Ultimately, in the face of Lord Orden's sincere pleading and his promise to provide a different variety of desserts every single day from then on, Frieren did not take away all the grimoires.
After all, the mages and soldiers of the fortress city still needed to study magic to arm themselves and protect their holand.
Besides, she genuinely was not interested in most of them.
After all, what she preferred was [Magic That Keeps Your Ears from Getting Pressed Down While Sleeping].
"Amazing, right?"
Frieren held up the grimoire and asked Shane.
Shane looked at her long, pointed, fleshy ears and nodded firmly. (T/N: ah… now, I see! But wait a minute, are most of her liked magic related to sleeping?)
Not bad.
"This one really is useful. Amazing. Very amazing."
Having received approval, Frieren looked as happy as a foolish child over a thousand years old.
Beside them, Lord Orden looked utterly confused.
"Why would the mage rumored to have slain the most demons be so obsessed with collecting these bizarre little spells?"
Hearing that jab, Frieren paid it no mind.
"Combat is rely one of the many uses for magic. There are plenty of other applications that are far more interesting than fighting."
Lord Orden could not understand it.
If magic was not used for battle, then how was it any different from boring parlor tricks?
"Suit yourself. As long as so combat magic is left for Vorig, that is ultimately beneficial."
Shane listened to their exchange and smiled.
In many people's eyes, Frieren's behavior was no different from choosing a sword-cleaning cloth from an armory and then feeling perfectly satisfied with it.
When he had first begun traveling, he had asked Frieren the sa question.
Frieren had given him the sa answer.
Back then, Shane had been just like Lord Orden. He had not understood.
At the ti, he had only wanted to grow stronger, so in his eyes, any magic that could not be used in battle was nothing but a joke.
But after raising and teaching Fern together with Frieren, he gradually began to understand.
If it was only for sothing as dull as "battle," then all one needed to do was specialize in the most efficient way to defeat enemies. Just as Frieren had Fern only use basic offensive magic in combat, that was the "optimal specialized answer."
A love for magic was the original reason a mage chose that profession.
If that love turned into the sa dull repetition day after day, then sooner or later, that passion would be exhausted. Only by preserving one's love of magic in things that truly brought joy could that "love" last for a long ti.
Shane and Lord Orden left the study.
The two of them walked down a long corridor. From there, they could see all of Vorig.
The fortress city's architectural style was distinct: towering walls, orderly streets, and patrol soldiers appearing from ti to ti.
A cold, hard atmosphere hung over the entire city.
"I have already spread word of your visit to Vorig. For this month, I would ask that you appear together with as often as possible, so that the soldiers and citizens may fully trust you."
Shane nodded.
Show his face more often and display their closeness. Simple enough.
As they walked, Shane looked down at the courtyard below.
There, Stark was teaching a five- or six-year-old boy how to practice with a wooden sword.
Stark crouched down, held the boy's wrist, and explained the key points of the movent with a smile. The boy listened seriously, occasionally raising his head to ask one or two questions, and Stark would demonstrate and explain everything in detail.
"He is my second son, Mut."
"After hearing about his brother's injuries, he has finally beco more diligent than before. But his talent was never high to begin with. This level of practice is still not enough."
In front of the wooden stake, the boy's sword hand trembled slightly.
Stark crouched down and gently steadied those small hands.
"Don't think about anything else. Focus on the target in front of you."
The small hands stopped trembling and gripped the sword hilt tightly. He took a deep breath, aid at the wooden stake before him, and struck it with perfect accuracy.
Smack!
The wooden sword hit its mark.
Stark smiled in relief and began clapping for the boy.
"Well done, Mut."
Little Mut let out a breath. His cheeks were flushed from excitent, but a trace of uncertainty appeared in his eyes.
"I'm not as talented as my brother. Things my brother can do after one try take a hundred tries to learn..."
Mut's words struck Stark straight in the heart.
The boy before him had his head lowered, his tiny shoulders drooping. He looked just like Stark himself once had.
"Do you want to beco like your brother?"
"Of course! Then I'll be able to go to the battlefield with him. If we run into demons again, I'll be able to... I'll be able to..."
The boy's chest rose and fell. His childish words were filled with determination.
Stark smiled.
The young man crouched down, placed both hands on the boy's shoulders, and said solemnly, "Then when your brother wakes up, show him the results of your practice."
The boy nodded with a red face.
The two continued practicing their strikes against the wooden stake. Under Stark's guidance, the little boy's posture beca more standard, and his montum grew sharper as well.
Upstairs, by the window.
Shane listened to Lord Orden's evaluation of his youngest son and shook his head.
"Talent is indeed important, but the skills built up through daily effort will never betray him. In the future, he will beco an excellent warrior, just like his father and brother."
Hearing that, Lord Orden turned his head and gave Shane a serious look.
"I thought you would be like most people."
"Like them how? Worship talent above all else?"
Shane looked at the two figures outside the window, one large and one small.
Indeed, in this world, whether one was a warrior, priest, or mage, talent and ability were highly valued. The heroic tales passed down through the ages were also all stories of "geniuses."
But Shane did not see it that way.
He felt that ordinary people who desperately chased after geniuses were just as worthy of praise.
"My lord..."
Just then, a reminder from the old steward, Gabel, interrupted their conversation.
"Outside the manor, there is a First-Class Mage from Äußerst. He says he was passing through and has co on behalf of the Continental Magic Association to deliver so military supplies."
A First-Class Mage?
Shane beca interested. Could it be Ehre's grandfather?
The two of them, led by Gabel, arrived at the manor gate.
What entered their sight was a luxurious carriage glittering with gold and splendor.
Standing in front of the carriage was a blond young man.
The young man wore an extravagant mage's robe. His head was held high, a smile on his face, and the confident aura surrounding him from head to toe was practically about to take physical form.
"A pleasure to et you, Lord Orden."
"My na is Burg. I am a very powerful First-Class Mage. While passing through this area, I have co on behalf of the Continental Magic Association to deliver a batch of military supplies. I hope they will be of so help in your defense against the demons."
As he spoke, he tilted his head slightly and extended his right hand, displaying exceptionally proper noble etiquette.
But before Lord Orden could take his hand, that hand suddenly changed direction.
It pointed at Shane and began trembling.
More accurately, its owner began trembling.
"Y-y-y-you... You're Shane?!"
"My heavens, to think... to think I would actually et you here..."
Shane studied him carefully several tis, confusion appearing on his face.
"Who are you?"
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