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This time, not a single ray of afternoon sunlight entered with it.
The entrance was completely blocked by people.
Charles paused halfway through polishing a glass and looked up from behind the counter.
For one fleeting moment, he wondered whether the tavern had somehow entered its evening rush several hours early.
“Good heavens,” he muttered.
“Is business really this good today?”
Then he saw Barbara standing at the head of the crowd.
A cold sense of foreboding crept down his spine.
Barbara did not drink.
If the deaconess of the Church of Favonius had brought several dozen people into a tavern in broad daylight, she certainly had not come to sample the latest vintage.
She had come looking for trouble.
Charles’s knees nearly gave way.
He possessed a fair amount of influence in Mondstadt.
Knights, merchants, adventurers, and even minor nobles drank at his counter, and most of them knew better than to make an enemy of the man responsible for filling their glasses.
But Barbara was a member of the Gunnhildr family.
That was an entirely different level of trouble.
Had Master Diluc been present, there might have been room to negotiate.
Unfortunately, his employer had only just returned from a dangerous journey and was still at Dawn Winery.
Charles had been left alone to hold the line.
A “little trouble,” Lucian had called it.
For the first time in his life, Charles began to question whether he understood the meaning of the word little.
Still, he had no real choice.
The stranger upstairs carried Diluc’s personal calling card and had clearly returned with news of the tavern owner.
If Charles abandoned him the moment pressure arrived, his career at Angel’s Share might end before nightfall.
Damn it.
Then he would stand his ground.
He only needed to survive the first wave.
Once Diluc returned, the matter could be settled properly.
Charles drew a deep breath and steadied himself.
He had endured drunkards collapsing across the counter, customers weeping into empty cups, and one memorable patron vomiting directly onto his boots.
Compared with those experiences, surely this could not be much worse.
His thoughts raced through every possibility in less than two seconds.
Then he stepped forward.
“Wait!
Miss Barbara, you cannot come in!”
His shout stopped the crowd at the threshold.
Barbara blinked in surprise and halted with one foot inside the tavern.
“W-Why not?”
Charles set down the glass and spoke with all the authority he could manufacture.
“Angel’s Share does not admit minors.”
Barbara opened her mouth.
Charles pressed on before she could object.
“And even after you come of age, the Acting Grand Master has already instructed us not to allow you inside a tavern.”
That part was a complete fabrication.
Jean had never personally given such an order.
However, if Barbara ever asked her sister directly, Jean would almost certainly agree that keeping her away from taverns was sensible.
In Charles’s opinion, that made the lie practically true in advance.
Everyone in Mondstadt knew about the Gunnhildr sisters.
Their relationship was awkward, distant in public, and filled with things neither of them knew how to say.
Yet no one doubted that Jean cared deeply for Barbara.
Barbara had turned eighteen only a month earlier.
She had not expected her sister’s protectiveness to extend to quietly banning her from taverns.
Warmth touched her heart.
Then irritation followed.
Why was Jean still interfering in matters like this?
Charles saw her hesitation and nearly sagged with relief.
The excuse had worked.
“Please return home, Miss Barbara.”
He gave her a graceful gesture toward the street.
Barbara stared at him for a moment.
Then realization dawned.
She had not come to drink.
Why was Charles trying so desperately to send her away before she even explained herself?
Her eyes narrowed.
Something was wrong.
Could Charles be working with the stranger who had mocked Lord Barbatos?
The suspicion in Barbara’s gaze caused sweat to bead instantly across Charles’s forehead.
After another moment, she reconsidered.
Charles was a native of Mondstadt and a trusted employee of Dawn Winery.
The blasphemous stranger was clearly an outsider.
It seemed unlikely that the two had known each other before today.
“Charles,” Barbara said, softening her voice, “please do me a favor.
I’m here to find someone, not to drink.”
“No!”
The refusal burst out of him like the cry of a cat whose tail had been stepped on.
Barbara blinked.
Her large blue eyes narrowed again.
“Why?”
The crowd behind her leaned forward, equally interested in the answer.
Pressure closed around Charles from every direction.
“Because…”
His mind spun desperately.
“Because the tavern is being renovated today!
We are closed to the public.
There are no customers inside.”
Silence followed.
Dozens of suspicious eyes stared at him.
Charles prayed that no one would come downstairs.
Footsteps sounded above.
Eula Lawrence descended from the second floor.
Lucian’s prolonged stare had left her uncomfortable, and after hearing voices gathering below, she decided that remaining in the tavern would only invite further irritation.
She crossed the room, placed several Mora coins neatly on the counter, and walked out with her usual composed elegance.
She had no interest in watching whatever spectacle was about to unfold.
The crowd watched her leave.
Then every face turned back toward Charles.
No one spoke.
No one needed to.
The empty tavern had just produced a paying customer.
One man near the rear, visibly delighted by the drama, raised his voice.
“Charles, don’t tell me you’re protecting the man who insulted the Anemo Archon!”
Charles’s vision went dark.
Insulted the Anemo Archon?
Why had no one mentioned that earlier?
