Chapter 244: Serie's Observation
What is love?
To Serie, this question was far more indecipherable than the most complex magic of the Mythical Era.
She had always assumed that the bond between her and Rhodes—a connection spanning a millennium, forged in the fires of an age where gods walked the earth—had long since transcended the crude emotional categories of human language.
It was a sentiment that needed no words.
However, Flamme's confession was like a piercing light, violently shattering the orderly world Serie resided in.
At that moment, she felt an extremely radical impulse.
She felt a violent, tyrannical urge to unscrew Flamme's audacious head from her slender neck and kick it like a ball across the city.
The thought was so abrupt and intense that even Serie was momentarily stunned by her own savagery. For a split second, she had genuinely considered following through with it.
Fortunately, a deeper, heavier emotion suppressed the urge.
She was satisfied with Flamme. She liked the girl. It was the affection a master holds for a particularly talented apprentice.
Moreover, Flamme was a special case—a child Serie had personally brought back and raised. That faint sense of protectiveness, which even Serie herself had barely noticed, rose up just in time to quell the dangerous impulse.
In the end, the expression on Serie's face did not change. The glacial coldness deep in her eyes merely shifted into an indescribable, heavy silence.
"Let us depart."
Her voice was flat, as if the scene that had just caused the jaws of every bystander to drop had never occurred.
There was no interrogation. No thunderous rage. After the initial flicker of shock, she showed no further surprise, acting as though Flamme had done something as trivial as sneezing.
This reaction left Flamme—who had braced herself for a storm—completely frozen. Even Rhodes was slightly taken aback.
Flamme's red eyes were wide with disbelief.
Is that it? It's over?
Did Master Serie... just accept it?
Is she actually willing to yield Rhodes to me?
The naive thought bubbled up uncontrollably, making her heart tremble, before she immediately crushed it.
Based on her knowledge of Serie, there was absolutely no way the Great Mage would simply hand Rhodes over.
There had to be a deeper calculation behind this silence.
But it doesn't matter! I am not afraid of her! Flamme cheered herself on internally.
Rhodes, however, sensed the unusual current flowing beneath Serie's overly calm exterior.
It was not tacit approval, nor was it compromise. It was an attitude akin to... observation.
What is she planning?
Rhodes didn't know, but that didn't stop him from waiting to see how it would unfold.
Although it was somewhat unfair to Flamme, if this situation could trigger a sense of crisis in Serie—and perhaps teach the elf what "love" actually was—Rhodes was quite willing to play the role of the dense protagonist in this unfolding drama.
However, he would not—could not—respond to Flamme's feelings.
Because human life has a limit.
Even for a mage as talented as Flamme, that truth remained absolute.
Serie gave no one the chance to probe further.
She turned and began walking down the tower, her steps steady, her back revealing nothing.
In this incredibly bizarre atmosphere, the group left the city that had been imperiled by their arrival and saved by their hands.
The Duke and Bishop Cassarius had intended to hold a grand farewell ceremony, but Rhodes had declined.
The Duke had even suggested they stay a few days longer so he could commission a statue to immortalize their deeds.
That proposal was also rejected.
Things left undone a thousand years ago were too late to do now.
And so, there was no grand send-off. Only the complicated, reverent gazes of the Duke and the Bishop, watching silently from afar as the travelers disappeared into the distance.
The journey began anew.
And now, Flamme seemed to have completely broken free of her invisible shackles.
Her declaration atop the tower had not been a moment of impulse; it was a resolve she had solidified in her heart.
She no longer hid anything. She no longer felt shy. She poured out her scorching affection toward Rhodes without reservation.
When Rhodes walked, she would naturally drift to his side. When they rested, she would immediately sit next to him, shoulder to shoulder, as if that were her designated spot in the universe.
She even changed how she addressed him. She dropped the honorific "Master" entirely.
She boldly, simply called him "Rhodes."
In the strict hierarchy of magecraft, this was insubordination worthy of severe punishment.
But Flamme's stubbornness exceeded imagination.
"Rhodes, taste this, it is delicious!"
"Rhodes, are you tired? You can lean on me to rest."
"Rhodes..."
Aside from his millennial companions and Serie, Flamme was now the only one who called him by his name.
Rhodes found it incredibly difficult to adapt.
At first, he tried to refuse her and maintain distance. He would avoid her hand, tell her to sit in her usual spot, reject her kindness, and try to correct her form of address to remind her of her station.
All attempts failed.
Her love was like a vine—incredibly tough and resilient.
Every time he gently rejected her, the light in her eyes would dim for only a second before reigniting with an even fiercer flame. She would simply change her approach and try again.
She seemed determined to wear down Rhodes's defenses through sheer, pervasive attrition.
Rhodes did not have a heart of stone. Faced with the child he had raised and taught, he could not bring himself to be cruel. His stiff, verbal refusals were already his limit.
Furthermore, he was waiting for the other shoe to drop.
Faced with Flamme's intimate behavior—even as she began to encroach on Serie's usual territory—the elf said nothing.
She was just observing.
Yes, observing.
Serie would sit a short distance away, her eyes inadvertently sweeping over Flamme and Rhodes.
Whenever Flamme made physical contact with him, Serie's eyes would narrow slightly. Her gaze would become exceptionally serious, and occasionally, she would nod strictly to herself, wearing an expression that said, I see. So that is how it is done.
Rhodes began to suspect that Serie was treating him and Flamme as biological samples and was taking mental field notes.
But if that were the case... when would she finish her "observation diary" and return to the battlefield?
Rhodes was curious.
The journey continued.
Until one perfectly ordinary afternoon.
Flamme, as usual, approached Rhodes holding a piece of fruit with an inviting luster.
"Rhodes, this fruit..."
Before she could finish her sentence, a golden shadow moved faster than sound.
Serie, who had been dormant for days, suddenly took action.
Her movement was instantaneous, a flicker of mana that placed her directly behind Rhodes.
Under Flamme's stunned gaze, Serie naturally extended her arms. She did not reach for the fruit.
Instead, she embraced the man from behind.
She stood on her tiptoes, pressing her body completely against Rhodes's back. Her arms looped around his chest, her cheek pressed against his, completing a hug that was far tighter—and far more possessive—than anything Flamme had attempted.
Having executed the maneuver, she tilted her head slightly, looking at the petrified Flamme with cold, golden eyes.
"My foolish apprentice," Serie said, her tone clinical yet mocking. "Tell me... is this the standard somatic gesture humans use to declare ownership?"
Serie had finally bared her fangs.
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