A Real Human Being ( Frieren )

***

I didn't truly know what to expect from the offensive and defensive magics in this era. 

In the future, Zoltraak would dictate the rules of mage combat. Zoltraak is, or I suppose will be, a piercing spell that specializes in penetrating the defense. The spell that humanity will develop to counter it wasn't named, at least not anywhere in the manga or anime that I could force myself to re-experience, but from what was explained about it, it was a very mana-intensive barrier in a complex shape that re-distrebuted the blunt of Zoltraak's attack and resisted it's piercing property. The issue with that spell was how mana-intensive it was, so most mages could only hold it up in the instance when they were attacked, else they risked running out of mana too quickly. It was also a spell focused on stopping and dispersing energy attacks, so it fared considerably worse against kinetic force and physical objects. 

The next era's magical practice was dictated by those two spells, both offensive and defensive. 

"Here, your beer!" I blinked, glancing up from a tome I was blankly staring at, seeing the cheerful-looking tavern girl.

"Thank you," I said, my voice carefully blank.

She placed the pint, or what looked like a pint, in front of me and hurried to some other table.

For a moment, I measured the mug with a long look.

I took the mug by the handle and sniffed it carefully. It was a weird experience.

It smelled like a beer, at least, but then I got to appraising it properly.

I lifted the mug with both care and curiosity, tilting it slightly beneath my nose before ever letting it touch my lips. I breathed in slowly, deeply. The aroma was dense with earth and grain: roasted barley, dried hay, a whisper of something wild and herbal that I couldn't identify. No hops, or at least, nothing like the sharp, citric bite I'm used to. My brow lifts with intrigue despite myself.

I swirl the liquid gently. There's a slight cloudiness to it, expected in an unfiltered ale. The head is thin, uneven, and quickly collapsing. I note it. A sign of lower carbonation, probably bottle-conditioned or drawn from a wooden cask. Open fermentation, likely. I lean forward, letting the candlelight catch the amber depth of the brew. This felt more like a homebrew some of my friends used to make, not for sale, of course, rather than the usual commercial product. Charming, but lacking the proper equipment modern brewery used.

I sip.

It hits the front of my tongue softly, like rain on dry soil. The malt is full and warm, bread-like, but not sweet. There's a chewiness to it, as though the grain hasn't been entirely tamed by the mash. The body is dense, almost oily, with a lactic twang at the edges that speaks of imperfect production. Maybe even a touch of Brettanomyces, the wild yeast lending it a leathery, barnwood finish. In a modern brewery, they'd call it contamination.

I let the sip rest a moment before swallowing. No fizz. Just the mild tickle of residual fermentation.

This isn't a beer built for variety or balance. It's rough, probably made to be drunk every day.

It's not cold, only slightly cool from the cellar, which allows the flavors to swell. There's no refrigeration in this place, no cryo-hops or sterile canning lines. No exacting pH control. Just instinct, tradition, and yeast captured from the air.

I take another mouthful, this one longer. The finish is slightly bitter, not from hops, I suspect, but from the tannins of the wooden barrel. Maybe a bit of over-toasted malt. It's coarse around the edges.

I exhale softly.

In a modern tasting room, it wouldn't stand a chance. Lacks clarity, lacks consistency. But it's not bad at all, I think I would've enjoyed it quite a lot.

…if I were still a human, that is.

Demon's taste buds are odd. I could taste things with even more clarity than when I was a human, but the satisfaction, or dissatisfaction, of tastes is gone. Sweet food, bitter food, salty food, it made no difference, neither did the smell or the texture of the food for that matter, I noticed those things, but they didn't bring me any enjoyment or disgust. 

I could be hungry, and in that case, I would eat; it would bring relief. But the taste quite literally didn't matter. Back in my cabin near the mountain, I derived as much enjoyment from eating rotten meat from days-old game as I did from the meat I bothered to cook and prepare to the best of my abilities. I couldn't be food poisoned either, at least I am yet to experience anything of that sort.

