High above the earth, an enormous white bird glided south toward Mondstadt.
Its wings stretched wide across the clouds, beating with slow, powerful strokes.
The creature was not a natural animal.
Lucian Vale had created it himself from living matter, shaping bone, muscle, feathers, and instinct until it became a tireless mount capable of crossing nations without rest.
A large mirror was secured to the bird’s back.
Lucian and Diluc Ragnvindr were travelling inside the independent mirror world connected to it.
The arrangement was comfortable, private, and considerably warmer than flying through Snezhnaya’s freezing winds.
Within the spacious mirrored chamber, a mountain of freshly cooked seafood fried rice had already been reduced to empty plates.
Lucian and Diluc had prepared enough food to feed a small squad, yet after finishing it together, both men felt only half full.
Diluc leaned back in his chair and studied the man who had broken him out of a Fatui prison as casually as someone retrieving luggage.
“My father commissioned the Curatorium of Secrets to rescue me?”
Lucian nodded.
“That’s right.”
A complicated emotion passed through Diluc’s eyes.
No one understood a son better than his father.
Crepus had known exactly what kind of person Diluc was.
Even before his death, he must have anticipated that his eldest son would ignore his warning, pursue the truth behind the Delusion, and eventually place himself in danger.
So he had prepared for it.
Even after death, his father had reached out to protect him.
Diluc remained silent for several seconds before asking, “How much was the commission?”
Lucian lifted his wineglass.
“Ten million Mora.
My share is eight million.”
Diluc stared at him.
“How much?”
“Ten million.”
The answer did not improve with repetition.
Diluc had travelled throughout Teyvat.
He understood how dangerous Snezhnaya was, and he had personally experienced the security surrounding the Fatui’s prisons and laboratories.
Lucian had entered the nation alone, walked into a chamber occupied by multiple Harbingers, reached the lowest levels of a fortified prison, and extracted Diluc without suffering so much as a torn sleeve.
Even if the reward had been several hundred million Mora, most mercenaries would have refused the commission.
Yet Crepus’s contract had offered only ten million.
Diluc pointed toward the bottle beside Lucian.
“That wine costs three hundred thousand Mora.”
Lucian glanced at it with mild disappointment.
“It isn’t worth three hundred thousand.
The taste is mediocre.
Most of the price is probably reputation and clever marketing.”
Diluc’s expression darkened further.
That was not the point.
“According to your commission,” he said slowly, “my life is worth about thirty bottles of that wine.”
“Less, technically,” Lucian replied.
“Because the wine is overpriced.”
Those three hundred thousand Mora had not fallen from the sky.
Lucian had earned them through methods he considered entirely legitimate and that everyone else was better off not examining too closely.
He had originally opened the bottle intending to share it with Diluc.
If the young master enjoyed it, perhaps Lucian could persuade him to reimburse half the price later.
Diluc had not touched a single drop.
It was not because he considered the wine beneath him.
He simply disliked drinking alcohol.
An unfortunate trait for Mondstadt’s most famous future wine merchant.
Diluc placed both hands on the table and stood so abruptly that his chair scraped backward.
“This price is far too low.”
Lucian blinked at him.
“This is no longer a question of whether the commission was practical,” Diluc continued.
“It concerns my dignity.
I am the heir of one of Mondstadt’s wealthiest merchant families.
The Ragnvindr estate possesses more than enough money.
My life should not be valued at only ten million Mora.”
He was not merely a rich merchant’s son.
Diluc had demonstrated extraordinary talent with a claymore from childhood.
At ten years old, he had received a Vision.
He had later joined the Knights of Favonius and become their youngest-ever Cavalry Captain.
Ten million Mora sounded less like a rescue fee and more like an insult.
Lucian gave him a doubtful look.
“Really?
You look like an ordinary person to me.
You aren’t even carrying a Vision.”
Diluc stiffened.
“I’m only the employee who accepted the assignment,” Lucian added.
“The listed price was for rescuing an ordinary man.
You’ll have to complain to my boss about the valuation.”
Ordinary.
The word struck Diluc harder than most weapons could have.
He had been born into wealth, possessed rare combat talent, received divine recognition as a child, and risen quickly through the Knights of Favonius.
Before his father’s death, almost nothing in his life had truly defeated him.
Now the man who had effortlessly invaded a Fatui stronghold was looking directly at him and calling him ordinary.
“Who said I don’t possess a Vision?” Diluc demanded.
“I left it with the Knights of Favonius.
That does not mean it isn’t mine.”
He lifted his chin.
Being wealthy had failed to impress Lucian, but being an allogene surely carried more weight.
Vision bearers were chosen from among countless mortals.
They were people whose ambitions had drawn the gaze of the gods and who possessed the potential to ascend to Celestia.
Lucian frowned.
It had been a very long time since he studied the precise chronology of Diluc’s life.
He had vaguely remembered Diluc receiving his Vision during his later activities as Mondstadt’s mysterious nocturnal protector.
Apparently, that memory had been wrong.
A more important question immediately replaced it.
Should an allogene be charged the same rate as an ordinary client?
Probably not.
Should he report the change to Nefer?
Absolutely not.
He had already irritated his boss by trying to accept Lauma’s commission privately.
If he independently raised the fee and Nefer learned about it, she might genuinely replace him this time.
Then again, Snezhnaya was far away from Nod-Krai.
A commander in the field occasionally had to adapt to circumstances.
