Chapter 23 – Go Home If You Want to Sleep!
The carriage rattled endlessly along the muddy trail.
Rain from the previous night had turned the road into a bumpy mess.
Frieren sighed, peering out the window. "The rain really made things worse than I expected..."
Then, as if struck by a sudden thought, she rummaged through her bag and pulled out a small black vial that gleamed faintly in the light.
"Speaking of which… we never actually tested the potion. What if it doesn't work?"
Elias didn't even bother opening his eyes. His response was instantaneous, almost automatic.
"Wonderful idea, Frieren. You can shave your head right now, apply it to your scalp, and we'll see what happens."
"W–what?!" She hugged her hair protectively. "No way! A girl's hair is precious!"
Her tone softened into something sly. "Besides, I heard that in some merchant cities, a single lock of hair can sell for a small fortune!"
Then, as if realizing something, she narrowed her eyes and puffed her cheeks.
"Wait a second! Why do I have to be the one to shave my head? Why not you?"
"Because I trust Conrad," Elias said simply, wearing the calm, unshakable smile of someone with absolute faith.
"That man dedicated his entire life to the study of hair—literally died for it. When it comes to hair, I have no reason not to trust him."
Frieren went quiet. When Elias opened his eyes again, he found her staring at him with a strange, amused expression.
"...What?" he frowned. "Do I have something on my face?"
Frieren shook her head, her bright emerald eyes softening.
"I was just thinking… you actually can praise people."
"Besides my teacher Flamme, I've never heard you compliment anyone before."
"Since you're in such a generous mood, how come you never praise me?" She smirked playfully. "Is it because you're too proud to admit it? Or maybe you're jealous—jealous that I've become the village's favorite?"
Elias: (ᇂ_ᇂ|||)
"Frieren, I'm a demon from the Mythic Era. Jealousy is far beneath my emotional capacity."
"As for praise—that's something entirely different."
"I praised Flamme for her unparalleled genius, and Conrad for his lifelong devotion."
"As for you…"
He gave her a sidelong glance, sighed heavily, and closed his eyes again.
"If I'm not mistaken, you've already forgotten everything I taught you about avian-type monsters, haven't you?"
Frieren: «(･ω･)»
"…How did you know?"
He didn't even need to look—he could picture perfectly the guilty little face she made whenever she got caught.
"Hmph. Once the village matter's settled, I'm putting you through proper training. Otherwise Flamme will scold me when she returns."
Frieren: «(´-ι_-｀)»
"So my peaceful days are officially over…"
–––
After several days of rough travel, the carriage finally rolled to a stop at the village gates.
Just then, dark clouds gathered overhead, blotting out the sunlight.
A heavy, mournful silence spread across the forest, carrying with it an unshakable sense of foreboding.
Frieren jumped off the carriage before it even came to a full halt, excitement sparkling in her eyes.
"Village Chief! We're back!"
She burst into the small house, waving the precious potion high above her head.
"Look! Look what we brought!"
But no one answered.
The house was empty—quiet enough to make her heartbeat echo in her ears.
"Strange… where did he go?"
Finally, at the edge of the pumpkin field, she saw him—
the old village chief, sitting motionless on a bench, head bowed, eyes closed, as if peacefully asleep.
Her breath caught in her throat.
"…Village Chief…"
Her voice trembled. The hand clutching the potion began to shake.
"We finally… got it."
"Did we really come back… too late?"
Frieren stood before the bench, head lowered, eyes shimmering with unshed tears.
Just as the first tear was about to fall—
For a moment, Frieren could swear she heard something faint, like a tiny snore carried on the breeze—
(.)..zZ
(.)..zzZZ
(.)..zzzZZZ
Frieren: «(≖_≖'')»
"…Hey. If you're going to sleep, go home and sleep."
Village Chief: (⊙ω⊙!)
"Oh! Lady Frieren, Lord Elias—you're back already! How was your journey?"
"Thanks to you, everything went smoothly," Elias replied, stepping forward.
"We've successfully obtained the potion that makes hair grow just by applying it to the scalp."
"By the Goddess!"
The old chief scrambled to his feet with surprising energy, leaning on his cane.
"Thank you, truly, both of you. To go through all that trouble for something so trivial—this old man is deeply grateful."
Frieren let out a long sigh of relief and carefully placed the vial in his hands.
"Honestly, you scared me half to death just now. I thought you'd… you know…"
"Hehe… my apologies."
The chief rubbed his shiny bald head, embarrassed.
"At my age, if I sit still long enough, I tend to drift off without realizing it."
Frieren's expression softened. She looked at the wrinkled man before her—still limping from old injuries, still wandering around the village every day as if he had endless tasks to do.
For someone who should've been resting, he really couldn't stay still.
And somehow… that worried her more than anything.
"Well then," she said softly, "go ahead and apply it, Village Chief. That potion was the life's work of an extraordinary barber—it should work wonders."
"Alright then," the chief said with a chuckle. "Let's give it a try."
–––
From that day on, his hair began to grow—
slowly at first, then with astonishing speed.
By the first morning, a few faint stubbles had sprouted on his head.
By the second, it looked like spring grass breaking through the soil.
Even Elias couldn't hide his admiration for Conrad's craftsmanship.
"Incredible," he muttered. "To think a human could produce something this effective…"
Within a month, the chief's head was crowned once more with a thick, youthful mane of jet-black hair—
just like in his younger days.
His wish had come true.
That evening, he sat on his usual bench beside Elias, watching Frieren working energetically in the pumpkin fields.
"Lady Frieren's life must be unimaginably long, mustn't it?" he mused.
Elias nodded. "Indeed. She's an elf, after all."
"I hope that even a thousand years from now," the chief smiled faintly, "she'll still have that same spark of energy."
"Let's hope so."
Elias turned to look at him, his tone quiet but teasing.
"By the way, Chief, ever since you grew that hair back… you've felt oddly unfamiliar to me. After eight years of seeing your bald head, this is going to take some getting used to."
"Haha… to be honest, I feel the same," the old man laughed, scratching his now-full head.
"An old fool like me, still obsessed with such a shallow thing as hair."
He chuckled again, his voice softer this time.
"Whenever the villagers look at me, I feel almost embarrassed…"
"But I don't regret it. Not one bit. At least now—I can go meet her with my hair once more."
The sun dipped below the horizon, painting the fields in warm gold.
The chief's eyes shimmered with that same light as he gazed at the fading sky.
"Looking like this," he whispered, "she'll recognize me when I reach heaven… won't she?"
"Maybe," Elias murmured, his voice almost gentle.
Then, after a brief silence, he asked quietly,
"Chief… may I ask you something?"
"When you did all this—for your wife who's long passed—what exactly were you feeling? This emotion of yours… what do you call it?"
No answer.
"Chief?"
Elias tilted his head slightly. Then he sighed.
"Fell asleep again, huh…"
"...I see."
He looked at the old man's still form, bathed in the orange glow of twilight—
so peaceful, so quiet, that it almost felt sacred.
Elias exhaled softly, a wry, almost tender smile touching his lips.
"Hmph… so you've already started your journey to heaven, haven't you—"
"To go see her again."