Because of that, while I could analyze and taste every nuance of that beer, it brought me no enjoyment. There was nothing at all, just cold analysis. Demons weren't meant to enjoy human fare. But demons also could eat things humans would find disgusting without batting an eye, I can only assume it's a survival trait.

I still wasn't sure why my kind had to eat at all. I only knew that occasionally, at least once every few days, I would feel hungry, and any food could sate that craving. Except for undigestible things like wooden bark and such, I tried, checking if my stomach was a bio-reactor of some sort.

I took another sip, more to blend with other patrons rather than to quench thirst, as I returned to my notes and my thoughts.

Magic in the future will be determined by the piercing spell composed of pure energy, and the basic defense against it. Because all mages knew both, any other battle-oriented spells they learned must either be useful against Zoltraak or that unnamed defensive spell. 

It brought unification to a magical combat. You knew what to expect from other mages because if they didn't know basic defensive magics, or didn't know Zoltraak, they probably would die. 

In this era, things were different. From different books I gathered, and even when speaking to that old lady Schatten brought me to, there was no common denominator between mages. Some spells are supposedly more prevalent in some parts of the world than in others, but generally, you don't know what sort of mage you will encounter. 

Will you be attacked by a giant stone thrown at you with the speed of a high-caliber bullet, a fireball, or a bolt of pure explosive mana? You could never tell, and the same went for defensive spells. 

There was no unification at all. 

Zoltraak and the defensive magic used to counter it set standards, an unspoken measuring stick against which all other battle-oriented spells competed. 

I suppose it could be compared to the very drink I am sipping on right now. Magic in this era was much like it; choose a different tavern, and you would get a completely different brew that could share nothing in common with the ale next door. The same things could be said about different mages you could meet in this era. 

This complicated things, somewhat, because it meant I couldn't just start my studies with learning 'basic offensive and defensive magics', because no such things existed. 

Instead, I had to acquire a few different grimoires, a few with spells that attacked in various ways, and a few that produced defenses of different varieties.

The issue here is time. Mastering any spell to the point you could use it in combat can take years. My own curse was not yet completely battle-ready. I would say I could cast it successfully, but I wasn't completely sure, and that uncertainty was dangerous. 

Not that I was planning to fight any time soon, but being what I am, I can't exactly rely on anyone or anything else to defend me, even if all I wanted was to live in the wilderness and research. I suppose I am much like an American now; my only defense is the amount of sheer firepower I can unleash at any given moment. 

I noticed the subtle shift in the atmosphere before I realized exactly what happened; my spatial awareness wasn't the best in this city. My mana sensitivity was good, or at least that's what I assume, and it allowed me to easily orient myself in the forest where I used to live. But this town was so magically contaminated from all the people, and minor artifacts like magical lanterns and whatever they were using in this kitchen, that my magical and mundane senses were constantly overwhelmed, which made me quite unaware of anything outside of my direct line of sight.

The reason for the disturbance soon became obvious, it was the three people who entered the tavern… who were now approaching my table. I had a few seconds to analyze them, and even I, lacking in the sensitivities of this world, immediately realized that they weren't quite normal.

The moment I saw them my mind went into overdrive, whatever alangoue of adrenaline filled my body as did dread, and I could feel my mind and my instincts, for one, work in tandem to analyze what I saw.

First, there was the man in a leather jacket and chainmail, a long sword behind his back, his face partially obscured by a kettle-helmet. His skin was sun-kissed, like someone who was constantly outside, his hair was brown, and his eyes dark; he had no scars of note, but looked to be in his late twenties. He walked with a slight favor to his left leg - not a limp, just the unconscious adjustment of someone who'd taken a few too many hits on that side. His hand rested casually on his axe handle, not threateningly, but like it had become second nature. When he stopped at my table, he shifted his weight from foot to foot - the restless energy of someone used to being on the move. His eyes darted briefly to the exits and back, a habit, a spatial awareness of exits, may be a sign of grander paranoia.

