"This time, we've really stirred the hornet's nest."
"Got any plan for how to wrap this up?"
Zhongli watched Rowan's calm-as-still-water expression, then glanced, puzzled, at Venti.
Judging by the posture here, were they planning to keep staring Snezhnaya down?
That was a bit too hardline—push too hard and you snap, you know?
"Great question. Sorry—I don't know either."
"All of this was his decision. I only handed the right to decide over to him."
Venti shook his head helplessly. He had no clue what Rowan was thinking. The declaration had been made already—
So why not leave? Was he really going to fight the Harbingers and the Tsaritsa head-on?
"..."
Zhongli shot the unreliable drunk a speechless side-eye.
Just as the two were wondering what Rowan intended, they both turned at the same instant to look toward the sky over Snezhnaya.
That familiar presence was drawing closer and closer. In unison, they thought:
"She's here!"
An ice-blue silhouette dropped from the heavens the next second, alighting before Rowan.
The Tsaritsa.
Her face did not surprise Rowan at all:
It was the rumored tall "big yaya"—the very Bronya from "A Post-Honkai Odyssey," she who harbored grand ambitions.
She fixed Rowan with a frigid stare the moment she arrived,
As if her eyes alone could kill him.
Rowan, however, paid it no mind—after a few measuring glances, he stopped acknowledging her entirely.
He dispelled Yakusoku Sareta Shōri no Ken (Sword of Promised Victory), then looked toward the spot where Venti and Zhongli had been hiding.
"Morax. Barbatos. Since you're here, don't skulk in the shadows."
"My negotiation with the Tsaritsa needs the two of you as witnesses."
"Especially you, Morax."
As the God of Contracts in Teyvat, Morax's importance went without saying.
For a parley between gods, his presence was required.
As for that slacker Venti—his being here or not hardly mattered.
If he weren't the Anemo Archon, Rowan wouldn't have bothered calling him.
Venti: ...
The West Wind Knights glanced, baffled, to where Rowan was looking. That space was clearly empty, wasn't it?
Just as they wondered if Rowan had misjudged, two figures—faces obscured—manifested in that very spot.
One was cloaked head-to-toe in thick Geo, robed in sumptuous gilt, a hood shadowing the face.
No need to ask—this was Liyue's resplendent God of Gold, the Geo Archon, Morax.
What excited the West Wind Knights even more was the other god.
Like Morax, he too was wrapped in raw element—yet not Geo, but the element dearest to the West Wind Knights: wind.
A cyan tunic. A plume of viridian green falling behind to veil his face. Even if they could not see his features, they were certain—this was the Anemo Archon, Barbatos.
Unmoved even by the Tsaritsa's descent, the West Wind Knights nevertheless, at Barbatos's appearance,
All sprang from their saddles, dropped to one knee, and pressed right fists to their chests.
"All members of the West Wind Knights salute Lord Barbatos!"
"All members of the West Wind Knights salute Lord Barbatos!"
As if rehearsed, every Knight present cried out in perfect unison.
This was their faith—the faith of Mondstadt.
Though Barbatos seldom revealed himself to the world, the city's devotion had never waned.
More fervent, even, than Snezhnaya's.
The Tsaritsa, watching, couldn't help a twinge of jealousy.
That guy Barbatos—what a charmed life.
Venti hadn't expected the Knights to pull that one—he nearly jumped. Then he smiled, flicked his arm, and a formless breeze lifted everyone to their feet.
"Up you go."
Zhongli folded his arms, nodding in approval.
Mondstadters might have a ragged reputation, but their devotion to his old friend deserved praise.
If only that fellow were more responsible.
"Come. Let's talk."
Rowan ignored the Knights behind him and looked straight at the Tsaritsa.
"Mm. We must talk."
"Hmph!"
The Tsaritsa ground her teeth—if not for Rowan's stunt, Snezhnaya wouldn't be so passive.
Now they had to seek terms with Mondstadt—at the very least, ensure trade continued.
Otherwise Snezhnaya could face a grain crisis—perhaps even a liquor crisis.
And they still needed the Gnosis to stand against the Heavenly Principles, so she had no choice but to negotiate with Rowan.
No doubt that was precisely why he'd staged this—to force talks.
In the past, the Fatui were lofty and never spared Mondstadt a proper glance.
Now, the poles had reversed.
Now they were the ones who had to petition Mondstadt.
The contrast left the Tsaritsa vexed—but helpless.
Outmatched was outmatched.
The four of them left the border and came to a halt at the very center of the Snezhnayan Sea.
With a casual motion, Zhongli summoned a stone table with four stone seats; upon it sat a tea set and a pot of steaming, freshly brewed tea.
"Please."
None of the four dared slight Morax; they took their seats in turn.
Zhongli lifted the pot and poured for each of them.
Without so much as a glance, the Tsaritsa downed her cup in one shot, then locked a death stare on Rowan.
Venti did the same—then fished out a treasured bottle of apple brew and took a blissful swig.
Zhongli eyed the wastrel in mute exasperation. Were they not such old friends,
That attitude would have earned him a resounding slap.
Rowan ignored the Tsaritsa's gaze and expression. He lifted his cup, blew gently,
Took a small sip, and closed his eyes to savor it.
The gesture surprised Zhongli—outside of Inazuma, only "their own" tended to do that.
Such unforced manners meant he truly knew how to drink tea,
Unlike that drunk and the Tsaritsa, who only knew how to chug.
So—was this one from Liyue?
No—that Rowan was a Descender was beyond doubt. Where, then, did he hail from?
Zhongli found himself ever more intrigued.
"Hey. That's enough."
"Drop the phony tea-tasting. Tell me—what conditions will make you abandon this war on Snezhnaya?"
(End of Chapter)
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