“How interesting.”
Frederica Gunnhildr stood at the edge of the crowd with one hand resting against her chin.
She had first noticed the commotion early that morning when Barbara hurried through the streets distributing flyers.
Curiosity had brought her to the plaza beneath the statue of the Anemo Archon, where she found an arena, an ancient jar of wine, and a foreign man challenging the prejudices of half the city.
More importantly, she had noticed Barbara.
Frederica had not personally raised her younger daughter, but she was still Barbara’s mother.
One glance was enough to tell her that something about the girl had changed.
Barbara’s eyes followed Lucian Vale whenever she thought no one was watching.
Her expression shifted whenever he spoke to her, and the gratitude in her voice when she mentioned his gift carried a warmth that was difficult to mistake.
So this was the young man who had captured Barbara’s attention.
Frederica’s eyes narrowed with amusement.
He certainly looked capable of causing trouble.
In only a few days, he had apparently offended the Church, befriended the Anemo Archon, rescued Diluc from Snezhnaya, and erected an illegal arena beneath Mondstadt’s most sacred statue.
A talented player, perhaps.
That meant he deserved a proper examination.
Still, Frederica had to admire his courage.
Challenging the prejudices of an entire city while standing alone before hundreds of people required either extraordinary confidence or an impressive lack of self-preservation.
She intended to discover which one.
Lucian lowered Eula back onto the platform.
The Spindrift Knight remained frozen for several seconds, her face warm from the humiliating experience of being lifted before the entire plaza like a small kitten.
Lucian ignored her glare and surveyed the crowd.
Everyone appeared interested.
Many stared greedily at the jar of Barbatos’s Dandelion Wine.
Others whispered about Eula, the Lawrence Clan, and the strange foreigner who had declared war on inherited prejudice.
Yet no one stepped forward.
They wanted the prize.
They simply did not want to become the first person to publicly admit that they despised Eula.
Lucian drew breath, preparing to provoke them.
“I’ll do it.”
A clear female voice cut through the murmuring crowd.
A tall knight stepped forward.
She possessed the same unmistakable blonde hair as Jean and Barbara, though age and experience had sharpened her features.
An Anemo Vision hung at her waist, while a Favonius sword rested at her opposite hip.
Recognition rippled through the plaza.
“The Alder Knight…”
“Frederica Gunnhildr?”
“She only returned from Dornman Port yesterday!”
Barbara’s face changed instantly.
“Mother?”
Frederica approached the arena with calm, deliberate steps.
Lucian’s gaze moved between her and Barbara.
The resemblance was obvious once he knew to look for it.
So this was Frederica Gunnhildr—Jean and Barbara’s mother, a renowned knight who would later join Varka’s expedition.
Her presence in Mondstadt at this point in the timeline made perfect sense.
Lucian raised one hand.
“Sorry.
You cannot afford the admission fee.”
Frederica stopped.
“And how would you know what I can afford?”
“The Anemo Archon granted me the ability to read minds.”
The statement caused another wave of whispers.
Lucian glanced toward the crowd until he found Venti.
The bard had followed the aroma of his stolen wine and now stood among the spectators with an increasingly distressed expression.
Lucian met his eyes.
Then he tilted his head slightly toward the wine jar.
A bribe.
Venti understood at once.
He sighed with the weary resignation of a god being blackmailed by his own alcohol and discreetly formed an approving gesture with his fingers.
The statue of Barbatos behind the arena suddenly glowed.
Cyan light descended from its outstretched hands and settled over Lucian.
The crowd gasped.
Before anyone recovered, a gentle wind swept across the plaza.
Small spheres of light condensed above the spectators’ heads.
Most shone orange.
A much smaller number glowed green.
People with orange lights immediately looked mortified.
Some covered their heads as though the color could be hidden.
Others glanced around, hoping to discover that everyone else had received the same judgment.
The Anemo Archon knew.
Their private resentment, suspicion, and inherited dislike toward Eula had apparently been visible to Barbatos all along.
At the same time, their curiosity about Lucian deepened.
What kind of relationship did this outsider have with the Anemo Archon that he could request a public miracle and receive one immediately?
Lucian pointed across the crowd.
“Now the rules are clear.
Only those with an orange light above their heads are qualified to enter the arena.”
He gave Venti a discreet thumbs-up.
At last, Barbatos had done some actual work.
Frederica looked above herself.
Her light was green.
Surprise crossed her face.
She had expected Lucian to be exploiting the Anemo Archon’s name for theatrical effect.
She had even wondered why Jean and Varka allowed the spectacle to continue.
Frederica had returned from Dornman Port only the previous afternoon and had missed Lucian’s appearance at the Knights of Favonius headquarters.
She did not know that an Anemo Vision had manifested in his hand before dozens of witnesses.
Apparently, his claim was genuine.
Frederica adjusted her plan.
“Then I won’t challenge the three of you.”
She looked directly at Lucian.
“I’ll challenge you alone.”
Lucian opened his mouth to refuse.
“Do not answer too quickly,” Frederica said.
“You understand what I mean.”
Her gaze shifted briefly toward Barbara.
The gesture was subtle.
It was not subtle enough.
Barbara’s eyes widened in horror.
Her mother was testing him.
In public.
This was completely inappropriate.
