After that, the Boss doesn't immediately set off for Liyue Harbor, even though he now knows he's in the Guili Plains.
Somehow he's puzzled as to how he ended up washed so far from where he sank.
And because of that, he has no intention of returning anytime soon. He's too lazy to face people's questions if he goes back now.
Another reason: he's deeply curious about the current situation.
He keeps sitting there, back leaning against the rough tree bark, eyes sharply observing the Hilichurls like a general mapping enemy troops—or perhaps a father watching children in a playground.
To him, this is a rare opportunity.
In the past, he saw them as pests, training targets, or obstacles to cargo deliveries. He never viewed them as creatures worthy of sharing the same world as him.
But now, something feels different.
He watches one Hilichurl—the smallest—chasing a blue Crystal Core butterfly. It hops clumsily, arms flailing at the air, feet tripping over tree roots, tumbling into the sand.
Instead of growling or getting angry, the Hilichurl sits up, rubs its masked head, and lets out a sound like soft laughter. Its friends point and hop along, as if teasing it.
After long observation, the Boss narrows his eyes.
He finally nods in satisfaction, a conclusion forming in his mind.
He's discovered their behavior is almost identical to playful children. They eat, sleep, play with campfires, and dance when the sun is high.
"Is it because they lack reason?" he tilts his head, muttering to the wind carrying the scent of tree sap.
The question leads him into deeper—and honestly, slightly absurd—contemplation for someone as rough as him.
"Anyway, how do they reproduce…?"
He stares at them more intently, this time with a slightly impolite analytical gaze. His eyes search for signs of gender differences, biological traits he recognizes. But there are none. They all look the same. Dark bodies, neck manes, masks that never come off.
"Do they even have reproductive organs?"
He's clearly confused. Thinking about it feels strange, even a bit disgusting, but the curiosity itches like a spot on his back he can't scratch.
He's never seen a female Hilichurl.
Do they even exist from the start?
He's also never seen a baby Hilichurl carried by its mother. All he's seen are variations in size and weapons.
"Do they grow from the ground like mushrooms?" he thinks wildly. "Or are they cursed to appear from nothing, like dust compacted by hatred?"
He shakes his head, trying to dispel the odd thoughts. He's no Sumeru scholar. He's just a harbor laborer who survived drowning. Let their private mysteries remain the gods' business.
At that moment, a soft rustling sounds beside him.
He turns.
The Hilichurl that gave him the Sunsettia earlier is still there. It didn't join its dancing friends. It stands quietly, just an arm's length away.
It looks at the Boss. Or at least, the Boss assumes it does through the eye holes in its crudely painted wooden mask with red tribal symbols. It tilts its head to the right—so innocently, so much like a stray dog waiting for scraps.
The Boss stares at it. He notices the slight crack in the mask's chin. He sees the dusty, matted fur on its shoulders. He smells the musty scent of dry earth and sweet fruit.
The Boss sighs long, his breath mingling with the warm afternoon air.
"What are you staring at, huh? I'm not a circus act," he says softly, without threat.
The Hilichurl doesn't answer, of course. It just stands there, silent.
Then, driven by an impulse he doesn't understand, the Boss raises his right hand. The hand he usually uses to punch people, hold beer bottles, and count Mora. The rough, scarred, sinful hand.
He strokes its head.
His palm touches the top of its mask, then shifts to the furry mane at the back. It feels coarse, stiff like broom bristles, yet there's living warmth beneath.
The Hilichurl doesn't flinch or attack.
Instead, it makes a low purring sound—a throat vibration like a big cat being pampered. It hops lightly in place, feet thumping the ground in joyful, irregular rhythm.
The Boss feels that vibration of happiness travel through his palm, up his arm, touching something long numb in his chest. It feels strange. Him, petting a monster. If his underlings saw this, his reputation would crumble. But right now, he doesn't care.
Suddenly, the Hilichurl stops hopping.
It reaches out its small hand, black claws sharp yet blunt at the tips. It grasps the Boss's hand still on its head.
Its skin feels like tough, dry leather—rough and resilient. Its grip isn't strong. It gently pulls the Boss's hand.
The Boss startles. He resists briefly, survival instinct flaring. Where is it taking me? Is this a trap?
Is it leading me to a giant cauldron to be made into soup?!
The Hilichurl turns to him, then points toward the forest behind the beach with its other hand. It makes urgent yet excited sounds: "Mita! Mita! Dada!"
It pulls again, a little harder, trying to lead him somewhere.
The Boss looks at the dark path between the trees ahead. The forest appears dense, leaf shadows creating abstract patterns on the ground.
Then he looks back at the small Hilichurl. He sees no malice. Only… another desire.
He, who just survived death and feels his life no longer has clear direction, finally relents.
