Fifteen hours—neither too long nor too short.
For someone frail, that might just be the length of a single night's sleep.
But for Scaramouche, it was unbearable.
Every second dragged on like an eternity. His anticipation and excitement only grew sharper with each tick of the clock. If the wait went on any longer, he felt as though he might go mad from suffocation.
He wanted nothing more than to press a blade to the throats of the workers and force them to hurry.
But he knew he couldn't.
The closer he drew to becoming a god, the calmer he needed to be. If his impatience led to the slightest mistake in constructing his "divine body"… a single flaw, however minor, was absolutely unacceptable. If his rebirth carried even the tiniest imperfection, he would never forgive himself.
"Do your work properly."
His voice was cold, heavy with menace, carrying the promise of death for anyone who faltered.
Everyone shuddered beneath his gaze, hastening their hands with extra care.
He was a Fatui Harbinger.
The Harbingers already had a reputation steeped in blood. Someone like Dottore, for example, was infamous across the world. No one wanted to know what it felt like to be at the mercy of one of them.
Seeing the workers absorbed in their tasks, Scaramouche's expression softened slightly. Spreading his hands in a mock display of generosity, he said,
"When the day comes that I ascend, that will be the day I bestow blessings upon you. Rejoice, celebrate—your efforts shall earn you greater rewards."
"You seem awfully leisurely."
Without a sound, Dottore stepped from the shadows. His lips curled in a mocking smile as he watched Scaramouche give his self-important speech.
Dottore had no respect for him. In truth, he never saw his experimental subjects as human at all. To him, Scaramouche and Collei were the same—nothing more than test material, without distinction or worth.
Scaramouche hated that expression, hated that tone.
But he also knew—without Dottore's help, his ascension would be impossible.
"Heh."
He forced a smile, turning his head. "Then perhaps I should grant you a blessing as well?"
"Spare me."
Dottore didn't even bother to hide his disdain.
Blessing others? Better pray for yourself.
His gaze swept across the deep chamber of the workshop. "For now, everything is proceeding smoothly. Let's hope no… accidents occur."
"What accidents?" Scaramouche's face darkened.
"Who can say?" Dottore replied evenly. "It's none of my concern. My work is done. From here on, I'm nothing more than a spectator, here to witness the birth of a 'god.'"
"Ha."
Scaramouche refused to answer further.
Indeed, Dottore's part was finished. All that remained was for him to linger like a rat in the dark, indulging in his selfish satisfaction before retreating at the perfect moment.
"Like a sewer rat," Scaramouche muttered.
"Is that courage you've found, now that you're on the brink of divinity?" Dottore's voice drifted back from the darkness, mocking, before fading away.
Scaramouche clenched his fists, fury boiling in his chest. But until he became a god, he knew he wasn't Dottore's match.
Just wait.
Once ascended, he would make Dottore bow before him in the most humiliating way possible. The thought alone filled him with anticipation.
"Wait, hold on a second."
Lumine couldn't help but blurt out her disbelief when she first laid eyes on the so-called God of the Automatons.
"This… this is a god? You're telling me building a giant mech makes you divine?"
"Pretty much," she scoffed, crossing her arms. "So if I had a mech suit, I'd be a god too?"
"Well, not exactly…" Paimon tilted her head. "Remember, he's absorbed a huge amount of knowledge. It's like a mech piloted by an advanced AI packed with data."
"Hmm…"
Lumine paused, then nodded thoughtfully. "You know what, that actually makes sense." She clicked the mouse, pushing the story forward.
The towering Automaton God looked down at Lumine and Nahida.
"Can't you feel it? Every god carries within them the surge of power and the thrill of triumph. Do you not feel it?"
"Nahida would never share such feelings with you."
Paimon pouted, snapping back.
The god's face twisted with anger.
"You dare interrupt the dialogue between gods? Insignificant worm, know your place!"
"Uh…" Paimon scratched her head. "Is he… for real?"
