His background was unknown.
Over a decade ago, he had repeatedly helped Fatui convoys defend against monsters, only to walk away anonymously afterward.
The young man, who had distinguished himself before Snezhnayan troops multiple times, finally earned a seat among the Harbingers five years ago through the achievement of slaying the frostland’s most terrifying tundra beast.
Upon taking the seat, he was immediately entrusted with heavy responsibilities and executed numerous tasks with flawless precision.
Yet when presented with rewards from the Tsaritsa afterward, he rejected them outright.
She offered him authority; he discarded it like trash.
Offered him fiefdoms; he never visited them once.
Offered him wealth; he ignored it completely.
The Tsaritsa was the gentlest of deities.
Her ranks could accommodate ambitious figures who wished to rewrite the rules, madmen driven out of their minds, and refugees from ruined nations.
Yet such a gentle god could not find room for someone who “wanted nothing.”
Because he had no desires, he had no weaknesses, no ties, and no reason for loyalty.
Afterward, the Tsaritsa stripped him of his seat and revoked his title.
Yet, as if incapable of understanding, this guy still attended every single meeting.
Regardless of whether he was notified…
A long time had passed since then.
This was the first time Tartaglia, still a newcomer, had seen this oddball commanded by Her Majesty.
*He looks like a good soldier,* Tartaglia thought as he secretly observed Daikan’s unresisting expression.
“Inazuma is perilous.
Even Rosalyne could not escape the Raiden Shogun’s Musou no Hitotachi.”
To Tartaglia’s horror, the Tsaritsa’s tone actually bore a rare hint of courtesy.
“Take this sword with you.”
An ice spirit stepped forward bearing a longsword.
The blade flowed with an eerie blue light, its guard inlaid with crystals of unknown significance.
At a glance, it was clearly a divine weapon of the highest caliber—likely even stronger than Capitano’s sword.
*This Harbinger is so favored.
Could he be a secret weapon Her Majesty cultivated in the dark, like an assassin?* Tartaglia mused secretly.
Yet Daikan’s voice instantly shattered his youthful speculation.
“No need.”
His voice sounded even and calm, without a single ripple.
Yet the words he spoke sent waves crashing through the hearts of all the Harbingers present.
Rejected once more, the Tsaritsa felt the unyielding gaze from below.
She tilted her head, her eyes narrowing, and repeated her command in an imperative tone:
“Take it.”
“No need.”
The hall fell violently silent.
Tartaglia’s expression slowly shifted.
He realized the cold vapor he exhaled seemed to be shrinking!
The temperature was collapsing inward!
The chill in the air was skyrocketing at an unnatural speed.
Frost falling on the skin no longer stung; it carried a bone-deep freeze that penetrated straight to the marrow.
Yet strangely enough, the white mist everyone exhaled was fading at a visible rate.
Tartaglia recognized this phenomenon.
Under natural freezing temperatures, exhaled warm breath should form fluffy billows of white mist, floating in the air for quite a while.
Now, however, that white mist shrank into thin threads, freezing into tiny ice crystals the instant it left the lips.
If even those tiny ice crystals disappeared at the end, it meant the heat inside one’s lungs had been completely drained by this chilling aura.
Her Majesty was furious!
At this moment, everyone except Tartaglia made their instinctual move:
“How dare you refuse a gift bestowed by Her Majesty?” Capitano said heavily, displeasure in his tone.
“Just take it,” Dottore chuckled softly.
“It’s better than that piece of scrap iron of yours.”
“Indeed, Mr.
Daikan…” Under the intense chill, Pantalone pulled his coat tighter, the smile on his face nearly impossible to maintain.
Mockery and persuasion intertwined, but the Tsaritsa gave no one else another chance to speak.
The ice crystal spirit presented the longsword to Daikan, its tone unyielding:
“We command you to take it.”
Daikan raised his hand.
Seeing this, the ice spirit stepped forward again, forcefully shoving the hilt into his palm.
The moment the icy touch registered, Daikan gripped the frost sword.
