Frieren's Undead Warrior (Frieren x Male Reader)

Chapter 2

Y/n's POV

As we journeyed down the Eng Road towards Graf Granat's domain, the majestic vista of the mountains stretched before us. They were really nice to see, and the air was fresh as well.

"So, Mister Y/n," Fern interrupted my reverie, drawing my attention back to my companions.

"Yes?"

"Where do you hail from?" She inquired.

"From the Southern Lands. I was born in a small village not too far from the western shores--Farley," I replied, reminiscing about my origins. "The village was quaint, simple. It had around a hundred people, give or take."

"Yes, Farley. I visited there a short while ago," Frieren remarked casually, her words elicited surprise from me.

"Oh? How long ago?" I was intrigued by her unexpected connection to my hometown.

"Hmm," she pondered for a moment as she walked. "Probably two-hundred years or so."

"That is not a short while ago!" Stark interjected with a scoff.

"I haven't been there in a while myself. Would be nice to pay a visit one day," I mused aloud, contemplating the passage of time and the changes that may have occurred in my absence. Given my long life, I haven't been since I left for the first time a few millennia ago.

"Say, how can you even wield that giant sword? You don't seen super...y'know, buff," Stark asked, admiring my greatsword.

"I have grown accustomed to its weight over years of practice. When it comes to adventuring, I could be called a Tank Swordsman. I'm very strong, and durable, but I am slower than most other swordsmen, like yourself perhaps."

"Ah, I see. No wonder you could stand against that dragon so well," the boy conceded.

"Indeed," this wasn't my first dragon, and it wouldn't be my last. I turned my attention over to Frieren, who walked quietly beside us. "So, it's interesting to see an elf such as yourself. It's rare to see them. You're the first I've met," it was true. I had never actually seen an elf before.

"I suppose we are a rarity," Frieren replied with a hint of melancholy in her voice, her gaze distant as she reflected on her kind's dwindling numbers.

"Now that I'm thinking about it, you're the only one I've seen, too," Fern added.

"There aren't that many of us. In fact, I've only ever met a handful of other elves in all my travels. We may live a long time, but we've scattered to the winds. Of course it doesn't help that we don't have romantic urges or reproductive instincts. We're experiencing a quiet extinction. Over four-hundred years has gone by since I laid eyes on another elf. We may be close to disappearing." The elf explained. It made me sad to hear. To be a dying race must be awful, and to have your concept of time be that warped due to the longevity of your life. I sighed, understanding her pain.

I decided to ask her, "How long have you lived, Frieren?"

"Oh, over a thousand years by now."

"My, that's a long time," I could sympathize with her. I held my hand to my chest, remembering the curse I held within.

...

As we approached the cliff overlooking a small town, a breathtaking sight greeted us--the town sprawled below, encompassed by a sturdy brick wall and crowned by a grand front gate, bustling with activity. Merchant wagons lined up, awaiting entry into the town.

"This is a lovely view of the town. It's a busy day at the gate," Fern remarked, her eyes scanning the scene below.

"Those look like merchant wagons," Stark observed.