And taking a modest additional fee from one of Mondstadt’s richest men was not greed.
It was flexible pricing.
Lucian straightened his expression until he looked completely serious.
“In that case, you are not an ordinary person.”
Diluc’s pride began to recover.
“The price for rescuing an allogene is different,” Lucian continued.
“Add another ten million Mora.
You can give that portion directly to me after we arrive.”
Diluc’s arms went limp.
His knees weakened, and he collapsed back onto his chair.
“So my Vision is worth exactly ten million Mora?”
“That appears to be the current market rate.”
Diluc stared into the distance.
Lucian had not been belittling him at all.
The shameless man genuinely wanted more money.
Worse, he intended to bypass the Curatorium of Secrets and pocket the extra commission personally.
Diluc had prepared himself for arrogance, mockery, or some grand lecture about the insignificance of wealth.
He had no defence against shameless accounting.
Every sharp response lodged in his throat.
Arguing felt like performing music for a cow.
It was like striking cotton with all his strength or trying to throw a sheet of paper after burning himself out.
After sitting in defeated silence for a long while, Diluc finally asked, “Are you travelling to Mondstadt as well?”
“Mm.”
Lucian produced a sealed envelope.
“My percentage is unusually generous this time.
Once I deliver you, I also need to hand this letter to Varka, the Grand Master of the Knights of Favonius.”
Diluc heard only one part of that statement.
His percentage was unusually generous.
The fragile structure of his recovered pride cracked again.
In Diluc’s imagination, his body turned to stone and shattered across the floor.
Lucian watched him fall silent and remembered something.
“You said you possess a Vision, but you left it behind.
Doesn’t being separated from it cause any side effects?”
Diluc looked at him in confusion.
“No.”
“Nothing at all?”
“A Vision is an external focus.
Why would leaving it somewhere safe harm me?”
Lucian considered the answer.
During the Vision Hunt Decree in Inazuma, several people who had their Visions forcibly taken had lost the ambitions connected to them.
Some became listless, confused, or emotionally hollow.
He had wondered whether voluntary separation might produce a similar effect.
Apparently, the relationship was more complicated than simple physical distance.
Diluc’s curiosity sharpened.
“You have a Vision hanging from your waist.
Haven’t you tested it yourself?”
He looked at the green gem attached to Lucian’s clothing.
Lucian shrugged.
“It’s fake.”
Diluc’s eyes widened.
“Fake?”
“Nefer had it made for me.
It resembles her Dendro Vision, so people are less likely to ask awkward questions when I use strange abilities.”
Lucian had never received a Vision.
He rarely needed the imitation, but it provided a convenient explanation for anyone unwilling to look too closely.
Diluc studied him again.
A Vision could not explain a man bending a ten-centimetre steel door with his bare hands.
Nor could ordinary elemental power account for a private world inside mirrors, the creation of enormous living birds, or the effortless invasion of a Fatui prison.
With abilities like those, Lucian had little reason to desire a Vision.
Still, humans were not supposed to possess such power naturally.
“Are you a god?” Diluc asked cautiously.
Many gods beyond the Seven survived only in myths and ancient records.
Their authorities could be strange, narrow, or completely unlike the elemental powers commonly understood by humans.
Lucian shook his head.
“I’m a Descender.”
Diluc’s thoughts stopped.
“A Descender…?”
His voice rose at the end despite his attempt to remain composed.
Old Mondstadt stories spoke of beings who came from beyond Teyvat.
They were even rarer than gods, and every tale associated them with power capable of altering the fate of the world.
Suddenly, being called ordinary no longer seemed insulting.
Compared with a Descender, almost everyone in Teyvat was ordinary.
Diluc’s irritation dissolved into curiosity.
He had imagined that a being from beyond the world would be distant, solemn, and impossibly arrogant.
Lucian was none of those things.
Apart from his absurd strength, mysterious abilities, questionable business ethics, and complete lack of restraint around money, he behaved much like an ordinary person.
He also cooked seafood fried rice so delicious that Diluc knew he would remember the taste for years.
If the price were manageable, Diluc might genuinely have tried to hire him as a permanent chef.
The owner of the Curatorium of Secrets had to be extraordinary in her own right.
She had somehow convinced a Descender to work as an employee—and possessed enough courage to take a percentage of his commission.
Far away in Nod-Krai, Nefer suddenly sneezed.
She rubbed her nose and frowned.
“Is Lucian talking about me?”
The building felt strangely quiet without him.
More importantly, she had no idea what to eat.
Her own cooking was serviceable at best, and after growing accustomed to Lucian’s meals, “serviceable” had become difficult to tolerate.
Perhaps she should hire a cook.
No—a new employee.
An employee who happened to cook.
That sounded much more financially responsible.
Inside the mirror world, Lucian had just finished clearing away the dishes when he sneezed as well.
He paused.
Was Nefer complaining about him from across the continent?
Fine.
He would not secretly raise the rescue fee again.
Perhaps he would simply ask Diluc to settle the difference with wine after they reached Mondstadt.
That was not adding money.
It was accepting local goods.
Lucian glanced toward the moving reflections that showed clouds passing outside.
He wondered how Nefer was managing without him.
Was she eating properly?
She was probably buying meals from somewhere.
Her own cooking was certainly nothing worth praising.
At opposite ends of the continent, Lucian and Nefer thought of each other.
And at almost the same moment, both smiled.
🕷️ End of Chapter
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