In the next second, just as everyone breathed a sigh of relief, he let go, casually dropping the divine weapon onto the ground.
*Clang—*
The longsword slammed onto the ice floor with a harsh, piercing sound, carving a curved streak into the frozen surface—a testament to its sharpness.
Yet as if knowing it had no master, the icy radiance on the blade abruptly dimmed upon hitting the floor, turning into a piece of worthless iron scrap.
Deadly silence blanketed the palace.
The Harbingers were utterly stunned.
This was blatant disrespect toward the Tsaritsa—a crime grave enough to have everything stripped away.
Though, to begin with, this guy had nothing left to lose.
The Tsaritsa’s gaze fell upon the longsword on the floor, the frigid aura around her threatening to freeze and shatter the entire cathedral.
This Harbinger had rejected her gift once again.
She remained silent for a long while before speaking slowly:
“Do you know the value of this sword?”
Daikan’s gaze remained pinned on her face, his speed of speech unchanged—every word clear, yet carrying an unapproachable detachment:
“Snezhnaya and I are merely getting what we each need.”
He said nothing further, but this plainest of statements sounded more grating than any arrogant rant.
The Tsaritsa fell silent.
*Getting what we each need?*
“What you give me is of no use to me,” Daikan continued, using neither honorifics nor euphemisms.
“Likewise, please do not interfere with my pace.”
This statement encompassed everything—the Tsaritsa’s grace, Snezhnaya’s missions, and the gazes of onlookers were all completely severed by him.
The chill in the cathedral grew heavier.
The Harbingers did not dare to breathe loudly, keeping their breath as light as possible.
The Tsaritsa looked at him, her deep eyes surging with emotions no one could decipher, which ultimately dissolved into a faint sigh.
She did not erupt in anger, nor did she push him further.
She simply turned, her figure gradually melting into the shadows.
“Depart within three days.”
Leaving behind those words, the overwhelming pressure dissipated, and the frigid air in the cathedral finally began to soften.
Only after her figure completely vanished did Daikan’s gaze finally shift away from the icy veil, falling back onto the crack in the floor.
He didn’t glance at the sword on the ground again, nor at any of the Harbingers.
He just stood quietly in the corner, waiting for the meeting to come to an end.
The Harbingers looked at his back, then at the ice sword on the floor, with only one thought remaining in their minds:
*This guy really is bizarre.*
He would travel thousands of leagues for an unrelated funeral, yet treat the Tsaritsa’s divine gift like trash.
He strictly observed every rule of the meetings, yet utterly disregarded the deity who established those rules and order.
Perhaps when one doesn’t take a salary, one’s backbone is just naturally sturdier.
The wind and snow continued to beat against the windows, while the eulogy in the cathedral had long since stopped.
Daikan’s arms hung naturally at his sides, with only a single thought in his mind:
*Wrap this up quickly, or it’ll mess with my mob-farming efficiency.*
The faster a quest was completed, the higher the payout compared to grinding mobs.
The slower it took, the lower the relative return compared to farming monsters.
As the Tsaritsa’s figure completely merged into the depths of the cathedral and the frosty cold slowly faded, this meeting tagged as a “Mourning Service” was officially over in Daikan’s perception.
With the Tsaritsa’s departure, this mourning service full of hidden motives drew to a close.
The Harbingers left one by one to take their leave.
Daikan did the same.
Signora’s coffin gradually vanished, and the surrounding Harbingers began to fade away.
“Daikan.”
His visual module automatically switched priorities.
Whether it was the limited event decoration “Signora’s Coffin” or the surrounding Harbingers, all were categorized as low-priority background assets.
Nothing remained except the sword the Tsaritsa of Snezhnaya had dropped on the ground.
The Snezhnayan palace, which had been packed tight with decorations when his field of view was narrow, suddenly widened in Daikan’s eyes.
Only the background audio of the young girl softly singing lingered in his ears.
Standing in the empty hall, Daikan pulled up the quest requirements to read.