[Adam POV]
We were welcomed like heroes, but some people were still worried about us.
[Adam]: So who's the leader here?
The knights shifted, almost instinctively, their formation tightening as their gazes settled on the man at the center. His blue hair was tied back, his spear resting casually against his shoulder, though his stance betrayed readiness.
[Aether]: I am. My name is Aether, defense commander of Mondstadt.
He stepped forward, his eyes running over us—me, Silk, Vlad, Lilith, and Tyrant. His expression was calm, but his grip on the spear tightened ever so slightly when it passed over Tyrant's towering frame.
[Aether]: You claim to be traders… but I saw the way you fought. That wasn't trading. That was war. So tell me, Crimson Hood—what do you really want from Mondstadt?
[Vlad]: Straight to suspicion. At least he's honest.
[Silk]: Observation: commander's caution level—reasonable. Probability of hostility if negotiations fail—thirty-eight percent.
I lifted my hand slightly, cutting them both off.
Aether was staring at the gas mask on Tyrant's face and at his arms and legs.
[Adam]: What we want is simple: trade. But… if monsters keep trying to eat your city, you might find we're good at more than just moving food and wares. We need people alive to trade with, after all.
I caught Aether's eyes narrowing toward Tyrant and sighed.
[Adam]: And stop staring at him like he's about to devour the place. He doesn't talk much. Actions are his language.
Tyrant tilted his head, then—without hesitation—strode forward. His towering frame made the knights tense instantly, hands tightening on weapons, spells ready to fly.
But Tyrant didn't swing his fists. Didn't roar.
Instead, he held out a single, radiant white flower. Its petals glowed faintly against the ruined sky.
Gasps rippled through the crowd. Knights surged a step forward, thinking it a ruse, a distraction before slaughter. Yet Aether—Aether didn't move.
His eyes widened slightly, locked on the flower, then on Tyrant's golden, childlike gaze. The commander's grip on his spear loosened, just a fraction.
[Aether]: …You found a Cecilia. I thought they were all gone, except for the few Jean keeps in the gardens. Did you pluck it from Dragonspine?
Tyrant gave a single, slow nod.
Aether's face shifted—his caution didn't vanish, but the hardness in his gaze thawed just enough. He lowered his spear to his side, then straightened.
[Aether]: Then perhaps… Mondstadt does owe you more than suspicion. Come. You'll speak with Acting Grand Master Jean and Lord Diluc. If trade is truly your intent, you'll make your case to them.
He turned, gesturing for us to follow. The knights around him parted reluctantly, keeping wary eyes fixed on our group as we passed through the gates.
Inside, the city of freedom looked anything but free. Ruined homes leaned against each other like broken teeth. The once-bustling streets were lined with rubble and scorch marks. Families huddled in corners, many bandaged or bruised. Children stared at us with wide, hungry eyes.
Lilith's expression softened for the first time since the shift. The witch pulled a small case from her robes and knelt by a group of kids. One by one, she handed out small glass vials glowing faintly green.
[Lilith]: Drink, little ones. It won't fix everything, but your pain will fade.
The children hesitated, then sipped—and gasps of relief followed. Cuts closed. Fever broke. Mothers wept quietly, bowing their heads in thanks.
Knights who had been glaring daggers at us a moment before now looked at Lilith with something else—caution still, but tinged with respect.
Vlad whispered under his hood.
[Vlad]: You always know how to win hearts, witch.
[Silk]: Analysis: Morale in immediate vicinity—raised. Trust index—slowly improving.
Aether watched all this silently as he walked, his blue hair stirring faintly in the wind. He didn't speak until we reached the steps of the Knight Headquarters, where the banners of Mondstadt hung ragged and torn.
[Aether]: Inside, you'll find Jean, and most likely Diluc as well. Speak carefully—our city has little left, and we cannot afford mistakes.
I adjusted my hood, glancing at the others before stepping forward.
[Adam]: Don't worry, commander. We didn't come here to break what's already broken. We came to trade.
Aether's gaze softened just a little.
[Aether]: Aether. Or Traveler. Call me one of them. I'm only a temporary commander, nothing more. The real one was Kaeya… a good friend of mine. A brave man.
For a moment, his voice faltered, the weight of memory tugging at the edges.
[Adam]: …Sorry for opening old wounds, Aether. Looks like you miss him.
Aether let out a low breath, eyes shifting to the ruined horizon.
[Aether]: Yes. I miss him—and the others too. But now, all I can do is focus on Jean and Diluc. They're the only ones left who can still hold Mondstadt together. Sometimes I dream of going to find the others… but leaving the city like this, with so few hands, it's dangerous. Especially when only four people can truly command now.