"Alright, alright. Stop pulling," he grumbles, though his feet begin to move.
Resigned, he stands. His joints creak in protest at the sudden movement. Lingering pain from the tentacle coils still throbs in his waist and legs, but he ignores it.
He follows.
The two walk away from the white sandy beach, into the forest's thick greenery.
The Boss's steps are heavy, bare feet crushing dry twigs and dead leaves. While the Hilichurl ahead moves lightly and nimbly, hopping over roots, parting bushes, as if it knows every inch of this forest.
The once harsh sunlight is now filtered by the leaf canopy, creating pillars of light—god rays—piercing the forest dust. The sound of waves gradually fades, replaced by the humming of forest insects, zwiing… zwiing…, and birdsong from high branches.
The Boss smells strong damp earth, wild mushrooms, and pine resin. The air here is cooler, more humid.
"Where are we going, Shorty?" he asks, breaking the forest silence.
The Hilichurl glances back briefly, mask eyes seeming to meet his, then points ahead and quickens its pace.
The journey isn't far, yet feels like a pilgrimage to another world.
Soon the trees thin. He sees strange rock formations ahead. Large stones naturally arranged into a kind of passage or gate.
The Hilichurl releases the Boss's hand and runs lightly toward a gap between the rocks. It stands there, waving at him, urging him to hurry.
The Boss approaches cautiously. He steps through the rock gap.
At that moment his eyes widen, staring at what lies ahead.
Before him, hidden behind natural cliff walls, is an open area he never knew existed.
It's a camp!
The camp has a large wooden structure in the center—a main hut built roughly yet sturdily. Around it stand totem poles carved with strange symbols, decorated with animal bones, colorful bird feathers, and tattered cloths likely stolen from village clotheslines.
But what freezes the Boss isn't the buildings. It's what's in the camp's center.
A large cauldron. Beneath it, a campfire burns with an unusual color—the flames have a purple hue at their core.
And around the cauldron, it's not just ordinary Hilichurls.
There are also massive Mitachurls with giant wooden shields sitting motionless like guardian statues. There are Samachurls holding magic staffs, murmuring incantations toward the fire.
The Boss feels his heart stop for a moment.
He feels he's just walked into a lion's den!
The small Hilichurl that brought him runs to the center, shouting in its language, proudly pointing at him. As if it just brought home a prize catch—or perhaps… an honored guest?
All eyes in the camp turn to him. Dozens of masks stare in unison.
The Boss freezes. His hands clench reflexively, ready for a final fight. Cold sweat runs down his back.
"Mita! Mita!" the small Hilichurl cries again, tugging the robe of an elderly Samachurl.
The Samachurl—a hunched small creature with a more elaborate mask and horns—turns to him. It approaches slowly with its staff, steps halting.
The Boss holds his breath. He smells strange smoke from the staff—pungent, slightly intoxicating herbs.
The Samachurl stops two steps away. It looks up, since the Boss towers over it.
Then it does something that shorts the Boss's brain.
It doesn't chant fire or water spells. It doesn't order the Mitachurls to crush him. It bows—deeply bowing its small body in clear respect.
Following its lead, every Hilichurl there—even the massive muscular Mitachurls—lowers their heads or kneels on one knee.
At that moment, the atmosphere falls utterly silent. Only the purple fire crackles.
The Boss stands in the center of a circle of kneeling monsters. Forest wind blows, ruffling his dirty, matted hair. He feels dizzy—not from seasickness, but from absolute incomprehension.
What the hell is this? his mind screams.
Why are they worshipping me?
Do they see me as a god worthy of worship?
He looks at his own hands. Rough hands of a sinner. And now, these hands seem to hold power over this small army.
This feeling… it's strange, but strangely intoxicating.
To him, this sensation is stronger than Liyue's finest rice wine.
Instantly, the fear he's carried gradually gives way to a confusing yet tempting sense of power.
The small Hilichurl that brought him hops to his side again, proudly patting his leg as if saying, "See? I found him."
The Boss looks at it, then at the crowd of monsters.
He sighs long, shoulders dropping, accepting this madness as his new reality.
"Alright," he mutters hoarsely, voice breaking the ritual silence. "Alright."
He walks forward, passing the rows of bowed monsters, toward the purple campfire. Then he sits near the fire, on a large log seemingly reserved for a leader. The flames' heat warms his face, drying the remaining seawater on his clothes.
Everything connects.
He doesn't understand why, but he knows fate is playing a joke.
…
This afternoon, with enthusiasm, you head out after bidding goodbye to Uncle Zhang.
You've finished your daily work, so you feel free in the hours ahead.
Then you go straight to the Adventurers' Guild.
After living in Liyue long enough, observing and listening, you've learned adventurers usually visit the guild to find commissions and claim rewards when quests are completed.
