11 – The Golden Curse

The week after Aldric's death went like clockwork.

Velmira was at his funeral, but only from a distance. It was a small event at Waal's cemetery, with only a few of his colleagues from the Association there. They had all known him as the quiet third-class researcher with some interesting theories. They said nice things about how dedicated he was, how well he knew his stuff, and how much potential he had, but it all ended very sadly.

None of them really knew him. Not like she had.

She watched from the edge of the woods as they lowered the simple box into the ground. The priest spoke about rest, peace and the cycle of life. She had her hood down and was trying to hide. Just a shadow among shadows, mourning in silence because anything else would raise questions she couldn't answer.

When it was over and everyone had left, she stayed. She stood over the fresh grave, looking at the simple stone marker that read only his name and dates. Twenty-eight years. That was all he had got. It was a very short moment in her eternal life.

"I'll finish it," she promised the carved stone. "I'll make them see. I'll make it matter."

The grave offered no response. It was just earth and silence, and the deep feeling of someone who had been alive and warm, and who was no longer there.

She turned and walked away, carrying the weight of her promise like a physical burden.

The woman in charge of the boarding house, Gerda, let Velmira stay in Aldric's room. Gerda was a practical woman who had seen a lot in her life, so she was not surprised by what had happened.

"He paid for the whole month," Gerda said simply. "And someone should use his things. Otherwise, it seems a waste. You were his friend. You have more right than anyone."

Velmira moved in, but "moving" implied that she had to move her things too. She carried only what she could fit in her Yggdrasil inventory – clothes, the Moonveil Cloak and a few things she found in the ruins. Everything else about her was temporary, designed for someone who was always ready to run away.

The room was exactly as Aldric had left it: it was messy with books, papers lying everywhere, and his notes in neat handwriting pinned to the walls. The air still smelt of him – old paper, ink, and the faint herbal smell of the medicine he had taken.

It was a shrine. A memorial. A tomb of knowledge and interrupted dreams.

Velmira sat at his desk and started to put the finishing touches to their final manuscript.

Anomalous Architecture and Displaced Peoples: A Study of the Northern Ruins lay before her, a messy mix of six months of collaboration, all crammed into three hundred pages of careful notes, analysis and theory.

K.M.'s messages have been translated and put into context. We are studying three separate ruin sites to learn about architecture. This is a special kind of magic that is used in Yggdrasil. It is different from other magic because it is organised in a very specific way. This is about how people who have been forced to leave their homes end up in this world. Warnings about demons who hunt anomalies.

What Aldric left behind. Their shared work. This proves that both of them existed and mattered.

The document needed to be properly bound to make sure it would last for decades in the Association's archives. Aldric had insisted on this detail, planning ahead even as his body failed. "If we're going to change minds," he'd said, "we need to show something that looks permanent and official. It's not just random papers that can be thrown away."

Velmira needed specific materials for her work: ink made with ground moonstone and silver to preserve books, treated leather for the binding, and thread that would not decay. All available in Waal's market district, from craftsmen who served the Association's archival needs.

She had been avoiding the market. Avoiding people. Avoiding the vibrant, living city that continued its routines despite Aldric's absence.

But the work demanded it.

Velmira put on her travelling cloak, moved her hood down so that it covered her face, and went out into the busy street of Waal in the afternoon.

The market hit her senses straight away.

People were squashed together. There were sellers trying to sell things, people trying to get good deals, and kids running around in the middle of all the people. There's the smell of bread straight from the oven, meat being cooked on a barbecue, spices, sweat and animals. Voices all talking at once and no one can understand what is being said.

Life. Life can feel overwhelming, chaotic and full of everything at once.

Velmira moved through it as if she were a ghost. Her hood covered her face, and her body language made it clear that she wanted to be left alone. People gave her space, as if they could sense something was wrong, even if they couldn't explain it.

She found the scribe's shop tucked between a bakery and a weaver's stall. It was a small store with quality parchment displayed in the window. Inside, an old man with the stains of ink on his fingers looked up from his work.

"Can I help you, miss?"

"I need something called preservation ink. The kind with ground moonstone and silver." Her voice sounded flat and mechanical. "Also treated leather for binding. And enchanted thread."

The writer's eyebrows went up. "Expensive materials. Are you doing archival work?"

"A manuscript for the Continental Magic Association. It needs to last."

"Ah." He understood. "You want it to last for centuries, not just decades. That'll cost you."

"I have money."

She paid with Yggdrasil silver, which the scribe examined closely. Then she waited while he gathered the materials. Through the shop window, she could see the market, which was busy and lively. A couple walked past, holding hands and laughing at a private joke. A family argued over which apples looked best.