I followed his gaze—torn banners, broken walls, a city that still stood, but only just. My chest tightened at the thought.
Then I looked back and saw something different. Tyrant, stooped low, carrying two giggling children on his shoulders as if they weighed nothing. His heavy mask hissed faintly with each breath, but his eyes gleamed like sunlight.
Beside him, Lilith conjured small sparks and swirls of light in her palms, turning them into butterflies of flame and dust. The children clapped with wide eyes, forgetting for a moment that their homes were rubble.
Knights on the street slowed in their duties, watching. Their suspicion didn't vanish, but it cracked.
[Vlad]: They fit in faster than we do, brother.
[Silk]: Observation—empathy detected. Hostility in the area… decreased by seventeen percent.
I smirked under my hood. Maybe, just maybe, we weren't walking into a trap after all.
Aether finally turned back toward the looming doors of the Knight Headquarters, motioning for us to follow.
[Aether]: Come. Jean and Diluc will want to see this with their own eyes. If you truly came to trade, prove it to them.
The heavy doors of the Knight Headquarters groaned open, spilling us into a hall that smelled of smoke, herbs, and iron. The first thing I saw wasn't weapons or banners… but cots.
Rows of injured knights lined the walls, some bandaged head to toe, others pale and shivering as healers worked frantically between them. The clang of armor was replaced by groans and whispered prayers.
And then my eyes caught the far wall.
Pinned there was a patchwork of photos, sketches, and messages scrawled in charcoal.
"Get well soon, Klee."
"Amber, we will remember you."
"Lisa—may the winds guide you back."
Names stretched across the plaster like gravestones, some with flowers beneath them, others with only hastily tacked-up scraps of parchment.
Vlad leaned close, his voice low.
[Vlad]: A memorial wall… inside the heart of their fortress.
[Silk]: Observation—morale preservation mechanism. Probability of collapse without such symbols… eighty-nine percent.
I stayed quiet. My fists tightened at my sides. Aether's footsteps echoed ahead of us, steady but heavy, as though each name pressed down on his back.
Two figures waited there.
They rose to meet us, motion slow and stoic. The light in the hall picked out the cost of the last weeks: Jean, pale but resolute, a fresh scar tracing her jaw and one leg gone beneath the knee; Diluc, red hair fallen forward, bandaged from head to toe, one eye shuttered and one hand lost to whatever horrors had come through. Even standing, they looked exhausted down to the bone.
Jean's eyes flicked over our group—Tyrant, Lilith, Silk, Vlad—curiosity rubbing against caution. Diluc's gaze lingered on Tyrant a moment too long, then narrowed, the blade hand tightening reflexively.
[Jean]: …So these are the Crimson Hoods. The ones who scattered an army outside our walls.
[Diluc]: Or the ones who brought it here.
[Jean]: Diluc.
[Diluc]: Jean, enough. Last time we let some "savior" in, a kid blew up the eastern well and made half the city's water poisonous. Maybe this is another of Lee's traps—assassins in hooded coats.
[Adam]: If I wanted you dead, you wouldn't still be standing. Vlad would have turned you to dust before I'd finished my sentence.
Vlad smirked, public and proud. The knights flinched the way people flinch when a storm suddenly booms. Diluc's jaw tightened—anger and something like grudging amusement rubbing together. Jean didn't allow herself a smile, but whatever shielded her broke just enough to show the exhaustion beneath.
Silk stepped forward, deadpan and precise.
[Silk]: Observation: immediate trust index—low. Opening gesture detected: non-lethal. Recommendation: conditional engagement.
A silence hung after that—thin, anxious, full of names none of us wanted to speak. I thought of the wall of photos, of children with bandaged limbs, and the way a city can be people and memory at once.
Aether cleared his throat and gestured.
[Aether]: Then prove it in the field. Jean will provide the coin once we see results.
Jean spoke, voice hard but fair.
[Jean]: Diluc—place a patrol on the west wall. Mr. Adam, you may go out now. We'll meet you there when funds are arranged for trade.
Diluc's one good eye flicked to me, then flicked away—an unreadable promise.
[Diluc]: Stay tight. One wrong move and you'll wish we'd left you at the gate.
I inclined my head. The terms were blunt, but terms all the same. Trade was never about trust—it was about the balance between risk and reward. Earn their faith, and we prosper. Fail, and the city wouldn't need to kill us. The dirt would do it for them.
[Later]
The wind carried the scent of iron and salt as I stood by the lake. Its surface shimmered an unnatural green—beautiful, if you ignored the way it hissed against the rocks. A dozen guards ringed the shore, crossbows loose in hand, eyes hollow and sunken with sleepless vigilance. The kind of tired that doesn't wash off with rest.