That's this world's basic economy: risk traded for Mora.
You, who previously lacked combat strength—only able to run from thugs and hide—had no interest in a business that gambles life for money.
To you, selling trinkets was far more profitable long-term.
If you truly weren't afraid of death, you'd have rebelled against the quest from the start.
But now, things are different.
Because you have the sword. The Blade of Insatiable Ego. A god-tier weapon now dwelling in your soul, ready to protect you—and perhaps destroy your enemies.
The sword may hunger for souls, especially after being unsealed. And you, as its master, must feed it. But you actually want to test how it works—whether it's useful beyond attacking, or solely for killing.
On another note, you genuinely want to try it.
You want to feel the thrill of power.
To you, this is the true essence of a fantasy world! Fighting and growing strong, conquering monsters, becoming a hero. Not just trying to make a girl fall in love with cheap psychological tricks.
You nod in satisfaction while walking Liyue's bustling stone streets. Your steps light, chest slightly puffed. You're no longer an NPC.
Right now, you feel like the protagonist on the path to glory.
Arriving at the simple wooden Adventurers' Guild building, you stop.
You look at a girl standing behind the reception desk.
The girl has neatly banged black hair, fair skin that seems never overexposed to sun, and calm, friendly yet professional gray-blue eyes.
She wears a neat white dress with a black corset at the center, accented with green on long sleeves reaching the backs of her hands, and a black-trimmed skirt with green side and back panels, completed by a small red ribbon on the left—sweetly charming.
Her appearance is perfected by a white maid-style hair ribbon with a red cross emblem, a black-and-white collar with a red gem at the front, white stockings, and green shoes.
She looks like a living porcelain doll—or perhaps a highly advanced robot. Her smile never fades, her eyes never blink from fatigue.
"Ad astra abyssosque," she says with a smile, spoken in perfectly polished tone.
You nod stiffly. What language is that? you wonder inwardly. You've never heard it before. Not in Liyue, not in your previous world.
For a moment you consider asking directly,
"Hey, what does that mean? To the stars and the abyss?" but you hold back.
You don't want to look foolish on your first day as a would-be hero.
"Can I take a commission?" you ask directly, placing your hand on the polished wooden counter.
"Are you an adventurer?" she tilts her head slightly, eyes scanning your clothes that don't resemble adventurer armor.
She finds you unfamiliar.
No badge, no Vision, no weapon.
"No…" you say softly, confidence wavering a little.
Am I not allowed to take quests if I'm not an official adventurer?
"Then you must register first," she answers with a still-friendly yet firm smile.
You pause, thinking about your tight finances. "Is there a registration fee?"
The girl nods, confirming. "Standard administrative fee, uniform, and guidebook."
You sigh long, shoulders dropping.
Why is everything in this world about money? you complain inwardly.
Even becoming a hero requires startup capital.
Money moves the world—even the fantasy world is no exception.
"Then I'll pass on taking a quest. Thank you," you say with undisguised disappointment.
You pause, looking at the girl again. "And goodbye. Hope your days are pleasant."
After that you leave disappointed. Your plan to become an instant hero hits bureaucracy and capitalism.
As you walk away, head down staring at your worn shoes, kicking small pebbles on the street. You feel ridiculous. Having a god-tier sword but no money to register at the guild.
At that moment, your ears suddenly catch a conversation.
You stop briefly and sharpen your hearing, listening for a moment.
Two men in dusty, dirt-stained Millelith uniforms sit on a park bench near a bridge. They look tired, spears leaning carelessly beside the bench.
"…really strange. On the northern coast. Those monsters are usually dumb, but now they're organized."
"Really? Is there an Abyss Mage leading them?" the other asks while drinking from a leather waterskin.
"Who knows. The report says they suddenly became aggressive and smart. They built barricades. As if a general is leading them. We lost a patrol trace there."
"Monsters…" you murmur softly, repeating the word like a mantra.
You put on a thoughtful expression. Your mind works fast. Aggressive monsters? Organized?
Instantly a crooked smile forms on your lips.
This is perfect for testing my new item! Though I still won't let the sword kill them…
You lift your head and look at them. Your eyes gleam with fresh enthusiasm. Slowly, you approach with confident steps.
"Excuse me, sirs," you greet politely. "May I know where you saw those smart monsters? I'm… conducting biological research on the local ecosystem."
…
A/N: Actually, I've already written two more chapters to upload this week. Hmm… maybe I'll upload all three today on my Patreon. So no more updates this week for this Genshin fanfic. Please enjoy :3
Anyway, if you guys are too tired of waiting for the next chapter… please check my Patreon, where I update much faster than on this platform! (Now there are already 13 chapters I've updated!)
You can see the next chapter sooner on my patreon whose link is below:
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