By his side, there was a man in priest's garb, he seemed over forty, and I could spy a holy scripture on his hip, holstered very much like a weapon, on some mechanical lock that would let him easily grab and open it. There was nothing noteworthy about his appearance, aside from a small scar across his left cheek, at least to my mundane senses. Dark hair, dark-green eyes. However, my magical senses shouted in alarm because this man had more mana than I did when I wasn't hiding my signature. Despite his obvious power, he carried himself with practiced humility - shoulders slightly rounded, head tilted down just enough to seem approachable. The priest would've been the most magically powerful person I've ever seen… if not for the third figure.

The third man was dressed in a robe, the most stereotypical mage robe I have yet to see. He also wore the hood, much like me, and I could see his beard, brown but with a hint of greying, poking out of it. He was at the head of this delegation that was moving towards my table, walking with the slow, deliberate pace of someone who knew others would wait for him. One hand stayed tucked inside his robe - perhaps holding a focus of some kind - while the other swung freely. There was something almost academic in how he observed the tavern, like he was cataloguing details. I could see the subtle turn of his neck even as he walked, studying other patrons, not fully focused on me, a habit that told me that he was used to the protection of his other party members. When he reached my table, he didn't immediately sit or speak, he studied me for a moment with the patient interest of someone solving a puzzle. That mage also held twice the amount of raw power I had.

"Greetings, strangers," I said, studying the trio in turn. I knew I looked calm and collected, as I always did, despite the sheer terror I was experiencing.

I already analyzed my chances. If those three are here to kill me, I would likely die even if I were to break into a sprint the instant I noticed them. However, if they didn't know who or what I was and approached me for some other reason, I could live. Therefore, acting normally was the correct choice.

"Can I help you?" For once, I allowed a hint of deception in my demeanor. I faked concern, like a man not quite realizing why he was approached.

The morality of that little lie was something I never even considered, I couldn't afford to at the moment. 

"I wonder if you can," The mage smiled, before gesturing at… my books on the table, and my staff that was leaning against it.

Ah, I felt a pang of relief at the understanding that I immediately jumped the gun. 

"...me and my good friends are new to town, you see, I hope you wouldn't mind us imposing on you for a moment?" He asked, his hand gently stroking his beard.

In the brief instance his question afforded me, I considered the correct course of action. Refusing him would be suspicious, no matter what sort of excuse I came up with, while allowing him to stay was natural, and could lead me to discover more information.

I also was a bit too shaken, I could feel my thoughts running in circles, I knew I couldn't consider everything and choose logically, so to buy myself time, I picked the option that delayed a possible confrontation.

"Of course, it's always interesting to speak with a mage from other lands," I said, in turn, collecting some of the books on the table and putting them in my pouch.

"Oh, I very much share that sentiment, my friend," The mage chuckled good-naturally, and with a theatrical flick of his fingers, three chairs levitated from the nearby empty table and landed next to the table. "I am Ruhe, those are my friends, Schwert," He gestured towards a warrior who was already waving towards the tavern girl, "And Segen," And then the priest, who simply sat at the table, nodding at me in greeting respectfully.

"I am Albert," I introduced myself, taking another sip of the ale, "By the way you are dressed, and judging by your mana, I assume you are adventurers?"

"'Course we are, kid," The warrior said, landing on the seat with a sigh, "The list of proffesions where you would find a group like ours isn't exactly big."

"Too true," The priest said a bit wrily, amusement dancing in his eyes, "Were our work any less important, I would've long since joined a monastery instead of being anywhere around those two."

"You can't call us a bad influence after the whorehouse incident in Sudhafen, Segen," The mage said almost absent mindedly, making the priest glare at him without much heat. "You lost that privilege between that incident and the warship boarding fiasco."

"To be fair, at least half of what happened in Sudhafen is my fault," The warrior chimed in. "Besides, when it comes to making us do stupid shit, you are the champion, Ruhe," He added glancing at the mage almost tiredly.