Normal people. Living normal lives. They were connected to each other in ways she didn't fully understand.

Aldric had been her connection. Her anchor. And now that was gone, separated by time, biology and the basic difference between being mortal and being immortal.

"Here you are." The scribe set wrapped packages on the counter. "Everything you need. It will take a few days for the ink to dry, but it will last for three hundred years. If you store it correctly, it could last longer.

"Thank you."

She took the packages and left, quickly returning to the boarding house to escape the busy market. She went back to the quiet room of Aldric's.

The binding work would take days. Each page is carefully and meticulously worked on, and is then bound with precision. It gave her something to focus on. Something other than the empty feeling where friendship used to be.

She worked mechanically. Applied ink. The pages are pressed. It has a stitched binding. The manuscript gradually changed from a pile of loose papers into a proper book—heavy with authority and permanence.

At night, she hunted. The killings were quick, joyless and purely practical. Find prey, drain it, bury the evidence. The hunger was just another thing that had to be done to survive. She felt nothing during the act anymore. There is no guilt or satisfaction, just a feeling of being empty.

Adaptation or corruption? She didn't care about the difference any more.

She felt more lonely than she had ever felt before. It was worse than her first days in this world, because then she'd had hope of finding connection. Now she knew exactly what she was missing, knew how much it felt like, and felt its weight constantly.

The days all blended together. Work. Hunt. Sleep that wasn't really sleep. Repeat.

By the end of the week, the manuscript was finished. It was a beautiful, professional-looking book that would have made Aldric proud. She held it carefully, feeling how heavy it was. This was what he was remembered for. This was proof that he had been important.

Now she just had to get the Continental Magic Association to accept it.

But first, she had to complete one final task: visit the third ruin site. The last place on Aldric's map, the one they'd never reached because he got sick. If there were more messages, she needed to document them before presenting the research.

It would mean travelling alone. Times when I would go hiking alone in the countryside. But that was fine. She was good at being alone now.

She packed supplies she didn't need—she had become used to maintaining the illusion of being human—and checked Aldric's maps one final time. The third site was northeast, in remote highlands where mist clung to valleys and old forests grew thick.

It takes three days to travel there. Maybe four if the ground was hard to cross.

Velmira left at sunrise and told Gerda she would be away for a week. The landlady just nodded, didn't ask any questions. Maybe she thought that asking questions wouldn't get honest answers. Maybe she just didn't care.

The road stretched ahead, empty and grey.

***

The Highlands were exactly as miserable as expected.

It was cold and damp, and felt like the cold was getting into your bones. The mist here never fully lifted – it just moved from really thick to not so thick, which meant that she could only see a few dozen feet in front of her. Old trees appeared out of the fog, looking like giants. Their branches were bent and knotted.

Velmira had been travelling for two days, following Aldric's maps and using her vampire senses. The third site of ruins should be close now, somewhere in these valleys.

She stopped on a ridge and looked at the map. Below, the mist filled the valley, looking like a sea of grey. Visibility was—

The [Sentinel Ring] pulsed.

She kept it after the Association had finished their analysis, saying it was part of her research equipment. Helga hadn't argued—the ring was interesting but not valuable enough to confiscate. It's just another artefact from the ruins.

Now it was warning me. Danger detection activating, responding to—

Velmira's vampiric senses caught it a heartbeat later.

Mana. It was massive, overwhelming and wrong in ways that made her instincts scream. It wasn't a sudden burst of energy — it was a steady, scary level of power that was much stronger than anything she had experienced since she arrived in this world.

And it was close. Maybe two miles away, deeper in the valley.

She should run. Should retreat immediately. She didn't want to meet anything that powerful.

But beneath the strong mana signature, she detected something else. Something familiar.

Combat. High-level spells being exchanged. The sharp, precise signatures of offensive magic.

And underneath that, a mana signature that felt... structured. Controlled. It's ancient but not evil.

Is it Frieren?

Velmira moved quickly, as a vampire would, down the ridge and into the misty valley. Toward the sound of battle. Towards any threat that was strong enough to make the Sentinel Ring make loud noises and show warnings.

It's heading for a potential disaster.

But also towards the first other immortal she'd encountered since Aldric died. Someone who might understand. Someone who had lived through hundreds of years of sadness and still kept going.

She ran even faster.

***

The devastation appeared through the mist like something from a nightmare.

Trees turned into gold. Rocks into gold. The ground itself changed into a shiny, colourless metal that caught the dim light and reflected it back in a yellow that was almost white.

The Golden Land.

Velmira had heard rumours in Waal—small stories told in whispers about a demon trapped in the mountains that had turned a whole city into gold. But rumours were another matter. Seeing it was a whole other thing.

