“The sign says we should be approaching Whitewood soon, Miss Frieren.” Fern said, sweeping her long purple hair back over her shoulder as she straightened her back. The sign she had been reading from was neglected and slumped over, the only man-made mark on an overgrown sideroad.

“Good, we should arrive before nightfall then.” the eternally youthful elf mage nodded, stepping forward onto a road that to Fern looked like it would lead into nothing but bushes.

“Are you sure we shouldn’t have taken the main road?” Fern politely hid her skepticism, one hand already on her dress in anticipation of once again trying and failing to avoid getting the hem getting covered in grime.

“The last time I was here this was the main road.” Frieren answered, Fern hiding a sigh. “Besides, this will save us a day or two. You did say you wanted to sleep in a real bed for once, didn’t you?”

“I did, but…” Fern didn’t really have a comeback that didn’t involve her master’s stubborn refusal to modernise their travel routes. Instead, she changed the subject. “This is quite a detour we’re making, isn’t it? Is this a faster way to get to the capital too?”



“No, it’ll add a week or three to our trip, actually.” Frieren said with her typical lack of urgency. “I’ve been meaning to stop here for quite some time. There’s something very important here.”

“What’s that?” Fern asked.

“Pie.”



“Pie? Not a spell?” Fern repeated slightly incredulously.

“That’s right, pie. Haven’t you heard, Fern? Whitewood’s traditional pie is famous across the continent. They used to say that one taste of their pies would spoil you on sweets for the rest of your life. I’ve tried it before with Himmel and the others, back when this was part of the main road.”

“I see.” Fern had never even heard of this village before, let alone their pastries. “And was it really that good?”

“Not really. Not life-changingly good, anyway.” Frieren said casually. “But I must admit I’ve had something of a craving for it ever since.”

Frieren headed down the beaten path, Fern supposing that as far as her teacher’s whims went, wanting some pie was one of the less egregious ones. She could enter, eat something pleasant, and leave without spending half a year doing menial chores or deciphering an ancient wizard’s poor handwriting. And to be honest, Fern felt that she could really go for some pie right now.

Surprisingly, or perhaps unsurprisingly Fern thought, when they reached the sleepy village there was no pie to be found, nor even any pastries, sweets, or confectionaries of any kind. The way Frieren had hyped it up Fern had expected the smell of sugar to waft throughout the village, but as it were it was a fairly normal town who declared themselves to be known for making good horseshoes, not something as indulgent and frivolous as pie. They didn’t even have a proper bakery, at least not one that devoted itself to the art of patissiere. As Frieren somewhat embarrassingly interrogated every townsperson in sight in search of pie she was offered meat pie and shepherd’s pie, but not the tantalising fruit pie she craved. Further dismay was had when the one bakery in town was owned by a gruff middle-aged man who gave them a talking to about how bread was the fuel that kept the town running and that he didn’t have time for sweets and indulgences, making it firmly a dead end. It seemed that whatever the town had been known for a hundred years ago, the art had been quietly forgotten.

Eventually as the two narrowed down their questioning from “where might one find pie” and “which of you makes pie” to seeking any family lineages of bakers, an elderly man helpfully directed the two to the home of Sally, a young housewife whose grandfather had been a well known baker.

“Yep, that sounds like old grandad alright.” Sally said, a woman in her early twenties with short brown hair and a baby cradled in her arms while they chatted. “In fact, before I moved in with my husband I used to live with my parents in his bakery! A half-bakery anyway. I know exactly what you’re talking about, he used to make the best pie in the world! Problem is, my parents were never interested in taking up the family trade, so right now his old oven is just gathering dust. Sorry if it’s disappointing for a hero like you to have come all the way out to our little old town and go home hungry.”

“You wouldn’t happen to have any old family recipes lying around, would you? A cookbook, perhaps?” Frieren asked intently.

“Unfortunately not.” Sally sighed, gently rocking her baby. “The old man never wrote anything down, and I was too young to ask. Said the best way to lead was by example, but he passed away before he could teach me. Meanwhile, my mother couldn’t stand sugar, so she won’t be any help. I can take you to his house, but I don’t think you’ll find anything.”

“That’s quite alright, thank you for your help.” Frieren said politely. “Alright Fern, we have our starting point.”



“What starting point? She just said the recipe died with him.” Fern said with slight exasperation in her voice. Her master truly never knew when to give up.

