Frieren Beyond Journey’s End: Rebirth of the Great Elf Witch, Minus

The tea had gone cold by the time Frieren arrived.

She didn't knock. The doors to Serie's chamber burst open with a boom of magic, her boots echoing across the marbled floor as she stormed into the sacred heart of the Spire.

Serie glanced up from her seat, where she and Minus had been sharing quiet conversation.

Minus didn't even turn.

Frieren's eyes locked onto her. "This ends now."

Minus sipped from her cup without haste. "You're late."

Serie smirked, voice lazy. "A few months late, actually."

Frieren's mana flared like sunlight through fractured crystal, her expression tight. "The Empire is fracturing. Lowe is still preparing something. You—both of you—have the power to stop it."

Minus slowly rose, her staff already humming with residual Ars Finita residue. "And yet, here we are, sipping tea."

"Do you think this is a game?" Frieren growled, golden light surging to her hands. "You think you can just disappear after nearly leveling an entire aqueduct and laugh it off?"

Minus turned to her fully now, white hair swaying, eyes glinting with dangerous amusement. "I didn't disappear. I left you a message. You saw it, didn't you? The bodies I left intact?"

Serie's voice purred. "That was mercy, you know."

Frieren's mana twisted in her palm, and she hurled a barrage of radiant blades toward Minus.

The air screamed.

Minus raised her staff. "Finsterfall."

Black rings spiraled outward from her staff in concentric pulses—dark gravitational fields that curved Frieren's blades midair, drawing them harmlessly into a collapsing singularity. Each blade was snuffed out like a candle under black water.

Then she advanced.

Frieren blinked once—and Minus was already in front of her, swinging her staff low in a wide arc.

Frieren barely blocked, forced back by the weight behind the blow.

"Hmm," Serie murmured, lounging back with her fingers weaving delicate runes into the air. "This could be amusing."

She flicked a finger toward Frieren lazily.

"Ehrenlicht."

A silver rune circle unfolded over Frieren's back—then bloomed like a flower, embedding itself into her spine.

Frieren gasped as a sudden surge of reactive mana flooded her core.

"What did you—?"

"A little spell I made a thousand years ago," Serie said sweetly. "Reinforces your nerves. Helps with reaction time. You're a bit slow compared to Minus, after all."

Frieren gritted her teeth. "I didn't ask—"

"Don't thank me," Serie interrupted.

Minus laughed as she lunged again, sweeping her staff in a spiraling arc. "She's giving you cheat codes, and you're still getting pushed around."

Frieren's eyes narrowed. "Try me again."

She fired a compressed lance of radiant magic—Zerschneidendes Licht, a cutting beam of mana sharp enough to split enchanted ore.

Minus slid sideways, dragging the heel of her boot across the ground, carving a circular rune with her step.

"Erinnerungsbruch."

A pulse of memory magic detonated outward—raw recollections stolen from Frieren's mind. For one moment, she wasn't in the Spire.

She was back on a cold mountaintop, kneeling beside Himmel's grave.

That pause nearly cost her.

"Enough," Serie sighed.

With a flick of her wrist, she cast Dämmerfeld, a shimmering field of refracted light that bent Minus's magic and shattered the lingering illusion, anchoring Frieren's mind back in place.

Minus clicked her tongue. "Really, Serie?"

Serie offered a bored shrug. "She was about to cry again."

Frieren rallied and leapt forward, her blade glowing with layered sigils, reinforced by the mana nodes Serie planted earlier. She spun midair and brought it down toward Minus—

"Ars Finita—Split Form."

Minus whispered the phrase with a cruel smile. The spell flared—but this time, it didn't obliterate. It distorted. The blade phased as it passed through Minus's form, bending around her like light through a warped mirror.

Frieren landed hard and skidded back.

"Fun little trick," Serie said, rising now. "But I suppose we've had our fun."

Minus turned toward her. "Oh? Bored already?"

"No," Serie said. "Just tired of you toying with our dear prodigy."

She looked at Frieren, her expression unreadable. "This wasn't a fight. This was a test."

Frieren, panting, frowned. "A test?"

Minus slung her staff onto her back. "You passed, barely."

Serie chuckled. "And you didn't die. That's always a bonus."

Frieren stared at them. "So that's it? You just… let me go?"

"We're not interested in the Empire anymore," Minus said. "That war's beneath us."

Serie's tone softened, just a little.

"Lowe and his shadows. The Empire's path. The future of this continent."

She turned to Frieren fully.

"That belongs to you."

Frieren didn't respond.

She watched as the two most powerful elves alive turned their backs to her—not in cowardice, but in dismissal. In mocking confidence.

Serie raised her hand over her shoulder in a lazy wave.

"Go on then, little one. Clean up our mess."

Minus laughed. "And if you ever need help…" She winked over her shoulder.

"Try not to."