The mage in question just shrugged, gesturing at me theatrically.

"See who I have to deal with? Some people have no appreciation for the quest for knowledge…"

"...maraduring," The priest interrupted.

"...not maraduring, it was the recovery of important, esoteric, abandoned lore, that would've eventually rotten to dust, used by no one!" Ruhe immediately shot back.

"The villagers evacuated for a week while we dealt with the Nefepe," The warrior commented, staring the mage down. "There was nothing abandoned about that noble's mansion, at best it was just vacated for a while."

"...and I didn't even take anything! All the grimoires were safely in place when he got back!" He argued, without much heat, more with amusement than anything.

Segen looked at me with some… strange kindness, as he spoke up, explaining.

"He deliberately dragged his feet. It took us a week to kill a monster when it could've taken us a day with his tracking spell. All because he wanted to steal…"

"Partake in!" The mage chimed in.

"...some obscure knowledge." Segen shook his head with a tired sigh, "Just be a bit careful with Ruhe young man, like most mages his age, he possesses more hunger for arcane than sense. By the Goddess, don't idiolize this buffoon, no matter how charismatic he may appear, it's all a rouse."

"Bah, we helped those people for free, even if it took us a week!" The mage complained, but his words also seemed directed to me as an explanation.

"You three are quite close," I observed, letting a small smile appear on my face. "Any particular reason that brings you three to this town?"

As I shifted the topic from what appeared to be the casual banter to something more productive, all three men subtly grew more serious, in their own ways.

"Not in particular, no. We are simply passing by, we are heading to the capital," Ruhe answered, looking at me from beneath his hood curiously. "Do you think there is work for a group like us around here?"

Luckily, before I needed to respond, the tavern girl finally appeared, asking for orders.

At Shwert's prompting, and what a name for a warrior it was, I shared some suggestions on what kind of food and drinks were decent in this tavern. To my taste, all the food here was no different, but after viewing my own memories as a human, I grew to learn exactly what type of food I might have enjoyed here, and advised that.

"I am here in passing myself," I answered when the three of us were alone again, "Aside from problems with Veykin, I am yet to encounter any trouble in the city. I may not be the best person to ask, I try to avoid trouble."

Which was true. Since that robbery, the worst thing that happened to me was how I was pickpocketed twice, in the market afterwards. Luckily, I never carried all my coins on myself, and most of the coins I did carry I kept in my boot.

Until I could acclimate to living in the city, pickpockets were practically invisible to me, so I grew tired of having my purses cut.

"Those rats are a problem even here, huh?" The warrior grumbled, shaking his head.

"...I am more curious about something else," The mage said slowly, gesturing at my staff. "I took a glance at the books, basic theories for the most part. You are still an apprentice mage, aren't you?"

I blinked, showing my surprise at the rather pointed question. Nevertheless, I nodded.

"I am, yes."

Ruhe nodded thoughtfully.

"Then what are you doing traveling alone?" He asked simply, making me freeze for a moment.

"Listen, I am not your father lad," Ruhe continued, I could feel his eyes studying me from under the hood, "But your master should've told you this a thousand times. Apprentice mages die on battlefields, and they die horribly. And this is the damn truth."

My mind raced, as I tried to come up with an explanation. I knew what he spoke of, not because this was ever mentioned around me in this life, but because it was a big plot point in the manga too. The reason why Frieren refused to travel with Fern until the girl mastered at least one offensive spell.

"I try to keep away from trouble," I said evasively, unwilling to lie or otherwise prompt the continuation of this conversation.

"You know that this isn't how such things work," Segen the priest said, looking at me… carefully. "A monster attack can happen anywhere and at anytime. Unless you have enough coin to spare to constantly travel by ships or with hired help, you will inevitably run into a battle."

"A battle you won't be able to win," Ruhe said with a sigh, shaking his head, "I can't explain just how much of a difference it makes between being able to cast a spell in the safety of your favorite training spot, and being able to throw one no matter where you are or how you feel. This is the difference between an apprentice and a proper, if middling mage, not the number of spells that you know, but mastery of at least one." Even as he spoke, his eyes were studying me, observing me.