“If it was passed down as an oral tradition and was so famous in its time, there’s a chance that it was shared it with somebody else, or they passed it down without knowing.” Frieren reasoned. “Therefore, we just need to try every family recipe for fruit pie in the town.”

“Wow, that’s smart thinking!” Sally cheerfully complimented her, while Fern’s face fell.

“Even if you do find it, how will you even recognise it? It’s been a hundred years, after all.” Fern fought back.”

“I can remember the taste like it was just yesterday. I’ll know.” Frieren said with pure confidence, and that was that.

–

“So? How’d it go?” asked Sally as Frieren waddled into her home a week later, the kind young woman happy to house the two in what would eventually become her children’s bedroom for the duration of their stay.

“Fruitless.” Fern frowned in place of Frieren, who clutched her distended stomach, visibly stuffed with so many pies and pastries she had lost count. Word that the legendary hero Frieren was in urgent need of pie had spread throughout the otherwise uneventful town, and every housewife and amateur baker threw their hat into the ring, even the stubborn old man after enough peer pressure. Although Frieren had her taste of every old family recipe, new experimentation, and a handful from commonly produced cookbooks, every slice was accompanied by a gentle apology that it was good, but not right.

“None were even close. As I expected, this is no ordinary pie.” Frieren said slowly, loosening her belt. Fern was glad that her own dress was a bit looser, as she herself had indulged perhaps a bit too much on the leftovers. Still, once Frieren gave up, she was confident that she’d burn the excess calories within a day or two of walking. However, deep down she knew that it would never be that simple, and Frieren confirmed it as soon as she opened her mouth again.

“Does your grandfather’s oven still work?”



“Hmm… With a little cleaning, I don’t see why not.” Sally said. “Thinking of taking a shot yourself, Miss Frieren?”

“Since it seems I have no other choice than to make it myself.” Frieren said, and Fern was quick to be incredulous.

“Miss Frieren, I’m sure you’re already aware, but I do all of the cooking for us. I’ve always done the cooking for us.” Fern stressed. “Do you know even the slightest thing about baking?”



“No, but how hard can it possibly be?” Frieren showed boundless optimism as always. “It’s simply a matter of using the correct ratios at the correct temperature for the correct amount of time. And I’ll be needing a taste tester, too.”

“Then as soon as I’ve put the baby to sleep, I’ll come over and help sweep up! I don’t suppose you’re hiding any secret elf recipes, are you?” Sally said enthusiastically.

“There’s no such thing. Well, maybe a few, but they all involve vegetables…”

Fern supposed that at least the town was pleasant and the weather was nice if they were going to be stuck here for a while…

–

Frieren’s first few weeks of amateur baking were, as Fern had expected, dreadful. Nearly everything came out of the oven horribly charred, no matter how patiently Fern tried to time things or explain to Frieren that she couldn’t simply increase the intensify of the flames and heat of the oven and expect things to be ready faster. After the first month however, Frieren’s pies began to go from just barely edible to something resembling pleasant, as did her ventures into other pastries and baked goods. Fern had advised her that she couldn’t just make the same thing over and over and expect to reach the level of mastery as whoever had served her at the time, something that may have proven to be a mistake as it resulted in the total number of pie iterations slowly dropping.

Fern expected Frieren to get sick of eating her own cooking day after day, but even as the months dragged on she didn’t hear a single complaint out of Frieren other than comments that she had screwed something up or needed to improve this or that the next time. And of course, Fern felt that perfectly good food shouldn’t go to waste, and tended to finish whatever Frieren started, eating just as much as she did in the end.

At first, Fern didn’t mind. They would still do their regular magic training, and it wasn’t like Fern was in any urgent need to go anywhere. She was simply following Frieren on her travels, and her obsessions and fixations typically meant that they would grind to a halt for weeks or months. It wasn’t the first time, and she highly doubted that it would be the last. However, after six months of nothing but baking, Fern was starting to feel like she was at the end of her limit for an indulgence over pie of all things.

Unsurprisingly, that day came when Fern was washing her face in the mirror one morning and noticed that there were water droplets dripping down the curve of what was a visible second chin. The roundness of her cheeks could no longer be passed off as leftover baby fat, and although she could pass off the growth of her chest as merely lingering puberty, she suddenly became acutely aware that she had a pot belly sticking out far enough to see past her generous bust. Even on her loose dress you could see it pushing through, and the silhouette of her ever-broadening hips was starting to make itself known.

“Miss Frieren, don’t you think that enough is enough?” She couldn’t help but sound flustered as she approached her chubby master. She wore her black coat even though they were indoors, eager to hide her burgeoning curves.

