Chapter 415: Venti: Who Could Refuse a 'Creation' from a Friend?
Belle stood nearby, her hands clasped behind her back. A gentle, benevolent smile graced the Proxy's face, though the actual content of her words struck with the precision of a sniper's bullet.
"Also, Stelle. That magical effect you mentioned earlier... the whole 'seeing fragments of past memories' thing?" Belle tilted her head, her smile widening just a fraction. "Well, in folk stories and most literary works, it actually goes by a much more common name. Something everyone can understand a bit more easily."
Belle deliberately let the silence stretch. She locked eyes with the Trailblazer, her voice dropping to a soft, melodic whisper. "...It's called 'seeing your life flash before your eyes,' you know."
Seeing her life flash before her eyes.
Stelle's expression—previously animated and bubbling with the eagerness of someone sharing a brand-new, exciting discovery—froze solid. The golden light in her eyes dimmed, rapidly replaced by a creeping, belated wave of sheer disbelief.
Could... could that really be what happened?
The [Delicious Seasoning] hadn't actually changed the fundamental nature of the dish. It had merely tricked her taste buds. It had hijacked her senses, allowing her to peacefully and painlessly experience the classic life-review hallucinations associated with a literal near-death experience, all while her brain registered it as the ultimate culinary delight.
Seeing the usually unflappable Trailblazer sink into deep contemplation, her face twisting with sudden self-doubt, the rest of the group exchanged knowing glances. She had definitely taken the warning to heart.
However, curiosity is a fickle, dangerous beast. And curiosity directed toward a "friend's creation" is an impulse that even gods find incredibly difficult to suppress.
While the collective attention of the room remained firmly anchored on Stelle and the terrifying, lethal properties of the "Time of Judgment," a flash of cyan quietly drifted away from the main group. The figure moved with the weightless grace of a breeze, gliding straight toward the bowl of dark matter that Stelle had just "certified." Paimon had shoved the offending dish onto a nearby, unoccupied table, treating it like a live explosive.
Venti hovered over it.
The Anemo Archon's emerald eyes sparkled with a potent mix of amusement and sheer, unadulterated curiosity. He had developed a sudden, overwhelming interest in this spontaneous culinary creation birthed by Raiden Ei. His old friend was notoriously obsessed with "eternity," spending her days locked away in meditative isolation or immersed entirely in the perfection of martial arts.
To Venti, this situation was entirely irresistible. It was exactly like having a stoic, scholarly friend—someone who dedicated their entire existence to esoteric research, rarely cracked a smile, and remained completely detached from worldly desires—suddenly marching into the room and announcing they had baked a cake.
Regardless of the dish's final, horrifying appearance, whether it was a divinely inspired masterpiece or an utterly scandalous biohazard, the urge to take a bite would be overwhelming. If only to catch a fleeting glimpse of the unexpected, deeply human vitality hiding behind that eternally serious facade.
That specific brand of curiosity possessed the power to make even the wisest individuals temporarily ignore glaring, life-threatening risks.
Besides, Venti reasoned silently, Stelle had already served as the vanguard. She was the first taste tester. Sure, she had collapsed into a near-death coma, but Paimon was right there. The little floating companion possessed the Optimization Power and could intervene at a moment's notice.
The safety factor... well, it seemed to have at least a marginal guarantee, right?
Venti twitched his fingers. A pristine silver spoon and a tiny, delicate saucer materialized in his palm. His movements were impossibly light, displacing the air without making a single sound.
A short distance away, Zhongli stood with his arms crossed, silently observing the unfolding chaos. The former Geo Archon's amber eyes tracked Venti's little maneuver flawlessly. He recognized that familiar, mischievous glint in the bard's eyes—the unmistakable spark of a troublemaker actively seeking amusement.
Zhongli shook his head, the motion so slight it was almost imperceptible. Yet, he did not voice a single word to stop his fellow Archon. Instead, he simply twitched a finger hidden beneath the long fabric of his sleeve.
Almost simultaneously, Hu Tao—whose own morbid curiosity had flared up, prompting her to eagerly rush toward the table—felt the back of her collar snag. A steady, absolutely irresistible force pulled her to a halt.
She spun around, her twin tails whipping through the air. She met Zhongli's calm, unwavering gaze. His golden eyes conveyed a crystal-clear, non-verbal command: Do not move. Simply observe.
Hu Tao puffed out her cheeks in a dramatic pout. Still, she obediently planted her boots on the floor, halting her advance. She settled for widening her plum-blossom pupils, staring intently at Venti's back.
Venti operated with a blend of extreme caution and practiced swiftness. He dipped the silver spoon toward the edge of the large bowl, carefully scraping up a paper-thin layer of the dark substance. He didn't even take a full scoop—just half a spoonful, specifically targeting a spot where the ominous purple hue looked slightly lighter, theoretically posing the least amount of "danger." He transferred the tiny droplet onto his saucer.
