FRIH: Chapter 18

She sighed; the answer was obvious.

"I'm sorry you spent so much," she whispered. "We were just buying food…"

It was impossible not to feel guilty. The amount of money spent, the extravagance of it, weighed on her. She had no need for such things. Magic was her focus, yes, but these tools were relics, old beyond measure, not something she'd ever expected to hold in her hands. The mere thought of Ronan spending such a sum on them seemed wrong. She wasn't accustomed to wealth—certainly not like this. Her focus was always on simplicity, on the basics of survival, on magic that required neither luxury nor extravagant expense. So why had he done it?

"Don't apologize; it's a small amount," Ronan said easily, smiling.

His words were gentle, dismissive almost, as if the matter didn't concern him in the least. His tone held a lightness that contrasted sharply with her own heavy thoughts. Six thousand gold coins for thirteen-hundred-year-old artifacts was a bargain, especially since they were mage tools. A thirteen hundred years old artifact was incredibly valuable. She didn't need to know much history to understand that. The artifacts Ronan had purchased were the kind of relics that most scholars would dream of studying, the kind of treasures that shaped entire epochs. But even so, the amount seemed absurd.

Too bad this wasn't the modern world; with Wind Spirit Moon Shadow, no artifact would escape him. He wouldn't let outsiders have them. The thought crossed his mind for a moment, but Ronan quickly dismissed it, a wry smile tugging at the corner of his lips. Even now, he wasn't focused on ownership. The artifacts were tools for a purpose—his purpose. What mattered was what he could do with them, how they could be used to advance his knowledge or his goals. But it wasn't the objects themselves that brought him satisfaction. It was the action. The moment. The now.

"Six… thousand?"

Frieren's eyes widened. She was astonished by the exorbitant sum. Had he made a mistake? Six hundred, not six thousand? The idea felt impossible. Six thousand gold coins was more than an entire village would earn in a year, more than an entire family would see in multiple lifetimes. The sum was enormous, a number so far beyond reason that it felt almost fantastical.

Adventurers were high earners, making two or three gold coins a month at most. Six thousand was three thousand times their monthly income – three thousand months, or two hundred and fifty years. That was the kind of wealth that could change a family's fortune for generations. It was unthinkable. Ronan had spent what an adventurer would earn in several lifetimes. The enormity of the transaction left her speechless. Even if Frieren didn't care about money—her life had never been about wealth—it was hard to ignore the practical absurdity of it all. Money was just a tool to her, a means to acquire what was necessary. But this wasn't necessary. It was… indulgent. Lavish.

A question formed in her mind:

—How much money does Ronan have?

The more she thought about it, the more the question gnawed at her. Six thousand gold coins meant at least thirty thousand. And judging by his relaxed, almost careless attitude about the whole situation, it was probably over a hundred thousand. Ronan had dropped such an amount like it was nothing—like it was change, barely worth a second thought.

Why was a Hero so wealthy? Was he a prince? Or did he come from some forgotten line of nobility? Maybe he had inherited riches beyond imagining. The thought lingered for a moment, and with it came a slew of assumptions about Ronan's past—a life of opulence, of influence, of command. What kind of person was he, really? What did he want with all of this? Frieren could never fully understand, not when he made it all seem so effortless. It was as if he had simply walked into this world and claimed it for his own, without the usual constraints or struggles that others had to face.

It wasn't surprising she was overthinking; Ronan's attitude towards money was different. He didn't treat it like a scarce resource, something to be hoarded. To him, it was just a tool. A means, not an end. And that was precisely what confused her. She was used to the scarcity of resources, to the careful allocation of what little one had. Money wasn't just money; it was survival, it was security. To him, it was like air—unremarkable, almost invisible, something that came and went without causing much of a stir.

She imagined him having lived a life of luxury.

But was that the truth? She wasn't sure anymore. Ronan was a mystery to her. Every time she thought she had him figured out, there was something that slipped through her understanding. His actions were unpredictable, his motives complex. He was so different from the way she'd imagined heroes—proud, noble, commanding. Ronan was none of that. He was casual, relaxed, disarming.

Frieren looked at Ronan, her attitude subtly changing. If he was a prince, she couldn't be casual. If she angered him, even the elder couldn't help.

The thoughts spun in her mind like a whirlwind. She could imagine the kind of power someone with wealth and influence like that could wield. It made her feel small, insignificant. It made her wonder if she was more naïve than she'd realized. She had always thought of herself as someone detached from such trivial matters. But now, standing next to Ronan, with all his ease and confidence, she felt as though there was so much she didn't know. So much she could never understand.

"What are you thinking, Frieren?" Ronan chuckled, interrupting her thoughts. His voice was light, teasing even, as though he could sense the turmoil brewing within her. "It's done; whether it's worth it is irrelevant. I think it's worth it; it makes me happy. And it's important that you're happy. It would be wasted on someone who doesn't appreciate it. Accept them."

His words were simple, almost disarming in their sincerity. Ronan wasn't concerned with value in the way that Frieren had been. To him, this wasn't about wealth or status—it was about the moment, the gesture. He wasn't buying her affection. He wasn't trying to prove anything. He was simply trying to make her happy in his own way, without expecting anything in return.

And suddenly, the weight of it all—the gold, the tools, the debt—began to lift, if only slightly. Frieren couldn't fully reconcile with what he had done, but she felt the sincerity in his voice. She wasn't sure what to say, but the unease she had felt earlier began to melt away, replaced by something warmer, more understanding. Ronan wasn't trying to control her. He was just trying to share something he thought would bring her joy.

It was a strange feeling, one she wasn't sure she knew how to navigate. But for now, she would accept it.

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