“You’re right, there’s too much sugar in this batch. The taste isn’t fruity enough.” Frieren nodded, her own second chin beginning to form below cherubic cheeks. Although her chest was largely unscathed by the calories she accumulated, Frieren was proving to be turning distinctly pear-shaped, curving her skirt as you could see her thighs were becoming rather chunky beneath it. Her belt had been loosened to its lowest notch, and yet was still being pressed into by her own gut.

Although Fern would never willingly admit it, the two were getting very obviously fat, and it was time to intervene. She had hoped that Frieren would point it out first, but she seemed to either not notice or not care.

“I mean that’s enough pie, and enough cake, and enough everything! This is too much, Miss Frieren! How long are you going to spend on this!?” Fern let out her frustration, knowing that her master’s expression wouldn’t so much as twist.

“As long as it takes. I think I’m starting to make progress. Sally says you’re getting pretty good at this too.” Frieren said.

“May I at least ask what’s the point of all of this? It can’t be as simple as wanting another taste.” Fern suspected she knew the answer, but wanted to hear it from her master’s mouth.



Frieren paused, then eventually spoke.

“When I travelled through here with Himmel, he made us take almost a month out of our intended route to come through here, and only got away with it because it was at the time still part of the main road.” Frieren explained. “He insisted that there was something vital to our quest here, which turned out to be their pie. Eisen wasn’t happy about it, but Heiter admitted he knew about it the whole time and also wanted to try it, so he got away with it. It might have been a mistake, because he spent the whole rest of the journey complaining that it was the best pie he’d ever have and nothing would ever compare. He kept swearing that as soon as we’d defeated the Demon King, he was going to go right back and have another.”

Fern was silent. As expected, it was something like this.

“Before his death Himmel mentioned to me that he’d never had a chance to try it again. The one time he’d had the opportunity to try it hadn’t been available. They’d had a bad harvest, and they couldn’t spare the ingredients for it. And even if they could have, Himmel would have refused. He said that I’d have to enjoy it for him, since I could go whenever I liked. Besides, if it’s so good, it’s a waste if nobody else gets to have it, don’t you think?”

Fern took a deep breath, then sighed. She knew she couldn’t win against this kind of sentimentality, even if she knew better.

“You win, Miss Frieren.” Fern admitted defeat. “But we’re leaving as soon as you’ve nailed down that flavour, okay?”

“Don’t worry, I think I’m truly starting to understand the art of baking. I’m sure I’ll have it finished any day now…”

–

“How goes the baking, Fern? Think Miss Frieren is getting any closer?” asked Sally, her adorable toddler clinging to her side as the two passed each other by coincidence at the farmer’s market.

“We’re still working on it.” Fern stated with the indifference of somebody who had almost given up on actually seeing the end result, and was simply in it for the long haul. She had once proposed postponing it and simply trying later as they travelled, but Frieren was convinced that the local ingredients were vital, and so they were stuck in place. “By the way, would you like yesterday’s pie? Frieren thought that increasing the volume might help, and we’ve got too much.”

“Don’t mind if I do!” Sally happily helped herself to the bag Fern had been trying to get rid of. Sally had turned into somewhat of a receptacle for any baked goods the two of them weren’t able to finish for one reason or another, and her figure was starting to get quite heavy as a result. Sally had been quite svelte despite her motherhood, but had gained quite the motherly figure since, with a blossoming bosom and hips that demanded serious space when squeezing her way through a crowd. While Fern and Frieren hid their bulging biceps with baggy sleeves, Sally’s short sleeves showed off a plumpness that was perfect for hugs. While Fern felt guilty about it, she couldn’t help but feel like it looked good on her, and looking at her midsection felt like she would have reached such a stage eventually, she had just helped her get there a little faster. While it would have been easy to mistake for a mere pot belly like her purple-haired friend, Sally was heavy with her second child, and Fern had no doubt that she’d be in town to see her come into the world.

Fern made her way through town, offering polite greetings and good mornings to the many townspeople who had come to see her as one of their own now that she had been in town for over a year and a half. They had watched her transform from a skinny young girl into a seriously overweight young woman, who could be seen huffing and puffing just from the walk from the old former bakery to the market and back. Fern’s once loose clothing only made the wobbling, bloated body beneath even more noticeable, with a girthy second chin that squashed when she looked down at the ingredients she bought, and she was the only one unaware of her nearly drooling look as she imagined how they would transform into today’s attempts.

