He fled.
Lucian chased.
And no matter how desperately Venti tried, there was no escaping him.
The streets of Mondstadt twisted into a maze of stairways, narrow lanes, flower boxes, and sunlit stone walls.
Venti did not dare unleash the full power of the Anemo Archon in the middle of the city, but even on foot he moved with astonishing speed.
His green cloak flashed around one corner, vanished through another, and reappeared halfway down the next street before an ordinary pursuer could have taken three steps.
Lucian was not an ordinary pursuer.
After losing sight of the bard among the crowds, he summoned Earth Song and switched to Moody Blues.
The Stand replayed Venti’s recent movements, allowing Lucian to follow the exact path he had taken through the city.
Seven alleys.
Then eight.
At last, the replayed figure darted toward a familiar tavern and disappeared inside.
Lucian looked up at the sign.
Angel’s Share.
A slow grin spread across his face.
Of all the places Venti could have chosen, he had run into a tavern owned by Diluc Ragnvindr.
The Anemo Archon had fled directly into Lucian’s newest client’s establishment.
That was not an escape.
That was volunteering to be cornered.
Lucian pushed open the tavern door and walked inside.
Business was quiet during the day.
Mondstadt’s citizens might love alcohol more passionately than most nations loved their gods, but even they usually waited until evening before beginning a serious drinking session.
Only two or three customers occupied the first floor of Angel’s Share.
Behind the counter, Charles polished a wineglass and fought the urge to yawn.
If the tavern did not keep fixed business hours, he would have closed the doors and taken a nap.
The schedule was brutal.
Angel’s Share became busiest after seven in the evening, and on lively nights Charles remained behind the counter until nearly four in the morning.
Then, after sleeping through most of the day, he returned before five in the afternoon to begin the cycle again.
The pay was excellent.
His body, however, was beginning to file complaints.
Perhaps Dawn Winery should hire part-time bartenders.
Mondstadt had no shortage of idle citizens willing to work a few evening hours, and Elzer might approve if the wages were low enough.
Charles considered the idea.
Then he remembered what the average unemployed person in Mondstadt did with free time.
They drank.
The less responsibility someone possessed, the more likely they were to treat the tavern as a second home.
Hiring such people to guard the wine would be like hiring a fox to supervise a chicken coop.
And then there was Venti.
That bard was a disaster shaped like a person.
He performed in taverns, earned a handful of Mora, and immediately converted every coin into alcohol.
Charles could not remember the last time he had seen Venti order a proper meal.
The bard did not seem to eat.
He simply drank, sang, slept, and somehow remained alive.
As if summoned by the thought, the tavern door burst open.
Venti shot inside like an enormous green rat.
“Charles!
Two glasses of Dandelion Wine!
Bring them upstairs!”
He did not pause to explain.
Within seconds, he had crossed the room, climbed the stairs, and vanished onto the second floor.
Charles watched him go with the exhausted expression of a man who had just been informed that his shift would become much longer.
Venti had not visited for three days.
That meant he intended to make up for lost time.
Usually, he drank on the first floor.
Choosing an upstairs table meant he planned to settle in for the night.
Charles could already imagine himself climbing the stairs at four in the morning to wake the bard and remove him from the furniture.
He reached for the shaker.
The door opened again.
A tall, broad-shouldered man stepped inside.
He wore an expensive cloak over unusual summer clothing, and a dark-red mask hung at his waist.
His face was unfamiliar, but striking enough that Charles knew he would remember it.
“Excuse me,” the stranger said.
“Where did the fellow in green go?”
His tone held no open hostility.
Even so, an invisible pressure tightened the room.
Charles instinctively straightened.
“What business do you have with him?”
A bartender had responsibilities.
Venti was a troublesome regular, but still a regular.
Charles could not casually hand him over to an unknown man without at least asking a question.
“I need to speak with him.” Lucian reached into his clothing and tossed a card onto the counter.
“You recognize this, don’t you?”
Charles picked it up.
The card bore the Ragnvindr crest and Diluc’s personal seal.
His tension vanished.
A friend of Master Diluc.
That changed matters considerably.
“He’s upstairs.”
Charles pointed toward the railing.
At that exact moment, Venti’s green hat and half his face appeared above the edge of the second floor.
He saw Lucian looking up.
His head immediately vanished again.
Too late.
“Thank you.”
Lucian turned toward the stairs.
“Wait, sir,” Charles called.
“Master Diluc is currently—”
“He’s back,” Lucian replied.
“He should be resting at Dawn Winery by now.”
Charles froze.
Diluc had returned?
Before he could ask for details, Lucian placed one foot on the first stair.
“Oh, and there may be a little trouble outside shortly.
Could you help deal with it?”
He waved with suspicious guilt and continued upward.
Charles stared after him.
They had known each other for less than a minute, and the man was already asking him to handle incoming trouble.
“No problem,” Charles said automatically.
In Mondstadt, even the Knights of Favonius treated an experienced bartender with a certain respect.
Antagonizing the person who prepared your drinks was unwise.
