Fresia began sharing her memories of Ventus Frail. To Gracie, these stories were wonderfully fresh and wholly unexpected.

He had rated every dish he ate at the restaurants and inns they visited. He had been a surprisingly heavy sleeper, always the last of their group to get up. Whenever someone praised his magical feats, he had happily explained which spells he had used. He had also taken an interest in ornaments, saying they ought to look imposing once they had defeated the calamity, and had used magic to create his own designs to show his companions.

They were not tales of dramatic adventures, but these firsthand accounts were something Gracie could never have found in biographies or books chronicling the heroes’ deeds. As she listened, the inferiority and helplessness born of her guilt slipped away, and she became increasingly absorbed in Fresia’s stories. And the more she heard, the more a certain thought occurred to her.

'Did Saintess Fresia... h-have feelings for my ancestor?'

It was a sort of intuition. Calling Ventus adorable seemed like more than simply reminiscing about a companion. And the way she smiled as she recalled those memories made her look like a woman speaking about a man she held in her heart.

'Can I ask her? No, but if she only liked him as a companion, wouldn’t that be a terribly rude question?!'

“What is it, Miss Gracie?”

“Yes?!”

“You seem to have something else on your mind.”

“No! Something just occurred to me! It isn’t anything troubling!”

Gracie waved her hands, trying to change the subject, but Fresia asked with a kindly smile,

“What were you thinking about?”

“Um, well...”

Gracie thought it was too late to evade the question now. Besides, any attempt would surely be seen through at once, so she decided to be straightforward.

“P-please just laugh it off if I’m completely wrong! Did you... Saintess Fresia, did you l-like my ancestor? I mean... not as a companion or anything like that...”

She fidgeted with her fingers as she asked, watching Fresia’s reaction. Fresia gave a quiet laugh.

“Hehe, how embarrassing. Was it that obvious?”

“...?!”

Gracie was astonished that Fresia made no attempt to hide it and instead smiled so gently.

'It was true?! Saintess Fresia had feelings for my a-ancestor! He really was popular with women!'

For some reason, Gracie’s self-esteem rose. Her ancestor’s greatness did not make her great, of course, but they did share the same blood. A tiny hope took root that perhaps she, too, could be just as popular.

“Back then, I didn’t understand my own feelings. Seeing Ventus made me happy and brought a smile to my face, but I thought I merely liked him as a companion.”

Fresia laid a hand over her chest.

“After we defeated the calamity and returned to the Mage Tower and the Holy City, we only exchanged letters... But looking back, I truly looked forward to his letters. Most of what he wrote concerned the spells he was developing, but we still kept in regular contact.”

Despite their precious correspondence, most of his letters concerned his ongoing research. Yet Fresia had been delighted simply to keep exchanging letters with him. Any other ordinary woman might have frowned at a man so oblivious that all he talked about was work.

“I see.”

'What spells was he developing, exactly?'

As a mage, Gracie was more interested in the contents of the letters than in their romantic significance.

“Yes. I still have all our letters in my drawer. Would you like to read them sometime?”

“...! Yes!”

Letters describing the spells Ventus, the Mage of a Thousand Spells, had once developed! Any mage would be burning to read them. Seeing Gracie answer with sparkling eyes, Fresia found herself reminded of Ventus Frail as he had been when talking about magic. Their faces were different, as were their genders. Was it because she knew they shared the same blood?

Longing and tender affection swirled in Fresia’s heart, along with regrets from the past.

“Miss Gracie, what do you regret most in your life?”

“Pardon? Um, well... I regret not being able to do anything when the lich appeared. The Paladin tried to protect the Saintess, and the Saintess bravely attacked the lich. But I... could only tremble behind the Paladin.”

“I see. But instead of giving up, you came here to the Holy City. You have a chance to set your regret right. Unlike me.”

“Do you have a regret you couldn’t set right, Saintess Fresia?”

“Yes. I realized it on the day of Ventus’s funeral.”

“On the day of my ancestor’s funeral...”

Fresia spoke as she recalled that day.

“The news arrived urgently, so sudden and so hard to believe. Ventus had died in a magical accident. I couldn’t believe it. It couldn’t be true. Ventus, of all people, dying in a magical accident? It made no sense.”

He was the Mage of a Thousand Spells. A great mage who could deploy even the most complex magic in an instant amid the fiercest battles, saving his companions’ lives time and again. That was the mage Ventus Frail whom Fresia knew.

“But... only after I went to the Mage Tower myself and attended his funeral did his death truly sink in.”

Fresia had wept as she looked at the coffin, which held no body.

'Ah, Ventus really is dead.'

Only when that thought truly sank in had she been able to cry. At the same time, a piercing ache tormented her chest, her heart, her very soul.

She would never see his face again.

She would never hear his voice again.

She would never speak with him again.

That pain made her realize something she had never noticed before.

