Showtime.
The girls watching the feed straightened at once. The moment Rosalyne brought up the Raiden Gokaden massacre, the Balladeer's face changed—heavy, almost mournful. Disgust flared across the audience. Regret? Now? After slaughtering the Five Traditions as petty revenge? It was the same farce as his "remorse" after Irminsul showed him Tatarasuna's truth. Centuries as a Harbinger and he'd never once used his reach to truly investigate—then he dared to look pained? No one living would accept that apology. Nor should they.
"Rosalyne… finish him. For my grandfather—and for every Inazuman he dragged down," Kamisato Ayaka whispered, the usual gentleness in her eyes hardened to steel. She hated that it was Rosalyne's blade and not her own, but reality was what it was; Rosalyne had met Su Xuan first and carried a power Ayaka did not. And Rosalyne could win.
…
BOOM—BOOM—BOOM!
The ruined Delusion Factory roared to life. Lightning and flame collided; thunder-heat blasted skyward. Smoke sheared away under newborn firestorms as vermilion twisters spun out in all directions.
Rosalyne Kruchika Loeifalt, the Witch of Searing Flame, unfurled her wings and hovered. Infernal butterflies drifted down—wherever they landed, flame budded up.
In only a few exchanges the arena was ringed in towering firewalls.
"Scaramouche, you're a riot," she teased. "I sweat for that Gnosis. Of course I won't hand it over. And now you want to take it by force? What's your angle?"
She cracked her fire-whip.
KA-THOOM! It split stone; fissures spidered out and a tide of heat surged for the flickering purple silhouette.
"Tch." He snapped, and violet arcs detonated the oncoming blaze a heartbeat early. He watched the winged witch warily, ready for her to whip those cyclones into a storm.
"…Hn. Didn't expect it," he said, amusement curling. "You've grown stronger in the last few years."
Inside, he was rattled. Sixth of the Eleven, matched by the Eighth? Unthinkable. Just as unthinkable as how she'd gotten Ei's Gnosis at all. But he wasn't afraid. He remembered the old Rosalyne—the walking pyre who burned herself hollow culling monsters outside Mondstadt. Without Pierro's Cryo Delusion she'd have evaporated into ash. How long could she sustain this manic blaze now?
"I'll watch you burn yourself out," he sneered. "When you're cinders, her Gnosis will still be mine. Pity I won't learn how you stole it. Not that I care."
He paused, eyes hardening. The Gnosis mattered more than anything. With it, he'd mount a god's throne and make the world witness true divinity. Raiden Ei would be the first to kneel—or be cut down. As for the Tsaritsa's "ideal"? Heh. Not his problem.
"You've reminded me," Rosalyne said lightly. "This state is uncomfortable."
She let the wings dissolve and drifted down, calm as falling snow.
His lip curled. He opened his palm and waggled his fingers. "Done posturing? Then hand it over. If you'd given it to me earlier, we'd have avoided this squabble."
"Oh?" Arms folded, she feigned puzzlement. "Why so desperate for this particular Gnosis? Barbatos's and Morax's—I bled to bring those home to Snezhnaya. That's proper tribute. What are you fighting me for? Or are you sneaking off somewhere else with it?"
She drew out the violet chesspiece again and waved it lazily under his nose.
Silence. A tightness gathered around his eyes.
Rosalyne laughed. "Please. Your secrets are all over your face. So I did hit something, hm?"
This was why you chatted up Su Xuan first—and "happened" to be around when he wrote that chapter. A diary entry alone wasn't enough to bait the Balladeer, but knowledge plus timing? Delicious.
He clicked his tongue. "You've got a mouth. Whatever you think you know, you'll keep it to yourself—permanently." He surged forward, murder bright. "Since the moment I decided to take that Gnosis, I had no intention of letting you walk out alive. Only the dead keep secrets."
"You're just another sparrow boasting about the branch it perches on," he spat, closing the distance. "Running your mouth behind a Delusion someone else gave you—"
He struck.
A beat later, pain blossomed in his gut.
He stopped cold in mid-swing, eyes jerking down as the heat around them collapsed to frost. Fire gutters hissed out; white rime raced across the ground. From the floor, a spear of ice—razor-thin—had lanced up through him.
"Impossible—your power… how did it pierce me…"
The spike shattered; he crashed to the ground, breath torn and limbs sluggish.
Rosalyne looked down, bored. "You didn't think I was using a Delusion, did you?"
His pupils tightened. "What—didn't the Tsaritsa—"
CRACK. Her heel smashed across his jaw and skidded him meters through frost. "Did you really think I, the Eighth, would challenge a colleague who slaughters his own underlings without a hundred percent certainty?"
He glared up, stunned.
"Don't stare like that. It's creepy." THUD. Another kick. "I'll grant you this—Shogun's craftsmanship holds up. A hole through your abdomen only hurts. Anyone else? Dead."
She conjured a massive four-faced block of ice and dropped it. It burst in shards across his ribs. A fan of ice spikes followed, nailing wrists and ankles to stone.
Still, the doll refused to break.
"…No—this isn't the Tsaritsa's power," he whispered, panic spiking. "You—what did you touch?"
The Abyss? he thought, then shook it off at once. The Abyss could empower, yes, but never at no cost—and never so cleanly.
"What did you go through?!"
Rosalyne paused.
What had she "gone through"? A flood of images: Mondstadt's wind, Su Xuan's hand. If she was honest… aside from passing out from too much delight, there hadn't been hardship. Su Xuan had never demanded anything—she'd offered Mora of her own accord. He'd barely glanced at it before tossing the pouch to Lumine to manage. Thinking of it now, she realized: she'd been the one profiting, again and again.
But that also meant more "sisters" would gather. Fewer quiet nights. Her mood dimmed—and then sharpened like a knife.
"You really do make my blood boil," she said, teeth flashing. "If you hadn't reminded me, I'd have forgotten how many sisters I'm competing with. You ruined my good mood. You deserve to die."
"…What?" the onlookers chorused in flat disbelief. Plastic sisterhood, confirmed. And pinning it on him? Classic Rosalyne.
He barked a laugh through blood. "So you have touched secrets we don't know." He tried to rise; the ice groaned. Rosalyne advanced, blade of hard frost forming in her hand.
"Your 'fate' is infuriating," she said, voice dropping to a chill. "But the False Firmament's gifts amount to very little. Compared to us now? You aren't fit to look our way."
She leaned close. "In your own words: sparrows keep their heads down. You're not even qualified to know his existence."
Her eyes hardened. "And you were right about one thing—the dead keep secrets best."
"—So die."
…
Death's Omen.
Kokomi watched, breath held tight. An internal Harbinger execution? The Fatui's reputation was bad enough, but this… And Rosalyne's line—diary-bearers are beyond your gaze—was terrifying in its own way. It crowned them all.
She glanced at Su Xuan. He sat between Shenhe and Beidou, eyes closed, one arm around each—fingers idly "measuring" their differences. Of all present, only he didn't spare the feed a look, occasionally ruining both women's focus with a teasing squeeze.
Kokomi: "…"
"Um…" she ventured, tapping the glowing panel. "Right as Rosalyne moves to finish him—someone stops her."
"The man with blue hair and a beaked mask," Su Xuan said, smiling.
"You knew?" Kokomi blinked.
Shenhe hummed. "If we can watch through the diary, then as its writer he would of course know."
Beidou blew out a breath. "So who is he? Another Harbinger?"
"Mm." Su Xuan nodded. "The Doctor—Dottore. Second of the Eleven."
"Is he strong?" Shenhe asked softly.
"Decent. Archon-class," Su Xuan said, still smiling.
All three women: "!?"
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