One mysterious extra ingredient could ruin an entire evening.
Charles prepared two glasses of Dandelion Wine and carried them upstairs.
“You came,” Venti said.
“I came,” Lucian replied.
“You shouldn’t have.”
“But I did.”
“Many people are searching for you outside.”
“I know.”
Lucian removed Dottore’s stolen cloak and draped it over the stool beside him.
Venti placed one hand against his chest and smiled with extravagant generosity.
“Sit down.
Allow me to buy you a drink.”
Charles arrived at that moment and placed two glasses of Dandelion Wine on the table.
Then he quietly withdrew.
Lucian watched him descend the stairs.
After the bartender was safely out of sight, Lucian turned back to Venti.
“You already paid for these, right?”
Venti fell silent.
He picked up one glass and took a very small sip, as though drinking slowly might make the question disappear.
Several seconds passed.
Then he leaned closer.
“Do you have any Mora?” he whispered.
“Lend me some.”
The air became painfully still.
Lucian stared at him.
This was the Anemo Archon.
One of the Seven.
A god worshiped across Mondstadt.
And he had invited Lucian to drink without carrying enough money to pay for the wine.
“Forget it,” Lucian said.
“I’ll cover the bill.
Drink whatever you like.”
Venti’s expression brightened instantly.
Lucian raised his own glass and took an elegant sip.
The wine was smooth, carrying a mild bitterness beneath a clean, refreshing finish.
Layers of fruit, oak, and dandelion unfolded after the first taste.
Even Lucian, whose standards had been sharpened by centuries of indulgence, had to admit it was excellent.
During the journey back, he had told Diluc to forget the additional ten-million-Mora fee.
Wine from Dawn Winery could settle the debt instead.
After tasting this, Lucian felt increasingly confident that he had made the correct decision.
“Show-off…”
The quiet mutter came from the neighboring table.
An ordinary person would never have heard it.
Neither Lucian nor Venti qualified as ordinary.
Both turned.
A young woman with short blue hair sat alone, dressed in the uniform of the Knights of Favonius.
An icy-blue Vision rested against her attire, and a claymore leaned against the wall beside her.
Eula Lawrence.
The Spindrift Knight.
Lucian recognized her immediately.
For a moment, his thoughts drifted far away.
In his first life, a colleague had persuaded him to try Genshin Impact during one of Eula’s banners.
The man had confidently described her as the premier physical-damage fighter and convinced Lucian to spend his guaranteed pull on her.
Those had been carefree days.
Work, games, cheap meals, complaints about luck, and arguments over character builds.
The memory brought warmth.
Then another memory followed.
During his early days with the game, Eula had been the only properly developed character on his account.
While gathering materials for Barbara, Lucian had repeatedly fought the Oceanid with her.
The water creatures had humiliated him more times than he cared to remember.
One day, he would settle that grudge.
Lucian’s gaze remained fixed on Eula longer than it should have.
She noticed.
Her cheeks, already faintly flushed from drinking, reddened all the way to her ears.
Why was this stranger staring at her?
She should have kept quiet.
Now the situation had become uncomfortable.
She would remember this grievance.
“Hey,” Venti whispered.
Under the table, he lightly kicked Lucian’s leg.
“Stop staring.”
Lucian returned to the present and realized how his behavior must have appeared.
He had been studying her like a shameless pervert.
Still, there probably had never been a pervert as handsome as him.
“It’s nothing,” Lucian said.
“She reminded me of something from long ago.”
He lifted his glass and emptied it.
Memories were troublesome things.
They could remain silent for years, then return without warning because of a face, a voice, or a familiar color.
Venti leaned closer.
“She’s from the Lawrence Clan,” he whispered, glancing toward Eula.
Lucian raised an eyebrow.
“And?”
“The old aristocracy of Mondstadt.
They’re infamous.
Most citizens consider them a common enemy.”
Lucian looked at Eula again, this time more thoughtfully.
“I’m not from Mondstadt,” he said.
“Why would your city’s common enemy automatically become mine?”
Venti smiled faintly.
Lucian continued, unconcerned by whether Eula could hear.
“The entire matter is messy.
Eula did not benefit from the Lawrence Clan’s old tyranny.
Yet the people of Mondstadt treat her as though she personally enslaved their ancestors.”
His fingers turned the empty glass.
“And when a family falls, the loudest people kicking it are not always innocent.
Some may be former beneficiaries trying to prove how righteous they have become.”
Venti’s smile deepened.
He finished his wine and leaned over the railing.
“Charles!
Another round!”
“Coming!”
Charles answered from below.
Outside Angel’s Share, footsteps filled the street.
“This is the place!”
Barbara stood at the front of a crowd several dozen strong.
After questioning shopkeepers, guards, pedestrians, and anyone else unfortunate enough to cross their path, she and the listeners from the fountain had finally tracked the disrespectful stranger to the tavern.
They wanted an explanation.
Behind the bar, Charles was wiping another glass, completely unaware of the storm gathering outside his door.