Frieren watched as the screen flashed images of several imposing figures, while the narration continued in her ears: "The lost grace, returned once more to the Tarnished, who were scorned. Journey beyond the fog, to the Lands Between, and seek the Elden Ring."
"—Become the Elden Lord."
Who are you? And who are you? Then... who am I supposed to be? The familiar feeling of guided mystery returned, and Frieren, recalling countless enigmatic opening cutscenes, breathed a sigh of relief. It was the standard narrative technique: introduce the major players upfront—likely her future key enemies or allies. She mentally noted their names and guessed her task would involve the shattered Elden Ring.
Before the silver-haired elf lay a gloomy chapel. Her first instinct was to crouch, hugging the wall as she scanned the ceiling and every corner. Caution was essential; who knew what enemies might lurk in some hidden nook or cranny. Dying in the game meant respawning, yes, but it hurt, and you lost resources.
Once sure it was safe, Frieren took a deep breath. The air smelled of decay. Tapping a floor tile revealed its mottled texture; it felt ancient, possibly older than herself. The realism was, as always, uncanny—so real it constantly made her wonder if her "Game Magic" was spatial, actually teleporting her somewhere, rather than merely hallucinatory.
Yet, evidence argued against that suspicion: the interface. With a mere thought, she could open a screen visible only to her. Her other games were greyed out and inaccessible, perhaps because she'd fully completed them—out with the old, in with the new. This current screen showed her general status, split into two panels. One was her base character: "Frieren, Elf Race," reflecting her real-world stats within the game. The second was her default Elden Ring character: Astrologer, the mage class.
She also sensed that her characters from previous game worlds were in a sealed state, temporarily unusable. Forcing them might be risky; better to play it safe. No matter. Her own inherent abilities combined with the Astrologer class would suffice. Her goal: master the ways of the mage.
Frieren had a rule for herself: in every new game, strive to push the corresponding character class to its absolute limit. This yielded the greatest benefits upon returning to reality. Her starting equipment, aside from the staff she already possessed in reality, was identical to the game's default. Her status check seemed complete. Time to move out.
Ahead lay a glowing message: "Long live the Elden Ring!" accompanied by a white phantom striking a praising pose. Seeing this familiar, almost comical display, the corners of her mouth turned up slightly, easing some of her apprehension about the unfamiliar surroundings.
A message left by a fellow traveler from some unknown time.
Sometimes, she could even interact with them in arenas or during co-op sessions, chatting and exchanging information about their different backgrounds. Of course, more detailed interaction required MODs, which were almost always random and currently unavailable.
Once, Frieren had randomly triggered a "Wind Spirit Moon Shadow" MOD that granted one-hit kills, making her temporarily invincible. Unfortunately, it was fleeting. These MODs activated unpredictably and had expiration dates—rare opportunities not worth actively seeking right now.
After another quick check, she crept forward a few steps and saw a corpse dressed in the white garb of a maiden. On the ground nearby lay another message: "Even if the guidance is shattered, please, become the Elden Lord."
This was the second reminder since the opening cutscene that she was meant to become a Lord. Recalling her past roles as an Ashen One and a Hunter, she felt a flicker of warmth. Finally, a loftier goal, something that felt... respected.
"...So, you were meant to be my guide, my partner? A pity fate decreed otherwise. Rest in peace."
Solemnly, she performed a simple burial rite for the maiden. Though they were strangers, this person had clearly held goodwill towards the Tarnished, a sentiment that stirred even the long-lived heart of the elf.
"Farewell, then."
Having done this, Frieren pushed open the chapel's main doors. Before her stretched a desolate landscape – that familiar scent of ruin returned, making the place feel like a graveyard. For some reason, graveyards appeared with startling frequency in these games. She was no longer afraid, merely accustomed to it.
Across a suspended bridge lay an open area dotted with statues. Wait, is it really empty? The silver-haired girl raised her small shield with her left hand, gripping her staff tightly in her right, ready for battle.
Her gaming experiences were harsh training. She was the type of mage who didn't need a front line, capable of both offense and defense, advancing and retreating with ease. It made sense; reality rarely offered well-coordinated teams. Self-reliance was best, and decades of relentless honing had made Frieren more than capable of standing alone.
Crash!
Suddenly, a black-robed monstrosity covered in grafted limbs plummeted from above. Wielding a sword and shield, it roared aggressively at the intruder.
"You look somewhat challenging," Frieren murmured. Simultaneously, text appeared at the bottom of her vision: Grafted Scion, accompanied by a rather long health bar. Given its location, it was likely a tutorial boss, but still not to be underestimated.
It lunged forward abruptly, its sword flashing in a cold horizontal sweep—but it struck only air. Frieren dodged the attack with a nimble leap, a touch of elegance in her effortless movement. She immediately followed up with a Glintstone Pebble, striking the enemy. As expected, its health bar registered a minuscule change.
"Haha!" The Grafted Scion seemed to laugh, mocking the weak attack that couldn't even make it flinch.
"True enough," Frieren conceded. "Besides, killing you and using the souls to strengthen the Astrologer character works just fine. I'm still better with my own magic, after all."
Gripping her staff with both hands, her body began to glow. In an instant, her aura shifted, becoming immensely powerful, radiating pressure.
"Attack Magic—"
Her calm voice accompanied a beam of incandescent white light that effortlessly pierced the target. The monster vanished into dust before it could even utter a cry, never understanding why its opponent had suddenly become so overwhelmingly strong.
It couldn't know that regardless of the game character she inhabited, Frieren's own base stats remained foundational. She possessed this level of power inherently. Her Attack Magic drew inspiration from the mainstream offensive spells of the Demon Clan, prioritizing speed, precision, and penetration over flashy displays—true strength lay in instant casting that defied reaction. The Grafted Scion, it turned out, was no match for a battle-hardened player.
"Better check again." Even with the enemy defeated, she meticulously scanned the area. Finding nothing amiss, she proceeded, only to have the ground beneath her crumble after just a few steps. The sudden weightlessness caught her off guard as she plummeted downwards.
"I really need to develop flight magic soon," she thought. She'd heard demons could fly; perhaps she simply hadn't fought enough of them. Venturing out of the elf village more often was necessary for her magic to progress. Still, she wasn't without ways to handle falls. Like now—firing a powerful magic blast straight down towards the bottom of the chasm.
Boom!
Using the recoil, Frieren landed steadily on her feet. The instant her boots touched the ground, she assumed a ready stance. Confined, low areas like this were notorious for ambushes; getting surrounded would be trouble.
Not far away, a cloaked girl approached, mounted on a frightened... peculiar steed? The creature was trembling. As a beast chosen to serve a potential Lord, it could perceive more than most – several distinct, immense powers converged within this silver-haired, pointed-eared girl, powers capable of creating or destroying worlds.
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