Some time later, Ronan closed the thick magic book. The aged leather cover gave a soft creak under his hands as it shut, the heavy weight of the tome thudding quietly against the wooden table. The faint scent of aged parchment and arcane ink still lingered in the air. He closed his eyes, exhaled deeply, and marveled at the spell's power.
The rush of energy he'd felt while absorbing the runes still tingled faintly at his fingertips. Like a soft current running beneath his skin, the magic hummed quietly, as if now a part of him. No wonder it was essential for every mercenary group. The five gold coins were well spent.
The quiet murmur of conversation in the background barely registered as he stood, still digesting the flow of knowledge that had passed into his mind. He felt renewed—equipped with something truly valuable.
He was about to test it with Frieren when he noticed her hesitating in the corner.
The corner she'd chosen was dimly lit, the flickering crystal light from above casting long, flickering shadows across her slight form. Her posture was stiff, arms tucked close, eyes seemingly distant as if lost in her thoughts. There was a quiet tension around her—like the stillness before a storm.
He approached her, steps soft against the creaky floorboards, careful not to startle her.
"What's wrong?" he asked, voice low and even. "Still adjusting to the environment?"
Frieren's eyes flickered toward him, her gaze unreadable for a moment. Her lips parted slightly as if to speak, but she hesitated. There was a brief, nearly imperceptible moment where something passed through her expression—uncertainty, perhaps worry. She subtly patted her pocket, a barely noticeable motion, then shook her head and whispered, "No… nothing. Did you learn the detection spell?"
Her voice was steady, but Ronan sensed something buried beneath her calm exterior. She clearly had something on her mind.
Ronan narrowed his eyes, not with suspicion, but curiosity. His gaze lingered on her face for a few silent seconds, reading the faint lines of tension around her mouth, the way she avoided eye contact.
Then, exhaling softly, he let it go. There were things people didn't want to share—and that was fine, for now.
He changed the subject with a subtle shift in tone. "Yes, I learned it. It's simple and practical. Frieren, want to know your strength?"
Frieren was surprised. Her brows lifted slightly, her reserved demeanor faltering with curiosity. "Detection magic only detects monsters… and their types. Elves…"
Ronan interrupted. His voice held a quiet certainty. "They're them; I'm me."
He stepped away slightly, ignoring Martin and Old Dick's nearby conversation—their voices a low, indistinct murmur over the ambient hum of the shop. The walls were lined with odd magical contraptions and preserved creatures, but he focused inward, raising a single finger. A faint magical glow emanated from his fingertip, soft and blue, casting a tiny aura around his hand like mist catching moonlight.
"Detecting monsters is a preconceived notion. Magic is based on imagination. If you can detect monsters, why not other creatures? I can sense your mana strength."
As he used the spell, the sensation struck him—like suddenly tuning into a secret frequency. Information flooded his mind, organized and clear, not overwhelming but vivid. It was as if someone had handed him a detailed summary of her magical essence, layer by layer.
He relayed Frieren's stats to her quietly, voice low enough that only she could hear. He respected her privacy, especially with others nearby.
"Your total mana is about a thousand, by strand." He paused, eyebrows lifting slightly in genuine interest. "Martin and Old Dick have some mana—fifty and two hundred, respectively. That's normal for humans; they gain three to five strands a year…"
Ronan's eyes lit up as he processed the numbers. The significance became clear almost immediately, and he turned to look at Frieren, voice filled with realization.
"Frieren, you're over two hundred years old?"
The words hung in the air, and Frieren froze. A flicker of panic crossed her face. Her eyes darted to the side, checking Martin and Old Dick, who were still deep in conversation and not paying attention.
Seeing they were occupied, she relaxed slightly, her shoulders dropping by a fraction. But the tension lingered, like a string pulled too taut.
Two hundred years was young for an elf, but to humans, she was an ancient being. She'd befriended human girls, only to have them distance themselves upon learning her age. They didn't envy her youth; they found her terrifying, older than their grandparents.
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> Kumo desu Ga: Reincarnated as a Neighbour of a Certain Spider
> I am Mihawk In One Punch Man
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