Chapter 38: FRIH - 38
Ronan cut her off. "I learned on the spot. I'm a genius."
The words dropped into the silence with casual arrogance, but Frieren didn't react with disbelief. Her violet eyes blinked once, then slowly softened as she remembered the other times she'd seen Ronan grasp spells as easily as one might breathe. Even the most difficult magic seemed to fall into place for him as if the world bent around his will. She believed him—not because she was naïve, but because her own experience had repeatedly proven that Ronan was anything but ordinary.
Martin, standing stiffly nearby, was utterly speechless. His jaw clenched. His fingers, still curled from the tension of earlier, twitched. To him, this was absurd. This man—this boy, really—had just claimed to learn one of the most foundational, precise magical techniques on the spot? And Frieren, a high-ranking elven mage, just accepted that? It wasn't just the boldness of the claim, it was that everyone acted like it was perfectly reasonable.
This had to be a farce. It had to be. No one learned magic like that—especially not appraisal magic, which required not just magical sensitivity, but careful calibration, a deep understanding of item enchantment theory, and hours of practice to avoid misinterpreting signals. Martin's lips curled slightly in a frustrated frown. If this had been anyone else, he might have laughed in their face. But here, in the presence of a powerful elf and a man who might as well be a demigod in disguise, he felt like a background character in a play he didn't audition for.
This was a powerful person pretending to be a novice, deceiving a naive girl. But Frieren believed him; she'd seen his speed in mastering spells. Appraisal magic... perhaps it was as he said. She looked at him with admiration.
A quiet glow settled over her expression as she observed Ronan, her gaze resting lightly on the back of his head. For someone who had wandered alone for decades, who'd built up emotional distance like walls of stone, this childlike wonder she now felt was unexpected. He was a mystery that defied centuries of magical convention—and for the first time in a long while, she was genuinely curious.
Martin felt a pang of jealousy. Why did they believe such nonsense? Because of his charisma and acting skills? He could do it too! But Ronan had the resources.
The nobleman's jaw tightened. He'd worked hard for his position—trained day and night, attended endless etiquette lessons, memorized spellcraft from dusty tomes—and yet here was someone who walked into a shop, picked up a spellbook, and mastered it faster than he could even read the first paragraph aloud. It wasn't fair. And it wasn't just envy that bit at him; it was the feeling of helplessness that came from knowing you simply couldn't compete.
Ronan, oblivious to their thoughts, didn't care. He had a cheat code. Unless a stronger cheat code appeared, any comparison would be futile.