Twice as broad as when she arrived, Fern’s breasts were as big as her head and seemed like the ultimate pillows for any would-be chubby chaser could they get past her polite but somewhat icy exterior. Her fat ass smothered any chair it was placed in as she sat down to devour her breakfast, brunch, lunch, second lunch, supper, dinner, desserts, and any snacks in between. There was a constant sugary scent around her, covering up any sweat from the exertion of somebody who hadn’t exercised since she arrived. The only sign of her once being a traveller was the black coat she wore, which no longer quite matched the woman who wore it. Her black coat once matched the hem of her skirt in length, but while she had continually gone sizes up in her day-to-day white dress, neglecting to do so had resulted in it being hiked up by her hip and ass, now barely making it to the back of her knees. It had seemed unnecessary to replace to the pragmatic-minded mage, and was now threatened with being stuffed at the back of her wardrobe where the unpleasant reminder of her once slim figure could remain figuratively and literally buried.

While her coat was too short, her hair could certainly use a trim, Fern noted as she brushed her long flat bangs out of her eyes. She’d once had it frequently cut to maintain her favourite hairstyle while remaining practical, but without the concern of obscured vision proving fatal in a fight, she often found herself putting it off until sheer length forced her hand. It was much easier to simply sweep her bangs back with the rest of her done-up hair while she was in the kitchen.

“I’m back, Miss Frieren.” Fern called to her master who was as always in the kitchen, currently waiting for her latest pie to bake. While Fern considered her own figure a lost cause, she wondered if Frieren had ever taken her own into account in the first place. While Fern had grown outwards in the forward-facing sense, with a hefty shelf of a gut and volleyball-sized breasts, Frieren had grown out sideways. She was noticeably wider than her disciple, with a relatively slim top half thanks to her chest refusing to grow until the sheer amount of fat piled onto her resulted in two technically large but otherwise unimpressive sagging breasts. Her belly also grew large but didn’t bulge outwards as far as Fern’s, something she was somewhat jealous of as Fern felt it created a more flattering figure overall. But nobody in their right mind would have stated that Frieren was anything less than obese, with an enormous second chin consuming her neck, bulging arms bigger than a bodybuilder’s that dropped and warped as she deftly kneaded dough and threaded patterns in with ease more befitting dainty elvish fingers than the bloated sausages she now worked with. Frieren was sitting on her third chair, the first two giving up the ghost and shattering beneath her mighty hips without so much as an embarrassed excuse from the unperturbed elf.

It was perhaps a good thing that she spent a good chunk of the day sitting, as her truly thick legs with their blobby thighs below muffin tops thicker than any of her pastries, or her extra-large leggings looking like a blanket when removed. Despite all this she stuck to her traditional outfit, albeit stitched to be four or five times its original size by Sally. Her belt had been replaced entirely by a soft sash, the only thing that stopped her gut from hanging out from between her skirt and her shirt.

 “What do you think of this batch?” Fern asked when she was done admiring her flabby figure, putting down her bag of ingredients near her.

“This one won’t be it either.” Frieren gave her most common response, with her most common followup. “But I think I’ve improved the ratio of ingredients this time. This might be good progress…”



Fern didn’t bother with a response, having heard it a hundred times before. She knew that Frieren was completely serious with each failed attempt, and she was making progress. Frieren had gone from utterly incompetent to making the most delicious pastries Fern had ever tasted, and they only got better by the day. Fern couldn’t help but look back to Heiter teaching her proper eating habits as a child, gently lecturing her that she couldn’t just eat her desserts first, or her favourite foods every single day. After leaving her in the care of Frieren this had eventually turned out to be completely untrue, as every day was a rainbow of sugary flavours and unhealthy meals. Even their regular meals had turned unhealthy as the two eventually started spicing them up in order to make them feel like less of a warm-up to their dessert.

“Miss Frieren, there’s something we need to talk about.” Fern announced over lunch as the two dug into Frieren’s latest creation. “I’m glad to hear that things are coming along well, but we’re running rather low on funds. At the rate we’re going, we won’t have any money left to travel with when we’re done.”



Fern worded it diplomatically, but the truth was that their life of overindulgence had simply eventually caught up with them. Ingredients weren’t cheap, after all, and Frieren had only grown more efficient in churning through them.

“Is that so?” Frieren said, licking her lips after another slice.

“You sound unconcerned.” said Fern.