Their stares flicked to the water every few seconds, like they expected it to blink back.
I sighed, dragging a hand through my hair.
Tyrant wasn't paying attention to any of that. The mountain of muscle had kids crawling over him like a playground, one perched on his shoulder, tugging at his gas mask, another hanging from his arm, trying to "win" an arm-wrestle they'd never finish.
And somehow, the big guy didn't seem to mind.
A few feet away, Lilith knelt beside an injured child, murmuring softly as she conjured a wisp of light to mend a scraped knee. The glow from her staff mixed with the lake's eerie reflection, painting her face in equal parts warmth and ghostlight.
I took a deep breath and tried to ignore the smell of rot. The lake might've looked green from afar, but up close it reeked like something dying slow. My stomach turned with every inhale.
A hand tapped my shoulder. Vlad's voice followed, calm but firm.
[Vlad]: Hey, brother—focus. You've been staring at that sludge for half an hour.
He paused, watching me with that half-smile of his.
[Vlad]: And… forgive me for saying this, but maybe stick to ranged weapons for a while, huh? It's not that I have a problem with you fighting—it's just that your body isn't built for the front line. And every time you kill, it eats at you.
I huffed a laugh. It came out tired.
[Adam]: Great. From commander to backline support. Guess I'll be standing with Lilith now.
[Vlad]: Could be worse. At least you'll have a healer watching your back instead of me yelling at you to dodge faster.
I looked at him—his smirk, his soot-streaked armor, the forge burn still faintly glowing on his forearm—and for a second, I almost believed things were normal.
[Adam]: You know, I was never built for any of this. Guns, swords, monsters… hell, even leadership.
I let out a breath.
[Adam]: I was just a normal office worker who liked a game he never had time to play.
Vlad's smirk softened into something close to sympathy.
[Vlad]: And now you're living it, brother. Every gamer's dream—just with more blood and fewer save points.
I couldn't help but laugh, faint but real.
[Adam]: Yeah… though I'd trade this "dream" for a good Wi-Fi signal and a cup of coffee any day.
Vlad chuckled, but I caught that glint in his eye—the one that said he'd been asking too many questions again.
[Adam]: Vlad… try asking Silk less about Earth and my old world, okay? Especially anything about the 2025 era—or Gen Z.
He blinked, visibly confused.
[Vlad]: We were actually just talking about that. She said something about… "a cultural shock that could cause brain rot"? What kind of disease was that, and why does your era name its plagues so poetically?
I groaned.
[Adam]: It's not a disease, it's… never mind. Trust me, you're better off not knowing.
I glanced around, realizing the air felt oddly still.
[Adam]: Speaking of trouble… where is Silk?
Before Vlad could answer, a voice chimed right beside my ear—cold, precise, and way too close for comfort.
[Silk]: I have completed my mission. Inventory successfully sold. Profit margin: thirty-one percent. Requesting permission to initiate celebration protocol.
I jumped half a step back.
[Adam]: …You really need to stop sneaking up on people like that.
[Silk]: Correction: You need to develop better auditory awareness, Adam.
I opened my mouth to argue, but the world decided to interrupt.
A deafening ROAR shattered the calm. The lake erupted in waves of green mist as two dragon-like beasts burst from the toxic water, wings thrashing, venom dripping from their jaws.
Tyrant, still covered in giggling kids, turned slowly toward the sound. His crimson eyes blinked once—then he gently lifted each child off his shoulders, setting them down as though placing fragile porcelain on a shelf.
Then he jumped.
The ground cracked beneath his feet.
He shot upward like a cannonball, meeting the two dragons midair. One massive hand on each neck—then a twist. Bones snapped like breaking ice. The two monsters thrashed once before Tyrant slammed them together so hard that both necks tore open, black-green blood raining down like acid rain.
All three of them—dragons and golem—crashed into the lake.
[Adam]: Oh, that's bad. Golems can't swim, and I'm pretty sure that lake's ninety percent acid, ten percent regret.
We all ran to the edge, but the surface just bubbled. For a tense few seconds, there was nothing. No sound. No movement.
Then the water exploded.
Tyrant's upper body emerged, steam rising from his molten armor, half his cloak gone. His once-gray hair was now bright green, and his remaining clothes looked like they'd lost a fight with lava.
[Adam]: …Well. He's alive. Mostly.
I glanced at Lilith and sighed.
[Adam]: Lilith, get the kids out of here before they have lifelong trauma from seeing Tyrant—
I stopped. Lilith's face was red. Nose bleeding. Staring in awe. She wasn't alone. A few of the knights nearby were wide-eyed and flushed, one even fanned herself before fainting.
[Adam]: …Oh, come on. Really? He just boiled two dragons alive, not modeled for a calendar.
