Even the slightest breeze or the swaying of the curtains was enough to startle her. Where is he now?
Soon after, she finally decided to go to find Philsa with Freya, but she didn't know if Freya would agree.
She had a grudge against her companion—she believed it was just a misunderstanding. Finally, Gerald knocked on Freya's bedroom door.
There was no response. Unfortunately, she had already gone out.
Just five minutes earlier, Freya lay in bed, replaying the conversation in her mind. Several years ago, after separating from Gerald, there was another memorable experience.
Freya comes from a family of alchemists and is a noblewoman in purple robes. A noblewoman should be quiet and virtuous, but she prefers to wield swords and spears.
Her father believed that she had "inherited" her mother's personality as a female knight, as active as the sea.
Therefore, she didn't get along with other girls when she was young. While the other girls liked dolls, she preferred shiny swords and guns, so they couldn't play together.
The other noblemen, however, believed that girls were not suited for such things and similarly distanced themselves from her.
Freya's mother died in battle shortly after her birth, during a riot in the Demon Realm. Therefore, her father was her only close relative.
Because his daughter had difficulty making friends since she was a child, her father sent her to study at the Magic and Martial Arts Academy in the far north mountains. She would return to the island twice a year, escorted by a line of knights from Fuuka Island.
Unfortunately, a riot broke out in the Demon Realm at that time, and the knights were ambushed by the demons halfway through their march. They perished in the sea before they could even see Freya.
It was around that time that she met Philsa, who was still a member of the Knights. Aside from her classmates at the academy and her fellow guild members, he was her first friend older than herself.
She remembered that at that time, Firza was still blind, and his eyes were as blue as the sky. He agreed to escort Freya home without hesitation.
Thus, the two forged a deep friendship, and Firsa even agreed to teach her swordsmanship. He could be considered her first teacher.
This marked her first mastery of the proper way to hold a gun and the essentials of using it, earning her praise for her talent, which was far superior to that of the average boy.
Even now, when she wields a gun, she still retains some traces of her past.
In short, Philsa was a very important friend to her.
Freya was even more confused as to why he would attack her father.
These questions lingered in her mind, refusing to leave her. To calm herself down, she left her bedroom and went for a walk in the guild's back garden.
The area is surrounded by various medicinal herbs, whose vibrant colors are visible during the day. The night breeze carries their rich fragrance into the nostrils, creating a mingled yet refreshing aroma.
Freya couldn't identify all the types of herbs, since she wasn't interested in them, but she didn't dare touch them carelessly either.
In the darkness, a familiar figure could be vaguely seen at the end of the road.
His disheveled hair and dark gray old clothes were a mess.
Freya gripped the gun at her waist, somewhat nervous, and came up behind Philsa.
It was only then that he noticed her approaching presence.
The garden seemed to be filled with such a rich fragrance that it almost numbed my sensitive, magical senses.
"There's no one else here, so you should be able to tell me the truth now. I don't believe in this so-called demonic blood rampage. Why doesn't it happen when you're with me, but only when you're with my father?"
Philsa didn't reply, and this time he didn't even apologize.
“I understand,” Freya asserted, taking two steps closer to check his expression. “Someone instructed you to do this, right? Who was it?”
“No.” He turned around, paused for a moment, and replied, “I’ve heard that Your Highness has a relationship with the King of Augustine in Ireland…”
"Liar!" she interrupted sharply. "At that time, the King hadn't even set foot on the mainland yet! How could you possibly know?"
"..."
"You're so stupid, can't you even come up with a decent lie? Since you won't tell me," Freya drew her short spear from behind her back, which flashed with purple light and released a magical aura for battle, "let's continue the battle we started last night and have another match! If you lose, you'd better tell me why!"
Without waiting for Philsa's reply, she made the decision on her own and was about to attack with her gun. She was not joking. He had no choice but to retreat a few steps until he had nowhere to go.
Just as he was about to accept the challenge, someone shouted angrily to stop him.
Just then, Jelu found the two of them and rushed forward to stop the fight between the friends.
She ran to Philsa, grabbed his arm tightly, and looked like she was about to cry: "Didn't you promise not to leave me alone?!"
He was somewhat taken aback, and then apologized repeatedly in a low voice.
Freya was surprised to find that Geluru was so flustered and cared so much about someone. She began to understand the relationship between the two.
Firsa gave up the fight, saying that he had gone into the forest that day but had found nothing.
"So what exactly are you doing right now?"
He noticed that Jielu was acting a little coquettish, and couldn't help but smile faintly.
Freya silently watched the two men, lowered her pistol, and her fighting spirit vanished. She thought of Kellin, and comparing him to the two men before her, realized that she had never felt so close to him before.
Although she and Kailin are also about to...
As Firsa pondered how to humorously gloss over the matter, his smile vanished.
A fierce gust of wind tossed the petals into the air. The surrounding air became turbulent. Philsa was the first to sense an extremely ominous presence approaching.
"Jielu! Look in the direction I'm pointing, isn't it—"
Jelu looked in that direction and observed carefully but found nothing unusual. She thought to herself that Philsa was trying to change the subject.
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