This was no longer ordinary trouble.
This was the kind of trouble that could ruin a reputation, destroy a career, and possibly end with the Knights dragging someone away in chains.
If he betrayed Diluc’s guest, he might lose his job.
If he obstructed the Church and the Knights, he might also lose his job.
Either way, he was doomed.
Charles thought of his wife.
His children.
His elderly parents.
Master Diluc, he pleaded silently, I have served you faithfully.
Please return soon enough to salvage whatever remains of my life.
He straightened.
If destruction was unavoidable, he would at least meet it with professional dignity.
“I said no, and that is final,” Charles declared.
“The tavern is closed.
No one enters without an official warrant from the Knights of Favonius.”
Barbara and the crowd stared at him in disbelief.
So he really was protecting the stranger.
Barbara stamped one foot in frustration.
As a deaconess of the Church of Favonius, she held respected authority within Mondstadt, but the Church and the Knights handled different responsibilities.
She could not simply force her way into a private business because someone had offended her religious feelings.
For that, she would have to follow proper procedure.
“Charles, do you understand what you’re doing?” Barbara asked.
Anger rarely showed so clearly on her face.
“If the Knights issue an arrest warrant, this will become much more serious.”
“I understand.”
“You aren’t afraid?”
“I’m not.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’m not.”
Charles had run out of convincing answers, but stubbornness required no supporting argument.
Barbara glared at him.
“Fine!”
She turned sharply.
The crowd followed her away, grumbling about blasphemy, tavern conspiracies, and the urgent need to involve the Knights.
The moment the last person disappeared from view, Charles’s strength abandoned him.
He braced one hand against the wall, staggered toward a bench, and sat down heavily.
For a few glorious minutes, he had stood against the fury of Mondstadt and protected his employer’s guest.
He had also possibly destroyed his future.
Charles leaned back with the hollow expression of a man reduced to pale ash after burning too brightly.
From upstairs came Venti’s cheerful voice.
“Charles!
More wine!”
Charles closed his eyes.
Of course.
Naturally, the bard needed another drink now.
Upstairs, Lucian looked across the table at Venti.
“You caused this mess,” he said.
“Aren’t you going to deal with it?”
Venti lifted his glass with an innocent expression.
“Me?
You were the one who criticized the story.”
“And you ran away instead of explaining it.”
“That seemed safer.”
Lucian leaned back.
“I’ll settle it, but don’t pretend this has nothing to do with you, Barbatos.”
Venti’s smile stiffened.
Lucian lowered his voice, half joking and half threatening.
“Be careful, or tomorrow I’ll walk directly into the Knights’ headquarters and announce that their beloved Anemo Archon has been hiding in taverns under the name Venti.”
The bard’s posture changed instantly.
His carefree dignity vanished, replaced by shameless pleading.
“How did you know?” Venti whispered.
“Please don’t tell anyone.”
Lucian almost laughed.
The Anemo Archon had sensed that Lucian was a Descender, yet apparently still hoped his own identity remained mysterious.
“You want me to keep quiet?” Lucian asked.
“Then get me a Vision.
Consider it payment for your drinks.”
Venti stared at him.
“A Vision?
You don’t need one.
What would a Descender with your abilities possibly do with a Vision?”
Lucian crooked one finger.
“Come closer.”
Venti leaned across the table.
Lucian whispered his plan.
As the explanation continued, Venti’s eyebrows rose higher and higher.
When Lucian finished, the bard sat back and stared at him.
“So that’s how you plan to resolve it?”
“That’s the idea.”
Venti sighed.
“In the end, I still have to do the work.”
He stroked his chin, and a shrewd gleam entered his green eyes.
“Fine.
I can help.
But one meal and a few glasses of wine won’t cover the cost.
Creating what you want will consume divine power.”
Lucian had expected bargaining.
“No problem.
I’ll speak with Diluc and have five million Mora transferred to you.”
Venti froze.
“Five million?”
His eyes lit up.
Five million Mora could purchase enough wine to fill a swimming pool.
He thrust out his hand.
“Deal!”
Lucian clasped it.
The arrangement was settled.
Diluc had offered an additional ten million Mora after revealing that he possessed a Vision.
Lucian had withdrawn the demand during the journey, but a genuine divine-made Vision could turn that abandoned fee into something useful.
Pay Venti five million.
Collect ten million from Diluc.
Keep the difference.
Perfectly reasonable commerce.
Charles soon arrived with another tray of wine.
His face carried the desperate expression of a man asking whether his life was about to collapse.
Lucian took pity on him.
“The entire matter is a misunderstanding,” he said.
“I’ll visit the Knights personally tomorrow and explain everything.”
Color slowly returned to Charles’s face.
Lucian also placed a pouch of Mora on the tray.
“One hundred thousand.
Compensation for the emotional damage.”
Charles stared at the money.
Then at Lucian.
Then back at the money.
His shoulders relaxed for the first time since Barbara entered the tavern.
Perhaps serving Master Diluc’s strange friend was dangerous.
But at least the man understood the value of professional suffering.