"Someone actually dares to make trouble for Snezhnaya."
"Looks like it has something to do with that drunken bard, huh?"
Liyue.
Chihu Rock—"not even three taels will get you past the checkpoint."
Zhongli was sipping tea and watching the show when he felt a surge of overwhelming power. He silently turned his gaze toward that direction.
At once he sensed the aura of an old friend on the scene.
That layabout drunkard had finally awakened.
And the man wielding that mighty weapon seemed tied to Mondstadt.
He could also be sure the man was a Descender.
From the weapon he used and the aura about him, it was clear: he had neither a Vision nor a Constellation.
If such a person isn't a Descender, what else could he be?
Naturally, Zhongli had to go see how this all connected.
Snezhnaya was the first line against the Heavenly Principles.
They couldn't be allowed to be wiped out; otherwise, what of their plans and contracts?
He had to go mediate—and, while at it, check on that old friend.
It wasn't only the Seven Nations that trembled; in places best left undescribed,
Nearly every hidden power turned its gaze here.
The Abyss Order, the Five Great Sinners, the Witches' Assembly, and the Four Shades of the Heavenly Principles all focused on this spot.
The appearance of a Descender demanded attention.
Across history there had been only three Descenders.
The First, Phanes, now slumbered.
The Second, Nibelungen, was defeated by Phanes and fled Teyvat.
The Third was slain by Phanes; the corpse was made into a Gnosis,
Then distributed to the Seven as proof of their rule over their nations—proof, too, of victory in the Archon War.
The Gnosis' greatest function was to contact Celestia. By means of it, the Seven could answer the summons of the sky.
Yet from ancient times to now, only five hundred years ago—during Khaenri'ah's war that swept all Teyvat—did the Heavenly Principles summon the Seven.
Never since.
Thus Descenders were rare—and terrifyingly powerful.
The more hidden the organization, the better they understood this.
Snezhnaya's border.
"Well, well—the old man's here?"
The moment Zhongli arrived, Venti noticed him and, grinning, drifted over to say hello.
"What mess have you made this time?"
"Get him to stop—if Snezhnaya falls, our plan is finished."
"And if he keeps this up and wakes that one, what then?"
Watching Rowan Galehart still locked in a standoff with Snezhnaya, Zhongli couldn't help speaking up.
Venti, for his part, was unfazed.
"It's fine. I trust him. He knows his limits."
"What's this? Even you get anxious, old man?"
Zhongli shot the carefree Venti a sidelong look. Since the bard could say that,
There was no cause to rush. Without near-perfect certainty, Venti wouldn't claim the man had restraint.
Sure enough, sensing Zhongli's arrival, the torrent of mana raging around Rowan Galehart suddenly drew back.
The 光炮 from Yakusoku Sareta Shōri no Ken (Sword of Promised Victory) shrank, then faded away.
Snezhnaya, on that side, exhaled in relief. Had Rowan held a moment longer, the barrier would have shattered, and Snezhnaya's people would have been swept away.
At that point, it would truly have been a death feud between Snezhnaya and Mondstadt.
Luckily, Morax came quickly.
Otherwise, they would have been finished.
Even the Regrator—who hated Morax most among the Harbingers—couldn't help but say: Morax did well.
"This is only a warning. I, Arthur White Pendragon, declare this here and now."
"From this day, all trade and dealings between Mondstadt and Snezhnaya are suspended, and I hereby declare war on Snezhnaya."
"As for the Gnosis you covet—come to Mondstadt and take it by your own strength!"
With a cold snort, Rowan wrapped his voice in mana and carried it straight into the Snezhnaya Palace.
Hearing such arrogant words, the entire palace fell silent.
Even Rosalyne, so brash before, had to lower her head and hold her tongue.
Fact was, they'd just picked their lives back up from Rowan Galehart's feet.
Now, in Snezhnaya Palace, a truth was perfectly illustrated:
As bold as they'd been upon hearing Rowan's declaration of war,
That timid they were now.
All the former defiance was gone; many eyes had grown startlingly clear.
Seeing no one speak, Tartaglia—the youngest Harbinger—fresh and fearless, spoke up.
"Your Majesty, shall we sever relations with Mondstadt?"
"Sever relations? Heh—ridiculous."
Pierro couldn't help but laugh.
"We've no capital to sever anything. If we truly cut ties, forget the Gnosis—our liquor alone would be cut off."
"Do you even know that eighty percent of Snezhnaya's spirits are imported from Mondstadt?"
Indeed, Mondstadt was Teyvat's largest producer of alcohol.
And though Snezhnaya, buried in ice and snow, had its own specialty brews, the endless winter meant
Their domestic supply was small—liquor is distilled from grain, after all.
And does Snezhnaya even harvest enough grain to feed itself?
If they did, the Fatui wouldn't be burning, looting, and robbing abroad.
Why do they have such a foul name?
Because what they do is foul.
In this land of ice and snow, they needed spirits to keep their bodies warm.
Hence why people in frigid lands drink so much.
It's the cold; liquor keeps one warm.
The same reason the northern folk's tolerance runs high—
Not love of drink, but the demands of life.
Add to that Mondstadt being the nation best suited to grow grain,
The breadbasket of the continent.
If you really fall out with them, grain and liquor both get cut.
Tear the mask off? That's a death wish.
The Tsaritsa knew this as well—so they would have to talk.
And with Morax and Barbatos both present, their mediation should keep the demands within reason.
Just as the Tsaritsa thought so,
The moment Pierro finished, the hall boiled over.
Voices clashed—some shouting to simply level Mondstadt,
Others snarling to fight, whatever it took.
A racket—Snezhnaya Palace turned into a marketplace.
The Tsaritsa listened to the babble and felt a headache rising. She cut them off at once.
"Enough. All of you, be silent."
"I will go negotiate with them myself!"
(End of Chapter)
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