Starting the Strategy from Frieren

In the end, Ivan was "kicked out of the house." It wasn't the first time, of course. In the illusionary world, he had often irritated Serie and ended up sleeping on the staircase outside their home.

However, unlike those fleeting spats that always ended with reconciliation by morning, it would likely be a long time before he could return to this place again.

Before being banished from the ancient elven tree, Ivan and Serie had an unusual argument.

Serie: "Hurry up and let me help you with something—whether it's becoming the king of a nation, gaining immense wealth, or acquiring unparalleled power, I can make it happen."

Ivan: "I don't need anything."

Serie: "You do."

Ivan: "I don't."

Serie: "You don't need it, but you're going to need it anyway!"

"..." Serie fixed Ivan with a piercing glare, her frown deepening.

Under the combined pressure of her intense gaze and his lower status in their "household," Ivan finally admitted defeat.

Ivan: "Fine. If I must use this vow that can make you do anything..."

He sighed, his expression softening into a gentle smile.

Ivan: "My request is this: from now on, take good care of yourself, Serie."

Serie froze, stunned for a moment.

Serie: "What kind of request is that? Do you think you can move me with such words and stir up unnecessary emotions?"

Petite but exuding overwhelming presence, she strode toward Ivan, grabbed his collar, and pulled him down forcefully.

In an instant, warm, soft lips brushed against his, sending a tingling sensation coursing through him. Simultaneously, countless magical spells and practical knowledge poured into Ivan's mind. It wasn't just abstract information—it felt as if he had gained years of mastery in a heartbeat.

Serie: "I've passed on Necromancy and Spatial Magic to you using Transfer Magic. These are hundreds of years of my hard-earned cultivation. You can use them proficiently now, but this is the limit of what your current body can handle. So, don't you dare die before I change my mind."

Ivan: "Got it," he replied earnestly. Then, with a cheeky grin, he added, "By the way, could we kiss again? It was too short earlier—I didn't even have time to react."

Serie's eye twitched.

Serie: "Turn around first."

Thinking she was just embarrassed, Ivan turned his back to her, musing that, even after all their time together, she was still shy about such things.

Suddenly, Serie lifted her delicate, bare foot and delivered a swift kick to his backside.

Serie: "Get lost!"

Ivan was promptly booted out of the Ancient Elven Tree, sent into a freefall from the treetop. He landed on the ground even before Flamme and Frieren, who had left moments earlier, reached the entrance.

As the three of them walked away, the Ancient Elven Tree began to shift. Its entrances sealed up, and countless "turrets" and spikes sprouted from its branches, transforming it into an impenetrable fortress.

Ivan guessed Serie was preparing to heal herself while creating a body for Isanze, which explained the extreme fortifications.

Flamme: "The Ancient Elven Tree in war mode... This is my first time seeing it. Even if the Demon King led an all-out assault with the entire demon race, it could hold out for two to three months. What exactly happened in the Illusion World for the teacher to be so gravely injured?"

Ivan: "She didn't tell you?"

Flamme shook her head.

Ivan: "Then I won't say anything either. Just some trivial matters, that's all."

He dismissed the topic, unwilling to use the Illusion World events as a conversation piece. Instead, he shifted gears.

Ivan: "By the way, Flamme, have you seen Serie use Transfer Magic before?"

Flamme: "Of course. My 'Perfect Sleep Every Night' spell was gifted to me by the teacher through Transfer Magic."

When Flamme was a young child, she had been plagued by relentless nightmares of her village being massacred by demons. To help her, Serie developed the "Perfect Sleep Every Night" spell—something she herself didn't need—and passed it on to Flamme.

Recalling this, Flamme's face lit up with a gentle smile.

Ivan: "So, how does Transfer Magic work?" he asked, feigning nonchalance.

Flamme: "You just place your hand on the recipient's forehead. Why do you ask?"

Flamme's instincts told her something was off about Ivan's recent interactions with Serie.

Ivan: "That's not important. What matters is..."

He pointed toward a distant speck visible from the sky.

Ivan: "I noticed a town nearby when Serie kicked me. Let's head there and see if it's a good place to grab dinner."

Flamme and Frieren: "..."

Nightfall.

In an open space near the town, a campfire crackled, casting a warm glow.

Large chicken wings brushed with barbecue oil turned a golden brown over the flames. Thin slices of steak, coated in spicy chili sauce, sizzled invitingly. Most tantalizing of all were the homemade smoked sausages, glistening as they roasted. When sliced open, they revealed a juicy, flavorful interior streaked with translucent layers of fat.

Ivan was in his element, effortlessly preparing the meal. He rotated skewers, expertly applied spices, and handed out food with practiced ease.

Ivan: "Frieren, try the chicken wings."

Ivan: "Frieren, have a sausage."

Ivan: "Frieren, want some ham? Should I slice it for you?"

His tone was warm and doting, treating Frieren as though she were a child, attending to her every need.

Frieren: "I can eat it myself," she said shyly, blowing on the ham to cool it before eagerly biting into it.

Flamme, on the other hand, demanded, "I want mine sliced and plated."

Ivan: "Tch," he scoffed, his tone shifting sharply. "You have hands and feet. Do it yourself."

The blatant double standard was impossible to ignore, sparking Flamme's protest.

Flamme: "Why the preferential treatment?! Explain yourself!"

Ivan: "It's a reward for Frieren," he replied matter-of-factly.

Frieren: "Reward?" she asked, her mouth full of food. "What did I do to earn a reward?"

Ivan: "Because you taught me the fishing magic, which played a significant role in my duel with Serie. At that time, I decided that once we got out, I'd treat you to a nice meal."

Frieren: "I see."

Satisfied with the explanation, Frieren ate with even more enthusiasm, her cheeks puffed out as she stuffed her mouth.

Unlike the stereotypical vegetarian elves of most fantasy tales, the elves in this world ate both meat and vegetables. Frieren, in particular, had a noticeable preference for meat.

What was amusing, however, was that despite her love for meat, Frieren had an unremarkable figure. Meanwhile, Serie, who favored vegetables, hid a voluptuous figure beneath her loose robes—a true case of "hidden treasures."

Ah, the wonders of genetics. Fascinating, aren't they?