging teal eyes.
"In my view, true resilience isn't about being fearless. It's about standing at the forefront, even when you're trembling with fear. That's what makes you so dependable, Stark."
Faced with such direct praise, the simple-hearted Stark couldn't help but blush.
Stark was born in a village of warriors. His elder brother, Stolz, was the strongest warrior in the village, while Stark himself was dismissed as a "failure" by everyone, even their father. None of his efforts were ever acknowledged.
Stolz, however, was different. He didn't hesitate to dirty his pristine white warrior's garments while teaching Stark. On Stark's birthdays, he would always prepare an oversized hamburger steak—a meal reserved for true warriors.
It wasn't until traveling with Frieren that Stark understood the meaning behind his brother's actions. That oversized hamburger steak had been a reward, a symbol of pride meant for warriors.
But by the time Stark realized this, it was too late.
Their village had been destroyed by demons. Only Stark had escaped, thanks to Stolz shielding him.
Stolz's name, derived from German, means "pride" or "dignity." He had been the pride of their village, embodying both strength and gentleness. His unblemished white garments symbolized his unwavering resolve, and his sacrifice in the final battle against the demons epitomized the pride of a warrior.
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T/N: OH IT'S AESC NOT CASTORIA (<- this person is dumb)