'Ah... I loved Ventus.'

“It truly was... a realization that came far, far too late. Hehe. I have listened to so many people’s confessions and troubles, you know. Yet I didn’t understand my own heart until then. Isn’t that ridiculous?”

“N-no. N-not at all. Hic!”

Even though Fresia spoke softly—no, precisely because she spoke so softly—her story filled Gracie with sorrow. However late the realization had come, the love between her ancestor Ventus Frail and Saintess Fresia might still have blossomed. That it had been denied by a tragic magical accident saddened Gracie deeply.

“Oh dear, I’m sorry. I’ve made you cry for no reason.”

“No! Thank you so much... sniff! For telling me.”

“I should thank you for listening to an old woman like me, Gracie. I originally wanted to discuss something else, but I got carried away.”

Fresia handed Gracie a handkerchief and brought up the real reason she had summoned her.

“Miss Gracie, do you still remember that lich clearly?”

“Yes. I haven’t forgotten a thing about that day.”

“Then would you tell me? Everything you saw and heard, without leaving anything out, about how the incident unfolded that day.”

For the five days before summoning Gracie to her room, Fresia had been agonizing over the matter. She had studied Gracie’s sketch of the lich, pondering it again and again.

Could that lich truly be Ventus Frail? Or was it really only a coincidence? They had said the magical accident that killed him had left not even a scrap of his body. What if he had become a lich rather than dying in the accident? Why would he have become a lich? What had made him become one? Why had he not come to see her afterward?

Countless thoughts and worries tangled in her mind. At last, Fresia had reached a decision. She still lacked information. She needed to learn more precisely about even the smallest clues. First, she had to determine whether that lich really was Ventus Frail. That was why she had invited Gracie to her room.

Fresia listened as Gracie recounted the events of that day. She asked repeated questions, focusing particularly on the lich’s words and conduct, trying to determine whether his behavior resembled Ventus Frail’s. Once she had heard enough, she bowed her head in thanks.

“Thank you for telling me, Miss Gracie. I asked rather a lot of questions, didn’t I?”

“Not at all! You’re trying to learn more about the lich!”

Fresia wanted to reflect quietly on what Gracie had told her today.

“Thank you for understanding. Would you mind if I showed you the letters another time? I’d like to gather my thoughts about the lich.”

“Yes! Of course! I’ll leave you to it, then!”

After Gracie withdrew, Fresia opened the drawer containing the letters.

'In the end, his words and behavior weren’t enough to establish that he was Ventus. But I can imagine Ventus saying those things.'

Fresia unfolded the last letter Ventus Frail had sent her. It contained information about the Warp spell.

“Ventus, did you really suffer a magical accident and leave this world? Or are you still somewhere in this world...”

Saintess Fresia’s worries only deepened.

+++

Continuing in the direction Claire indicated, the slime finally made it out of the forest. As soon as they emerged, Claire spoke from atop its squishy platform.

“That’s enough. I’ll get off now.”

'Okay!'

The slime immediately stopped and lowered its squishy platform so Claire could climb down easily. Having seen it understand her words so many times now, she dismounted without much surprise.

Claire had made it safely through the forest without lifting a finger. More precisely, before she could so much as lift a finger, the slime had finished off the monsters, picked her up again, and continued on.

'If it’s this smart, then perhaps...'

Claire looked down at the slime and asked,

“Do you know an elf named Marin?”

'Marin? Nope!'

The slime tilted its body, then twisted from side to side, imitating a person shaking their head.

[Squishy Queen]▶You insolent wretch! My kin brought you out safely, yet you ask questions without so much as a proper thank-you! Such ingratitude!

▶She’s already out. What are you gonna do about it?

▶Lmao, who asked you to help? Lol.

[Slam First Ask Later]▶What? They’re out already?

Claire did not conclude that the slime had nothing to do with Nellin just because it had denied knowing her once. After all, Claire herself rarely remembered the name of every person she met! Back when she had only cared about defeating monsters, she had taken no interest in the people around her. She had not bothered to remember their names, simply addressing them as “you.” These days, she generally remembered the names of people she saw often, but she still could not remember the names of adventurers she happened to work with on a request.

'It might not know her name.'

So Claire began describing Nellin.

“You really don’t know Marin? She’s an elf. Blue hair. Blue eyes. She ties her hair like this.”

Claire gathered her shoulder-length hair in both hands to form a ponytail.

“And she’s really strong. She’s looking for a smart slime like you. Her name’s Marin.”

She asked again, emphasizing the name Marin.

But...

'Marin? Nope!'

The slime knew the name Nellin, but it knew no elf named Marin, so it once again twisted its body from side to side.

“You don’t know her. It was a different slime.”

'Yeah, this isn’t the slime Marin’s looking for after all.'

While Claire felt disappointed, the lich watching the scene—Smartass—thought to himself,