Then, under Zhongli's stoic supervision and Hu Tao's burning, unblinking stare, Venti leaned forward. With the refined, dramatic attitude of a master poet sampling a rare, vintage wine, he extended his tongue.
He cautiously licked an almost imperceptible trace of purple from the very edge of the porcelain.
Time itself seemed to fracture and freeze around the bard.
Venti's habitual, carefree smile—the one that usually danced effortlessly on his lips—shattered. His ice-green pupils lost all focus in a fraction of a millisecond, dilating until they were completely hollow. The ambient breeze in the room, which usually swirled playfully around his ankles, abruptly died out, completely bypassing his rigid form.
Zhongli's brow furrowed, a rare crease appearing on his forehead.
Hu Tao gasped, slapping both hands over her mouth as her eyes widened to comical proportions.
One second. Two seconds. Three seconds passed in agonizing silence.
A violent, full-body tremor racked Venti's frame. His hollow, deadened gaze snapped back to reality, the vibrant green luster returning to his irises. However, that light was now heavily laced with severe disorientation and the unmistakable, lingering shadow of primal fear.
Moving with the stiff, jerky mechanics of a rusted puppet, Venti slowly straightened his spine. He raised a trembling hand to massage his temple. A smile eventually clawed its way back onto his face, but compared to his usual breezy grin, this one was entirely devoid of lightness. It was strained, tight at the corners, radiating the distinct aura of a man who had just narrowly survived a catastrophic natural disaster.
He turned around. He met Zhongli's calm yet deeply probing gaze, then shifted to Hu Tao, whose plum-blossom pupils were practically screaming, 'Tell me what happened right now!'Venti kept rubbing his throbbing temples, letting out a long, shuddering breath. He shook his head, a wry, self-deprecating chuckle escaping his lips. "Oh dear... Paimon wasn't exaggerating in the slightest earlier. The original, unedited'Time of Judgment'... its sheer power is... indeed quite significant."
He paused, carefully chewing on his words. He was clearly still struggling to shake off the psychological weight of those brief, incredibly 'fulfilling' three seconds of sensory overload. "Even a seasoned old bard like myself can barely stomach the weight of it."
He maintained his exaggerated, self-deprecating tone, but the chilling seriousness anchoring his green eyes proved he wasn't joking in the slightest.
Immediately afterward, Venti shifted his full attention to Hu Tao. The funeral director was practically vibrating out of her shoes with overflowing curiosity. Venti's tone dropped an octave, adopting the solemn, heavy cadence of a survivor passing down a grim warning.
"Director Hu," he began, his voice devoid of its usual musical lilt. "If you are truly, genuinely interested in sampling this... 'cuisine'... I strongly suggest you wait. Wait until your personal understanding of the fundamental rules of 'Death' grows much, much deeper before you even think about attempting it."
He offered a weak, strained smile. "Perhaps at that time, it will no longer act as a purely lethal hazard to your system. It might instead become a... well, a rather special 'experience.' A unique reference point for your line of work, who knows."
Venti's phrasing was deliberately subtle, but the heavy implications buried within his warning made Hu Tao's eyes light up like fireworks.
Understanding the rules of Death?
Her mind raced. Could this bowl of purple sludge truly be more than just a terrible-tasting, hallucinogenic bio-weapon? Did Ei's cooking actually manage to brush against the fabric of the universe's fundamental laws?
Venti's cryptic statement instantly draped the bowl of "Time of Judgment" in a deep, mystical veil, making the lethal dish infinitely more appealing to the eccentric funeral director.
However, while Hu Tao was undeniably eccentric and constantly brimming with morbid curiosity, she was absolutely not a reckless fool who ignored the advice of her elders. If both the Anemo Archon and her notoriously knowledgeable consultant were actively advising her against taking a bite, there had to be a terrifyingly compelling reason.
Swallowing the burning urge to grab a spoon, she nodded briskly. Her cheerful, bouncy demeanor returned in a flash. "Alright, alright! Since both my esteemed consultant and Venti have spoken against it, this Hall Master will graciously hold back her curiosity for the time being!"
On the other side of the room, the intervention was drawing to a close. Under the relentless barrage of factual bombardment from March 7th and the gentle, common-sense analogies provided by Belle, Stelle finally broke. She stopped insisting on the highly dangerous delusion that the "Time of Judgment" was merely a harmless, memory-enhancing agent with a uniquely spicy kick.
The Trailblazer slumped her shoulders in defeat, letting out a long, dramatic sigh. "Fine... I admit it," she muttered, her tone dripping with extreme reluctance. "This thing... it's definitely powerful. It knocked even someone as tough as me out cold..."
Although she verbally conceded the point, her jaw remained slightly clenched. Deep down, the stubborn, deeply ingrained competitive streak of a true protagonist was still violently struggling to accept the loss.
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