The dishes laid out on the lord's dining table were not extravagant—not a lavish spread of over a hundred courses like a royal banquet. Yet, they were meticulously prepared, each plate exuding an air of refinement.
The exquisitely crafted plates held meals so artfully arranged that they almost seemed too beautiful to eat.
Stark, seated at the table, handled his knife and fork with extreme caution, afraid he might accidentally damage the precious tableware. More than the fear of being unable to afford compensation, he dreaded the possibility of being executed by a noble for his mistake.
The long dining table was covered with a pristine white tablecloth. Lord Patricheit, as host, naturally sat at the head, with Aesc and Frieren on either side of him. Further down sat Fern and Stark.
Fern gracefully cut a small piece of steak and placed it in her mouth. The moment she tasted it, a spark of delight flickered in her violet eyes.
"This is delicious," she murmured, covering her lips with one hand, her voice filled with genuine admiration.
Intrigued, Stark took a bite as well—and was instantly won over by the flavor.
Everyone at the table was served the same dish—except for Aesc, who had a delicate, golden pastry placed before her instead.
"Lady Aesc doesn't eat meat, correct?"
Lord Patricheit smiled warmly, his voice gentle and courteous, making it easy to feel at ease in his presence. "I had the kitchen prepare this dessert especially for you. I hope it suits your taste."
"My, how considerate of you, Lord Patricheit."
The pastry was quite good. Though not as exquisite as the ones Aesc made herself, it had its own distinct charm.
As the others began to enjoy their meal, Frieren politely addressed the lord. "Thank you for your generous invitation, Count Patricheit."
"Please, there's no need to thank me, Lady Frieren. You and Lady Aesc once saved this city. You saved my grandfather and my father. A mere meal is hardly enough to repay such a debt."
Patricheit waved a hand dismissively, his tone filled with sincerity.
Seated beside Frieren, Fern, unable to suppress her curiosity, turned to her. "Lady Frieren, I've heard more than once that you and Lord Himmel's party saved this city… What exactly happened?"
To her surprise, the one who answered first wasn't Frieren—it was Patricheit.
"It was a foolish mistake made by my grandfather."
"A remarkably foolish mistake," Frieren added, nodding without hesitation, showing no mercy in her judgment.
Turning to Fern, she elaborated, "At the time, the ruling lord—Patricheit's grandfather—was deceived by a demon. He trusted its words and allowed it into the city. That particular demon specialized in a type of magic that attracted monsters, and with that ability, it lured a swarm of creatures to attack."
Frieren had always described demons as monsters that happen to speak human language. A fitting description.
Demons bore a striking resemblance to humans, and they could speak human tongues—but they lacked any true understanding of human emotions.
The ancestors of demons were cunning creatures that lured kind-hearted people by crying for help, only to devour them once they got close.
For demons, language was not a tool for communication or understanding—it was a weapon for deception.
"My grandfather placed his trust in a deceitful demon. Because of his foolishness, the city and its people nearly perished. If Lady Frieren, Lady Aesc, and the Hero's party had not been there, this city would no longer exist."
Patricheit looked at Frieren with deep gratitude. "Moreover, my father was attacked by a ferocious monster that day. The one who saved him… was you, Lady Frieren. He told me that story over and over as I grew up."
"Is that so? That happened?"
Frieren frowned slightly. "Sorry, I don't remember."
Patricheit simply shook his head, lowering his gaze. "There's no need to apologize, Lady Frieren. Your kindness, your aid—not just to me, but to my father, and to all of Moluff—I will never forget it, not even when I grow old and my position is passed to my successor.
"You and Lady Aesc will always be the benefactors of this city.
"And for that, every citizen of Moluff is forever grateful."
After the meal, Patricheit once again had his butler prepare a carriage to escort them back.
"Lady Frieren."
Hearing her name, Frieren turned toward Patricheit, her expression as impassive as ever.
"Tell me… What do you think of this city?"
Frieren blinked, momentarily caught off guard by the question.
Resting her chin on her hand, she gave it a moment's thought, her emerald eyes flickering in contemplation.
"It's wonderful."
As if feeling her words weren't enough, she added, "I'm very satisfied."
Patricheit studied her face, and his smile deepened, as if something within him had been affirmed.
"That is the greatest praise I could ever receive. Thank you."
—
Time flowed swiftly.
They had already spent longer in Moluff than planned. Though they should have left days ago, the lord's hospitality had kept them around for a few extra days.
Now, their time here was finally coming to an end.
Standing before a towering bronze statue, Frieren gazed up in silence.
It depicted five figures—faces that were all too familiar to them.
Himmel, the Hero, standing firm with his sword planted into the ground, hands resting atop its hilt.
Heiter, the monk, hands behind his back, a cheerful smile never leaving his face.
Eizen, the warrior, his thick beard and helmet leaving only his eyes visible.
Frieren, the elven mage, gripping her staff, expression unreadable.
And Aesc, the fairy mage, wearing large round glasses, cradling a book in her arms.
It wasn't their first time seeing statues of Himmel's party during their travels, but usually, only Himmel was depicted alone. Occasionally, there were statues of all four original members. But all five of them? That was a first.
"This one is remarkably well-maintained," Aesc mused, tapping her chin. "Looks like we won't need to clean it with magic."
Fern nodded. "It seems like someone takes care of it regularly."
"That's rare," Stark added. "Most of the statues we've seen were either covered in rust or overgrown with vines."
"Well, it has been seventy years…" Aesc said with a nostalgic smile. "That old lady we met last time had been cleaning a statue for nearly forty years before she got too old to do it herself."
As the others chatted, Frieren remained silent, her gaze fixed on Himmel's statue. She stood there, lost in thought, reminiscing about something long past…
Beyond the plaza, just beyond the bronze statue, lay the city gates.
Shortly after Aesc and the others departed, news of their departure quickly reached the lord's castle.
Standing by the window, Patricheit gazed out in the direction they had gone.
Behind him, approaching footsteps grew closer.
"They've left, Father."
"I see…"
A frail voice came from behind him, prompting Patricheit to turn around.
An old wooden cane. Wrinkled skin. A long white beard reaching down to his chest.
"Are you truly satisfied, Father?"
Patricheit furrowed his brows, concern clouding his eyes. "You've waited a lifetime for this day—to see Lady Frieren again."
"This is enough, Patricheit."
Vorm closed his eyes, stroking his beard. "She likely doesn't even remember me."
"Just seeing her again while I'm still alive, walking beside her through this city I've built with pride… That alone is enough."
"She's the same as ever—confident, strong, beautiful… But I have one foot in the grave already. It took everything in me to stand before her and speak as if nothing had changed."
And so, Vorm remained, watching as those who continued forward disappeared into the horizon.