I was twitchy, not physically but mentally, my thoughts raced. Uncertain, was this concerned speech a trick to make me lower my guard? Those three definitely encountered demons before, they must have killed them, if they were as well-traveled as they implied. And as the manga itself taught, the easiest way to kill a demon is to exploit their pride and confidence, to take them off-guard. 

Was this what they were trying to do, or was their concern genuine? My social instincts were good, but they weren't capable of reading minds. 

I could tell both of those men were tense, I could tell they studied me carefully, but it could mean both them judging me for possibly being a demon, or trying to get a read on the 'troubled youth'. 

"You don't know how many spells I mastered," I said instead, trying to shift the subject, making myself sounded offended, anything to shift the conversation to another angle, to be able to glimpse their motivation more before committing into a desperate escape.

"I can tell you are supressing your mana. It's a basic exercise," The maid said with a sigh, and once again, I froze, "A useless trick, but I admit you got it down to a level where I can barely feel it fluctuating,"

I had an idea that he would be able to tell, I kept my mana level just a little above a normal human. Still, if he knew I was suppressing my mana, then maybe he would take it as a proof of me being a more experienced mage…

"But the fact that you are still bothering with this exercise tells me how green you are," He said simply, shrugging, "Then there are the books you've read, it's basics of the basics. Look me in the eyes and tell me you mastered one offensive spell properly."

"..." I couldn't say a thing, not when I was prompted to lie like this, not when I wasn't sure what his angle was.

Ruhe simply nodded, leaning back on his seat… his hand disappeared into his robe, where he likely kept his focus. 

"And that's exactly what I mean," He says simply, nodding to himself, "If you are still bothering with basic exercises and have to catch up on something this fundamental with books, I can only assume your training was cut short." Ruhe nodded to himself, "Either that… or your master was one terrible mage."

I saw the priest to the side, still studying me, his expression thoughtful, I could also see the warrior, who seemed to just… observe the conversation, not truly focused on anything in particular. 

I carefully considered my words before I spoke.

It would be easy to lie, to say that I have a master for whom I am currently waiting in this city, that I am not going to travel anywhere as I am, that they have no cause for concern. If crafted carefully, I could lie in a way that they wouldn't be able to check, at least not while faking concern, if this is what they were doing.

But I refuse.

If I resort to lying at the first opportunity, in the first instance when I was truly threatened, what would be the point of setting rules to myself? I am a demon, I will constantly be threatened, I knew this for over a decade.

"I have a route and a destination in mind. Both are as safe and as clear as I could make them. But I would like you to drop the subject, frankly it's none of your business." Instead I resorted to something else, truth, but said in a way that made it clear just how much I didn't care for them getting involved in my business.

This was the moment of truth, if all of this conversation was their attempt to interrogate a suspicious individual, this would be the breaking point.

And it was.

I could see the priest and the mage tensing, their faces growing tense, focused.

"Well, maybe we can…" Ruhe spoke up, but…

I saw movement in my peripheral vision.

The warrior's hand rose. High. Fast.

My demon instincts screamed danger before my rational mind could process what I was seeing. The hilt of his sword behind his back. His raised arm. The universal gesture of incoming violence.

The tavern's chatter died to my ears.

I lashed out.

My vision sharpened, sounds becoming muffled except for the scrape of chair legs against stone and someone's sharp intake of breath. With practiced ease, as it was something I did dozens of times, I threw myself across the table. My nails elongated into claws. My mana snapped into practiced shapes.

The warrior's eyes went wide. His second arm swept across the wooden surface, fingers closing around a dinner knife that skittered briefly before his grip found it.

We collided.

I managed to correct myself in the last instance, my claws digging into his shoulder instead of his chest. With a pulse I sent Resonant Soul into him, looping the memory of this whole conversation, this whole encounter, in his memory. He went limp instantly.