“I figured this would happen eventually. We’ve stayed for a little longer than usual, after all.” Frieren made one of her classic understatements. “I’ve been talking about it with Sally about if we could reopen the bakery. Until now we’ve just been giving away our leftovers, and she said that at this point we should be charging with it. Everybody in town is convinced of our skill, too.”

“That makes sense. I had been considering the same thing myself.” Fern found herself on the same page as her master for once. “But don’t you think that might slow us down? If we’re going to run a bakery I’ll have to be in charge of serving customers, and you’ll have less time to focus on iterating the pie. We’ll have to diversify our menu as more than just practice, after all.”



“I’m sure it can’t be that much work.” Frieren said confidently. “At the rate I’m going, we should be done in a few months at most. There’s no reason to think it’ll be a significant setback…”

—

“The lunch rush is finally over, Miss Frieren.” Fern said, letting out an appreciative sigh as she sat down next to her master who was recovering from the demands of a bustling bakery on their sofa. She said next to, but it was a rather generous definition, as when placed hip to hip the two were a significant distance from each other, enough for one or the other to turn nearly sideways if they had tried to lean on the other’s shoulder, which the sleepy Frieren ended up doing, landing on Fern’s now pillow-sized breasts instead. That was simply the reality of the two being morbidly obese, hundreds of pounds overweight and gaining more by the day. The two took up the entire span of a family-sized sofa with just the two of them, unable to squeeze themselves into anything less than oversized armchairs when they wanted to relax individually. Even their beds had needed to be replaced after the two complained about their sides spilling over mattresses made for one.

“By the way, Miss Frieren,” Fern said as she gently shook her awake. “After your break, you need to put more doughnuts on, we’re almost out.”

“But I was going to try another of that pie. I’m getting close, I can feel it.” Frieren said in an unusually pleading voice.

“Doughnuts come first, they’re our biggest seller.” Fern’s chin squashed sternly, having almost consumed her entire neck by this point. Once known for her preference for baggy clothes, it could be said that the entire woman was now baggy after almost four years of living in the village.The two were drowning in fat, out of breath just by walking around their own house, let alone seasoned travellers. Frieren couldn’t fit through the front door without turning herself sideways, and Fern admitted that sometimes her hips got stuck. When she stood at the counter her belly often pressed into it, squashing heavily when she leaned over to take a customer’s money. And when she turned around she gave them a good look of the biggest cake in the bakery, save for Frieren’s, although Fern would argue that she was overall bigger, Frieren was just wider. As her eternal taste tester, Fern ate eve more than Frieren, ravenous and insatiable as long as it had sugar in it, and loathe to let any of their food go to waste at the end of the day. Sally helped too, becoming almost as plump as the two mages-turned-bakers as her condition for helping open and run the bakery was as much free food as she wanted.

“But pie...” Frieren sleepily complained.

 “And Sally asked for a cake for one of her daughters’ friend’s birthday party, that needed to be done in the next hour or two.”

“I’m serious, Fern, I’m sure I’m almost there.” Frieren insisted.

“You said that three months ago.” Fern had long begun to treat the idea of actually completing this mythical pie as a myth itself, something to be sought but never obtained. “And if you really think so, then that’s even more reason to secure funds for our trip.”

Fern knew that Frieren would probably take that seriously, but she herself had little investment in it. Their business was bustling and they had more than enough money to travel if they ever wanted to, but it almost seemed like a waste to leave now after all the building they had done. The bakery had turned out to be a huge time sink, the customers having diverse wants and needs, slowing their pie production down to a crawl compared to pouring day after day into it. As a result they had stayed even longer, and it was only the occasional levitation that reminded the people of the town that the two girls were in fact magic-users and not just magic in the kitchen.

The almost feverish output of delicious food had become something of a point of pride for the town through the sheer enthusiasm of the two, and recently they had been attracting visitors from out of town who had been promised the best pie they would ever taste, purely from word of mouth. Fern didn’t mind, but it kept Frieren eager to eventually complete their ultimate goal. Fern on the other hand had become so invested in the day to day managing of the business that she wondered if they ever needed to finish. Perhaps they could just stay here forever, and settle down like Sally…

“Just one more.” Frieren begged, and Fern finally gave in.

“Fine, but only after that cake is done. If we run out of doughnuts, so be it.”

A few hours later, when Fern was taking the order of the gruff old man at the competing bakery who had eventually admitted to having a massive sweet tooth, she heard loud thudding from down the hallway.

