Frieren's Cursed Warrior (Frieren x Male Reader)

Chapter 18

Y/n's POV

I sat on the bed in my rented room, the hilt of my shattered blade resting heavily in my hands. I sighed. That sword had been with me for so long, it felt like a part of me. Not just a weapon, but a companion, a friend, family even, through countless battles and memories. And now it was gone. Although I was saddened by its end, I was somewhat relieved.

The more I thought about my recent battles, the clearer it became: I'd been so...soft since I met Liebe three thousand years ago. Maybe "soft" wasn't the right word, "restrictive" more like. Since being with her, I'd done everything I could to restrain the curse-for her sake. I wanted to be better, kinder, more thoughtful of my enemies and less ruthless. I wanted to prove, not just to her but to myself, that I could be something more than what I used to be before meeting her, all of this even after three thousand years.

That fight against my replica should have been so easy. Quick. Over in moments. Instead, I'd fought it as if I were half of myself. I realized that even against monsters, I felt so...off. When I used my sword duplication spell, and put in a little more effort into the fight, it felt so freeing.

I've always wanted this curse gone. It's been a shadow over my tragically long life. But lately... I've found myself questioning that desire. Questioning whether the curse is truly something I need to rid myself of-or something I need to embrace.

Do I continue to restrain myself? Do I use the curse to my advantage? What would Frieren think? Or Fern? Liebe.... If we were going to progress through the Northern Plateau, I would have to make that decision, and soon.

A muffled clatter echoed through the halls, pulling me from my thoughts.

Stark had gone off somewhere with an old man none of us even knew. From the adjacent room, I could hear voices. Fern and Frieren, their conversation loud enough to carry through the thin walls. I couldn't make out the words, but the tone was unmistakable-a disagreement, sharp and pointed. Frieren's calm yet unyielding voice clashed with Fern's fiery rebuttals.

I sighed and let the hilt dissolve back into mana, the remnants of my blade vanishing from sight but not from my thoughts. As I did, the faint sound of a door opening and closing echoed through the hall, followed by the upset steps of someone passing by my door.

"What is it this time?" I muttered to myself, pushing myself up from the bed. Curiosity and concern tugged at me as I stepped out of my room and headed to the adjacent door. I knocked firmly.

"Come in," Frieren's calm voice called from inside.

I pushed the door open to find her seated on a chair, her usual unbothered expression tempered by a slight furrow in her brow.

"What was that all about?" I asked, gesturing vaguely toward the hall.

Frieren glanced toward the door as though Fern might reappear at any moment, then sighed. "Oh, Y/n. Fern was insisting we find a way to repair her staff after what happened during the second trial." Her gaze flicked toward a bag resting by the corner of the room. The faint glimmer of broken shards peeked through its opening. "I suggested it might be better to get her a new one and let the old one go. Repairing it would be hard. It's shattered. She didn't like that suggestion."

I crossed my arms, considering her words. "If I'm not mistaken, that staff was made and handed to her by Heiter, wasn't it?"

"That's correct," she replied, her voice softening ever so slightly.

"Then if it can be fixed, I think it should be. It's not just a tool for her-it's a connection, a memory, something very special."

Frieren tilted her head, giving me a sharp but curious look. "That's a lot for you to say, considering you didn't want your sword repaired."