[Vlad]: To be fair, brother… that was very heroic.
[Silk]: Analysis: the human fascination with muscular physiques remains statistically illogical yet persistently common.
[Adam]: Great. We've gone from trade negotiations to monster slaying to accidental fan service. Perfect.
[Later]
After a good hour of chaos, screaming, and Silk threatening to sterilize the entire lakeside, Tyrant was finally dressed again.
We managed to scrape together a set of spare armor from the caravan — though "spare" might've been generous. What he ended up wearing was the Ruby Rose armor set… the one I had abandoned after realizing the skirt looked cooler in concept art than in real life.
Tyrant stood there, gleaming red and black in the sunlight, the skirt swaying heroically in the wind. He looked like a walking fusion of destruction and fashion disaster.
[Vlad]: I admit, brother, it suits him. He looks... majestic.
[Adam]: He looks like he's about to join an idol group called Bloodsteel Symphony.
[Silk]: Observation: Confidence level—elevated. Mobility—limited by skirt design. Tactical efficiency—compromised by aesthetic choice.
[Adam]: Translation: he looks fabulous but can't sit down.
Tyrant glanced at all of us, silent as always, his green hair still faintly steaming. Then he just nodded once, like he was completely fine with everything—acid bath, new outfit, and all.
I sighed.
[Adam]: Yeah, sure. Why not. Dragons, acid, magical fashion shows—just another day in paradise.
[Aether]: Ah, Mr. Adam, we've gathered the mora for the trade.
[Adam]: Good. Let's see how this goes.
The courtyard had been cleared for the exchange. Crates of weapons, medicine, and preserved rations sat neatly in rows beside our caravan, watched over by knights who looked one bad meal away from collapse.
The trade began with careful words and even more careful glances. I learned something new in the process—apparently, I could convert any world's currency directly into points. No more haggling for resources, no more guessing what counted as valuable in every different world we visited.
Finally, a system that made sense.
Aether's people inspected each crate, and he didn't hesitate when it came to spending. He bought everything: our food stocks, our weapons, even the backup supplies Silk insisted we keep for emergencies. When he ran out of essential purchases, he started eyeing the potions.
[Aether]: These… healing brews. Do they still work, even when diluted?
[Adam]: They'll patch up anything short of losing your head. Though if you try that, don't blame me if it doesn't grow back.
Aether actually smiled at that—a tired, genuine one.
By the end of it, his troops had enough supplies to hold the walls for weeks. And for us? A mountain of points glittered in my ledger.
By the end of it, his troops had enough supplies to hold the walls for weeks.
And for us? A mountain of points glittered in my ledger.
For the first time in days, things were finally looking up…
Or so I thought.
The air shifted before the words even reached us—an instinctive chill that crawled up my spine. Then came the shout.
[Knight]: Danger! Sir Lee and an army of monsters are heading our way!
Every sound in the courtyard died. Even the horses froze.
[Knight]: They— they just took down Liyue Harbor! There were no survivors. Mondstadt… we're the last city left!
The words struck harder than any explosion.
Aether's face drained of color. Jean, who had just arrived with a report in hand, crushed the paper between her fingers.
[Jean]: …No survivors?
The knight nodded shakily.
[Diluc]: Then it begins.
[Note — the villain: Lee
To read further, you need to know about the Villain here, his name is Lee, a character I scraped many times. He is the kind that will make you do anything just to see him dead.
Lee isn't a mastermind with grand plans. He's a cruelty engine. He doesn't need a motive beyond the shape of a smile. Where others seek power, Lee seeks reactions: the stagger, the pleading, the way hope fractures. He rescues people not to save them but to set the clock on their suffering. He delights in the slow, pointless collapse of everything people cherish.
Imagine someone who will pluck a mother from the street and hand her back her children whole — only to take them apart later, piece by piece, to watch what she does when there's nothing left to bargain with. He arranges "mercies" that are traps, stitches kindness to pain, then steps back and laughs while the world redistributes its grief. That's not cruelty for strategy; it's cruelty for sport. It's art.
You don't hear Lee arrive. You feel the temperature drop. You notice the little things first — a favorite toy gone missing, a streetlamp that never lights again, a note of music that dies mid-bar. Then the darker things unfold: favors that demand impossible prices, bargains that bind the soul, small mercies that become iron collars. He toys with fate like a child with a blade.
If Lee sets his attention on you, you survive by chance and damnation. He is the slow shadow that turns a safe town into a theatre of cruelty — not because he wants to win, but because he wants to watch how people break.
Also, he is an angel.]
[Hello, sorry for the long silence. I had to move and find a new job, get sick, get extra work, take more classes, and attend a funeral for a cousin.]
[chapter end]