Lumine chuckled dryly. "You know, when I first got my cards, I felt the same way—like I was above everyone else, like the world revolved around me. That arrogance, that delusion of being untouchable."
"Wow!" Paimon gasped. "That's exactly how Scaramouche is acting right now!"
"Exactly."
Lumine raised a brow and laughed. "I call it the illusion born from inflated power."
She then turned to Paimon and teased, "But speaking of size, you really are pretty tiny."
"Hey!" Paimon stomped her little foot in midair.
Lumine laughed and kept clicking through the scene.
Nahida spoke calmly, "The God of Wisdom has no desire to reignite wars. The peace Teyvat enjoys today was hard-earned. Reviving past conflicts is meaningless."
The Automaton God sneered.
"How disappointing. A god uninterested in power—what a waste. Your people will forsake you for your weakness."
"Their faith in Nahida will only grow stronger," Lumine declared.
"Pathetic." The god's voice dripped with scorn. "Wisdom alone solves nothing. If you wish to stop me, you'll have no choice but to fight."
The battle was about to begin.
In the livestream chat, familiar names popped up:
Zhongli: …
Venti: Ah, youth. Always so naive.
Osial: Not worth my time to comment on a god weaker than myself.
"Yo?" Lumine blinked. "They're all in the chat?"
She burst into laughter. "Zhongli, what do you think of him?"
Zhongli: He cannot comprehend the true brutality of the Archon War.
"Exactly," Paimon said quickly. "He's never seen it, only read about it. It gave him that whole 'if it were me, I could do it too' attitude. But if he were really there? Even Osial, who got skewered by Zhongli in a single strike, says this Automaton God isn't worth mentioning!"
Azhdaha: Honestly, three adepti would've been enough to deal with him.
Lumine shook her head. "So this god is basically a fraud. Even Nahida—well, let's not go there yet."
But before they could continue joking, the scene shifted.
The moment of Nahida's sacrifice played out.
Her form began to fade, her voice echoing faintly:
"To let the world completely forget me…"
Lumine's eyes widened in shock. "Wait—'completely forget me'?! That's the full phrase?!"
Onscreen, the Great Tree King vanished.
"No way!" Paimon's eyes brimmed with tears. "She erased herself from the world?!"
The chat exploded in grief.
"Tree King!!!"
"So noble… she sacrificed everything to protect Teyvat!"
"Traveler, do something!"
Lumine sniffed, blinking away tears. But then she suddenly froze, glanced at the scrolling comments… and laughed.
"Wait, what am I crying for? I have a purification card!"
"Huh?" Paimon's tears stopped mid-fall. She quickly wiped her face, pretending calm. "I—I knew that too! I was just showing off my acting skills!"
The chat roared with laughter. The heavy sorrow was instantly swept away.
"Forget elemental powers—cards are almighty!"
"Quick! Use the purification card!"
Lumine grinned, pulling out her phone and typing rapidly. Then she looked back at the camera with a sly smile.
"Guess what good news I have for you guys?"
The audience spammed the chat, demanding she spill it.
Finally, Lumine laughed and said,
"The Great Tree King? She's already alive again!"
"What?!"
The entire chat froze.
Paimon folded her arms smugly. "That's right. She's been staying with Lu all along."
The chat went wild.
"Tree King lives?!"
"Why with Lu?"
"Perfect match! A great sacrifice and the legendary Lu—blessed union!"
"Exactly," Lumine teased. "If she's here, Paimon… what should you call her?"
Without thinking, Paimon blurted out, "Sister-in-law!"
Lumine burst into laughter. "See? She's not dumb after all!"
The comments erupted into chaos.
Meanwhile, Lumine cheekily leaned toward the camera.
"Anyway, brothers… all those Mora you just gifted me? I'm taking them to Lu for dinner and drinks."
The chat exploded with outrage.
But Lumine just grinned wider, completely shameless, basking in the storm of reactions.
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T/N:
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