A huge area of forest has disappeared. They were replaced by golden statues of what they had been. It is both beautiful and scary.

And in the middle of this golden mess, people moved.

Frieren—Velmira recognised her straight away, based on what she had heard about her. She had white hair and pointed ears, and she held a mage's staff. She looked very cold and analytical, even though the situation was desperate.

Next to her, a young woman with dark hair is casting [Zoltraak] very quickly. A young man is holding an axe and trying to get closer to their opponent.

Their opponent.

Velmira stopped breathing.

The demon stood calmly in the centre of the Golden Land. It had long red hair, curved horns that caught the light, and blue eyes heavy with exhaustion. He wore dark green clothes and carried a coat that looked like fabric but was actually a golden weapon.

Macht. Macht of the Golden Land. One of the Seven Sages of Destruction.

Even at this distance, Velmira could feel his power—vast, ancient, overwhelming. Not aggressive or malevolent, just... there. Existing with the same casual enormity as a mountain or ocean.

Level 90. Maybe higher.

And he was toying with Frieren's party.

The girl with dark hair – it was probably Fern – fired another [Zoltraak] barrage. Ten blasts of magic that can destroy a building.

Macht lifted his coat, changed it into gold in a flash, and the spells just slid off the material that could not be destroyed. He didn't even look upset.

The warrior, Stark, tried to get the better of his opponent by moving quickly and working together. But the ground under his feet started to turn gold, forcing him to jump or risk being changed into a gold statue.

Frieren was casting a complicated, multi-layered defensive spell to protect her companions while she studied her opponent. But even from here, Velmira could see that she was struggling.

They were losing. It will happen, but not any time soon. Macht wasn't using all his power—he was just defending himself against their attacks very easily, like an adult fighting children.

Velmira looked at the situation in a calm and logical way.

Macht's power level: Overwhelming. His [Diagoldze] curse: Imperceptible, unstoppable, could kill her instantly if he touched her. His combat experience: Centuries of battle against the continent's best mages.

Smart choice: Retreat. And leave as quickly as possible. This wasn't her fight. She didn't care about Frieren's survival, and she didn't have to risk herself.

But—

Frieren was immortal like her. This elf had lived for over a thousand years and had seen many people die. She chose to travel with humans, to fight with them and protect them, even though she knew she would live longer than they would.

Just like Aldric had asked Velmira to do. To not become isolated. To stay connected.

And Macht—level 90 or not—was about to kill three people. This includes another immortal who might be the only one in the world who would truly understand what Velmira was going through.

She couldn't let that happen.

Velmira moved to the edge of the Golden Land, her eyes tracking Macht's movements. He was raising his hand, and golden mana was gathering into what looked like a spell that changed things in a large area. They are getting ready to turn a huge part of the forest – including the part where Frieren and his group are – into gold at the same time.

There is no time to think. There is no time to plan.

She cast.

"[World-Warping Barrier]!"

An eighth-tier spell. In Yggdrasil, it had been a support tool that created a localised distortion in space to redirect enemy attacks. Here, she put all her energy into it, creating a distorted version of reality around Macht.

The spell activated.

Space was distorted. It's not a big change, just a little bit of distortion, like looking through glass that's been bent. But that was enough.

Macht's transmutation spell fired—a golden wave of curse magic meant to consume everything in a forty-foot radius.

The [World-Warping Barrier] caught it, bent it, redirected it harmlessly skyward. The golden wave shot into the air, turning into a mist before it dissipated.

Silence fell across the battlefield.

Frieren froze mid-cast, her eyes wide with shock. Fern's next [Zoltraak] spell fizzled out as she stared. Stark actually stumbled, his attention torn from the fight.

And Macht—

The demon turned slowly, his exhausted blue eyes fixing on the treeline where Velmira stood. The bored expression on his face disappeared and was replaced by something else.

Interest. It's a genuine and dangerous interest.

'Well,', Macht said, his voice clearly heard over the quiet battlefield. "This is unexpected."

He took a step towards her, and the ground under his foot turned to gold. His coat shifted, becoming a huge golden sword.

"You're strange," he continued, his eyes looking at her in a strange way. "Your mana signature is not natural. It's like those ruins that are spread across the highlands. Like the magic that should not exist here."

Frieren stepped in between Macht and Velmira, with her staff raised ready to defend herself.

"Who are you?" she asked.

But Macht ignored the elf. He was completely focused on Velmira. This was the first thing that had genuinely interested him in what had probably been decades.

"Show me more," Macht said, and his cold, analytical smile spread across his face. "Show me what else that foreign magic can do."

He lifted his golden sword.

And attacked.

End of Chapter 11