Lucian could not possibly agree to something so absurd.
“Fine,” Lucian said.
Barbara stared at him.
He had agreed.
Lucian did not look in her direction.
Instead, he studied Frederica.
“Are you certain you want a one-on-one duel?
You may bring several more people if you like.”
Frederica’s expression hardened.
She drew her Favonius sword and pointed the blade toward him.
“Are you provoking me?”
“Yes.”
“Or are you trying to protect your pride by implying that defeating me alone would be too easy?”
“That too.”
Jean rubbed her temples from the edge of the crowd.
Her mother had not changed at all.
Frederica’s temper had always been fierce, especially when someone questioned her ability.
That same pride had contributed to the collapse of her marriage with Seamus Pegg years earlier.
Once challenged, she became incapable of retreat.
Frederica climbed onto the arena and removed the Anemo Vision from her waist.
“You said any method was permitted as long as the challenger won.”
“I did.”
“Then we will compete in swordsmanship alone.
No elemental power.
No strange abilities.
If your swordsmanship surpasses mine, I will concede.”
A calculating light entered her eyes.
She knew Lucian possessed a Vision and apparently enjoyed Barbatos’s personal support.
Fighting him without restrictions would be reckless.
Swordsmanship was different.
Power could be granted.
Technique required time.
Lucian appeared young.
Even if he possessed extraordinary talent, how many years could he possibly have spent mastering a blade?
Frederica Gunnhildr had trained for decades.
Within the Knights of Favonius, the Alder Knight’s swordsmanship was considered among the finest in Mondstadt.
Barbara immediately became anxious.
Eula’s concern was even more obvious.
Lucian, however, did not hesitate.
“Fine.
Swordsmanship it is.”
He glanced toward Eula.
“Take Amber off the platform.”
Amber reacted as though a prison door had opened.
“Gladly.”
She grabbed Eula’s hand and pulled her toward the stairs.
Eula allowed herself to be dragged away, but she looked back every few steps.
Worry tightened her features, and reluctance slowed her feet.
At the rear of the crowd, Varka’s eyes widened with sudden realization.
He slapped one hand against his forehead.
Then the Grand Master turned and sprinted toward the Knights of Favonius headquarters at full speed.
“Eula, let’s leave.”
Amber kept tugging her friend away from the arena.
“There is no chance of winning a swordsmanship duel against the Alder Knight.”
Her fear was not exaggerated.
Frederica’s reputation did not come from her family name.
She had earned it through years of service and near-flawless technique.
If Lucian lost publicly, then the entire spectacle meant to defend Eula could collapse into humiliation.
“No,” Eula said.
“I believe in him.”
Amber stopped pulling.
She stared at her friend.
“You barely know him.
Why do you trust him this much?”
Eula’s eyes remained fixed on Lucian.
“He barely knows me, yet he is willing to do all this.”
Moisture glimmered faintly in her eyes.
No one had ever challenged Mondstadt’s prejudice for her.
Amber had defended her countless times, but this was different.
Lucian had turned the city’s hatred into an admission fee and placed himself between Eula and everyone who carried it.
Amber’s expression became pained.
“Didn’t you hear what he said at lunch yesterday?”
The token of love.
The mysterious boss.
The implication that Lucian already belonged to another woman.
“How can you still let yourself fall for him?”
Eula’s hands tightened into fists.
She knew.
She had heard every word.
Knowing did not make the feelings disappear.
“I know.”
The quiet admission seemed to consume all her strength.
Amber’s shoulders dropped.
Those two words confirmed her worst suspicion.
On the platform, Frederica studied Lucian.
“You are brave,” she said.
“Going this far for that girl is admirable.”
Her eyes dropped to his empty hands.
“But you do not even carry a sword.
How do you intend to compete with me?”
Lucian scratched his cheek.
He considered plucking a feather from a passing bird and using it as a blade.
That might be too cruel.
Defeating the Alder Knight with a feather could shatter her confidence for years.
“Brother Lucian!”
Varka’s roar echoed across the plaza.
Every head turned.
The Grand Master came charging back from the direction of headquarters, moving with the speed of a man carrying something too important to drop.
He raised one arm.
“Catch!”
A sword left his hand.
It was pure white from pommel to blade, its elegant form carried forward by a current of wind.
The noisy plaza fell silent.
Everyone recognized it.
The symbol of the Knights of Favonius.
The legendary sword associated with their founder, Vennessa.
Aquila Favonia.
The blade crossed the air slowly enough for every spectator to witness its arrival.
Lucian’s eyes lit up.
So Varka had finally remembered the cash-on-delivery reward attached to the Hexenzirkel’s letter.
And what timing.
The white sword rode the wind toward him.
Lucian extended one hand and caught the hilt.
The instant his fingers closed around Aquila Favonia, his entire presence changed.
His lazy posture disappeared.
His shoulders aligned.
His breathing settled.
The sword became an extension of his arm, as natural as bone and muscle.
For one suspended moment, man and weapon seemed to merge.
Frederica’s eyes narrowed.
That aura was not the product of luck.
Neither was his stance.
Lucian lowered the point of Aquila Favonia and placed one foot forward.
A thrusting stance.
Frederica tightened her grip on her sword.
For the first time since stepping onto the arena, the Alder Knight felt genuine danger.
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