His raised fist still caught me across the jaw, tearing my hood clean off, as the ropes that attached the hood to my horns snapped. The dinner knife punched into my stomach with a wet sound.

A woman screamed. Then another.

The brief flash of pain didn't slow me down. My hearing sharpened to predatory focus while my peripheral vision dimmed - the same tunnel vision from hunting monsters, from the boar. Someone pointed. "His horns!" The metallic scent of blood mixed with spilled ale.

Behind me, I heard the mage's voice rising in an incantation. The priest was shouting something - orders or prayers, I couldn't tell.

I spun and ran. Tables overturned as patrons dove for cover. A man stumbled backward over his chair, sending his mug flying in an arc of foam. I shoved a woman aside, perhaps too roughly, sending her crashing into the bar.

At my full speed I hit the stone wall.

The impact sent a spiderweb of cracks racing outward. Mortar dust rained down. For a heartbeat, the tavern's timber frame groaned ominously.

Then the wall gave way entirely.

I burst through in an explosion of stone and debris, landing hard on the cobblestones outside. People in the street froze, staring. A merchant's cart horse reared. Someone started running.

Despite the loss in momentum, I didn't slow down. My first thought was to run to the roofs, and use my magically enhanced mobility to run above the town and out of it, but it felt instinctively wrong, and I had no time to think.

Instead I threw myself into the crowd.

The small craftsmen district just by the tavern was thick with people - smiths and letherworkers hawking wares, children and guests of the city standing between stalls, couples strolling arm in arm. Perfect. My body moved without conscious thought, maneuvering partially by sight, mostly by mana sense and pure instinct. I wove between bodies like water flowing around stones. A baker stumbled backward as I vaulted over his cart, sending loaves scattering. A mother yanked her child close as I brushed past, too close, my enhanced reflexes calculating the exact space needed.

My mana sense painted the crowd in shifting colors of magical signatures. Unconsciously, I curved my path away from anyone whose signature flared brighter than baseline human - a town guard with enchanted mail here, a merchant with clearly enchanted items there. The knife wound in my stomach sent fresh blood seeping through my shirt, but I pushed harder.

Behind me, chaos erupted.

"Out of the fucking way!" The mage's voice, raw with panic and authority. "Get away from the demon, everyone on the ground!"

But humans don't move fast enough when terror freezes them first. Someone screamed. A horse whinnied in alarm. The crowd pressed together instinctively, then tried to scatter in all directions at once, creating a perfect maze of confusion.

By the time people started dropping to their knees, I was already gone.

The alley mouth swallowed me like a hungry throat. Narrow walls, overhanging eaves, the perfect vertical highway. My claws found purchase on stone and timber. Three bounds and I was on the rooftops, Nobeldorf spreading below me like a map.

I didn't stop. Not when I vaulted the town walls in a single leap, drawing startled shouts from the guards who only saw a shadow against the evening sky. Not when I hit the forest floor running and vaguely weary of possible mounted pursuit, the only way humans could hope to match my enhanced speed.

Trees blurred past. Branches whipped at my face. My boots found purchase on roots and rocks without conscious guidance, my body flowing through the woodland like I'd been born to it. Every few minutes I'd change direction, break my trail, and double back briefly before continuing north. Always north.

Four hours. Four hours of pure flight, my mana burning through my reserves like a forge consuming coal. Even my body's natural regeneration went dormant, every scrap of energy devoted to keeping my legs moving, my enhanced speed active, my senses sharp for the sound of pursuit that never quite materialized.

Only when my mana finally guttered out, leaving me stumbling like a drunk, did I finally collapse against a massive oak. My chest heaved. The knife wound throbbed with each heartbeat, still weeping blood.

Only the next day, when my head finally cleared, was I able to analyze what had happened.

***

A few hours ago, ground zero

"Fuck me…" Schwert groaned, lifting himself from the tavern floor amid scattered debris and overturned furniture, only to immediately be smacked across the face by a very familiar, and very holy book.