“Is that an earthquake?” The man’s eyes darted around as Fern turned to see Frieren lumbering down the hallway, already out of breath from the sprint as her body heaved and bounced with each step.

“I’ve done it.” She said rather anticlimactically flatly between gasps, Fern clearing her throat awkwardly.

“Done what, Miss Frieren?”



“The pie. It’s complete!”

–

“What do you think, Fern?” Frieren asked cautiously. “I’m certain this is it, this is exactly what I remember.”

“Give me a moment to actually eat it, Miss Frieren. And if you’re certain this is it, then why are you asking me?” Fern said, a slice moments from her lips.

“Because it’ll be a shame if it isn’t better than everything I’ve made before.” Frieren said, Fern pausing for a moment before taking a bite. Immediately, her eyes lit up.

“Thish ish amashing!” Fern said, forgetting her manners with how surprised she was. She hadn’t thought it was impossible to refine the taste any further, but somehow this exact distillation pushed the flavour over the edge into perfection. She gulped it down, then devoured the rest of the slice before following. “You’ve done it, Miss Frieren! There’s no way this isn’t what Himmel had all those years ago!”

“That’s good to hear.” The intensely flabby elf leaned back in her seat with a small smile, sinking into her own bulk, but Fern could tell that by Frieren’s standards she was clearly overjoyed. Fern continued eating, unable to stop herself from wolfing down the rest of the pie, before sighing appreciatively and sinking back in her own chair.

“So, let’s start preparing to leave, shall we?” Frieren suddenly said.

Fern froze.

“Huh?”

–

“So you two are finally leaving, huh? It feels like you’ve been here forever. The whole town is going to miss you!” Sally sniffled, her almost hip length hair reminding Fern of how long the two had been here for. By this point, her being a total butterball was normalised to the point that Fern hardly noticed it. “Are you sure you won’t consider staying? We’re famous because of you two, you know, folks come from all around just for you.”

“It’s really such a waste after all the hard work we’ve done building up that bakery, you know…” Fern mumbled, and was completely ignored.

“Of course. We haven’t been here for that long, anyway.” Frieren said, and Fern rolled her eyes. “We’ll be leaving as soon as I’ve finished recording the recipe and making copies of it. It’d be a shame for it to be forgotten again, after all. And once you have that, anybody will be able to make it.”

“Alright, but make it a whole cookbook! I want all of your recipes. You might be a legendary hero, but to us you’re the best baker in the world!” Sally said, Fern agreeing enthusiastically, eager to delay their departure.  



“I suppose that’s the least we can do.” Frieren smiled gently.

“Too bad they won’t be making any statues of you this time, MIss Frieren.” Fern couldn’t help but jibe.

“That might be a little overkill, although it would be nice to have something to remember your faces by.” Sally chuckled, before clapping her hands. “Oh! I have just the thing! Just indulge me on this one thing, pretty please!”

A few weeks later Frieren had finished writing her cookbook, and a professional painting commissioned by Sally and some of the other townsfolk by a famous painter had been completed.

“What do you think? I think it really captured you two down to the finest details! And you’re so cute!” Sally gushed as Fern tried to avoid her dismay at seeing her and her morbidly obese teacher immortalised in oil paint. Hopefully the next time she was here she’d be a bit skinnier. On the plus side, she doubted anybody would recognise her once she lost the weight.

“A painting can be damaged easily, you should make copies.” Frieren advised, Fern biting her lip.

“And we even wrote the recipe for that pie on the back of the canvas!” Sally sinked. “Now, isn’t it time you two get going, before I try to stop you myself?”



“Agreed. Let’s get a move on, Fern.” Frieren said, and the two bade their farewells on the way past teary crowds on the way to the road out of the city. Thankfully, Fern thought, at least this time the road was properly maintained.

“By the way, Miss Frieren…” Fern asked as the two lumbered and waddled their way down the road. “How long do you think it’ll take us to lose all this weight?”

“Not very long.” Frieren said confidently. “I can’t see it taking more than five years to be back to normal if we diet properly.”

“...of course, Miss Frieren.” Fern hung her head. “Also…”

Fern turned her head back, still able to see the city gates in sight. Even with that in mind, her legs seemed to feel like lead and she could tell through Frieren’s expressionless face that her own legs were on the verge of giving out. She wondered if it wasn’t too late to change their mind on this and settle back into their comfortable bakery.

“...don’t you think now’s a good time to break and have lunch?”



“I was just thinking the same thing. I’m starving…”