"Don't move, your shoulder is still damaged." The familiar voice of Segen answered, deep in concentration. Through the thundering headache, the warrior cracked his eyes open, squinting at his friend whose hands were glowing with familiar green light. Segen wore that focused look he got during serious healing work - brow furrowed, lips pressed thin.

"How is he?" Schwert turned his head slightly, wincing at the motion. Ruhe stood nearby, his comically small staff gripped tight in white knuckles, looking down at him with genuine concern creasing his features. "Is he still cursed?"

At those words, Schwert went very still. Cursed...? He wasn't stupid. Despite the horrible headache splitting his skull, he could vaguely remember living through a particular encounter twice - the same conversation, the same words, like an echo bouncing inside his mind.

"The curse fell apart as he woke up," Segen commented softly, his healing light flickering as he spoke. Ruhe's shoulders sagged with relief, and he lowered his staff. "So we should probably ask him what he remembers."

"Fuck that." Despite his friend's protests, Schwert sat up abruptly, his hand instinctively reaching for his sword hilt. The movement sent fresh pain lancing through his shoulder. "There's a demon around? Where is it, and what's the plan?"

"We don't know—" Ruhe began with obvious annoyance.

"Lay back, you manchild, or I will personally lower you in a casket." Segen smacked him with the book again, harder this time, before pressing him firmly back down to the floor. His healing hands never stopped their work, but his jaw was set with frustration.

"And we don't know," the mage finished curtly, his scowl visible even beneath his ever-present hood. He gestured sharply toward the gaping hole in the tavern wall, where evening light streamed through jagged stone. "The bastard escaped through the crowd, using townsfolk as human shields. Typical demon shit. I couldn't fire a single spell or I risked frying at least ten people." His voice carried the bitter edge, and genuine loathing. "He also made sure to get you first, so Segen had to make sure you wouldn't bleed out or die to a curse. From what my tracking spell is telling me, he left town within a minute and was out of my spell's range within three."

Schwert blinked, the pieces slowly clicking together despite the fog in his head. "He was here… wait, the kid?!"

"The demon," Segen corrected grimly, his healing magic pulsing brighter for a moment. "He attacked you suddenly, then ran before we could properly react. There was no reason for no reason for him to strike like this."

"It was probably because I wanted to shut you both up," Schwert recalled, tensing, "Wanted to smack the table. Probably lashed out the instant he felt threat." Much like any other hostile beast.

The trick with demons were that they didn't act hostile, and they always ended up attacking anyway.

"Fucking demons." It was rare to hear Ruhe swear, but demons tended to get this reaction out of everyone. The usually mannered mage spat to the side, his disgust plain. "Bastards get better and better at pretending to be human. If something in that bestial mind of his hadn't snapped at exactly the wrong moment..." He trailed off, shaking his head slowly. "We could've all died if he'd chosen a better time to attack. Or if he'd been less... impulsive."

The grim words settled over them like a shroud. Even the tavern's other patrons, still picking themselves up from the chaos, seemed to sense the weight of what had almost happened. Schwert felt like objecting for a moment - surely they could have handled one demon - but deep down, he knew Ruhe was probably right. Taken by surprise, anyone could die easily. Humans and demons both.

"Shit." Realization dawned slowly, and Schwert groaned as he finally allowed himself to fall back to the floor, one hand clutching his throbbing head. "The guard's going to ride our asses for weeks over this, aren't they?"

"You forgot the magistrate and the church." A small, sardonic smile tugged at Ruhe's lips as some of the tension finally left his shoulders. He glanced meaningfully at the destruction around them - shattered tables, the massive hole in the wall, blood still staining the floorboards. "Because of that blonde monster, we'll be stuck here for over a week filling out reports."

Schwert just groaned louder, the sound echoing off the tavern's damaged walls.

Segen simply patted him on the back with his free hand, his healing magic still working steadily.

Truly, demons were despicable.