Daigan’s figure vanished into the swirling snow.
Inside the cathedral, a deathly silence fell.
Pantalone looked down at the melted snow in his palm, then at the mess on the floor.
Disgusted, he threw away the token he had just praised to the high heavens, pulled out a handkerchief to wipe his fingers, and sneered coldly.
“Lunatic.”
Yet a trace of helplessness flashed in his eyes.
An existence so incomprehensible was nearly impossible to figure out no matter how much effort was spent.
Earning mora was far easier.
Dottore held onto a pillar to steady himself, staring in the direction where Daigan had disappeared.
The terror in his eyes gradually turned into amusement.
“It really has been a long time since I felt this…
the feeling of being alive.”
Not as a segment, but as a person who could feel the fear of death.
“It seems I misjudged your value, Mr.
Daigan.”
He rubbed the faint impression left on his face by the fingers and muttered to himself under his breath, a tone of confident amusement in his voice.
The grand god-creation scheme with Scaramouche at his prime segment’s side probably wouldn’t be nearly as interesting as observing this walking monster.
He looked toward the snow-covered path outside, where the soft white snow bore no footprints whatsoever.
Watching Dottore try to cover up his embarrassment, Arlecchino leaned against the pillar, lightly tapping her fingers against the air, a knowing smile flashing in her red-patterned eyes.
“An eccentric indeed.”
Childe finally snapped out of it.
He looked at Arlecchino, who clearly wasn’t shocked by the speed Daigan had displayed.
“Tsk.
So that’s why I could never find him whenever he went out.”
He clicked his tongue in annoyance, his eyes full of excitement as he looked toward the main doors.
Even though everyone put on airs inside and walked out slowly step by step, who would have thought this guy sprinted at full speed the moment he stepped out?
No wonder whenever Childe tried to find him for a spar or to test his limits, he could never track him down.
“Still, with that speed, he didn’t seem to use any elemental energy at all.
Since I’m on break anyway, maybe I should head to Inazuma and camp out for him?”
As Childe was thinking, Arlecchino beside him unexpectedly chimed in, “The Gnosis isn’t in Inazuma.”
Though her tone was flat, it carried a subtle concern for Signora’s unfinished business.
“Not in Inazuma?
How do you know?”
“Just a lucky guess,” Arlecchino said, and turned to leave.
Over on Dottore’s side:
“Doctor, you look quite young today.”
Columbina, who had left earlier, had returned at some point.
Her eyes closed, she crouched before Dottore.
“Haha, I’ll take that as a compliment.”
Dottore was still looking into the distant snowfield, where Daigan’s figure was long gone.
He had no desire to explain further to the girl, because his heart was now entirely filled with a thirst to understand Daigan.
Junk was still strewn across the icy floor of the cathedral, and the sword mark on the floor held a chilling frost.
After all the Harbingers had left, the figure on the throne appeared once again.
She looked at the pile of trash on the floor and fell silent for a moment.
But when her gaze shifted to the sword mark left on the floor, she raised her hand and swept the trash away.
Wind and snow blew past, freezing the trash into ice crystals, but that sword mark remained.
…
The bitter wind of Snezhnaya was bone-chilling.
Two days had passed since the memorial service for the Harbinger “Fair Lady” Rosalyne.
And that strange Harbinger had been gone for more than two days as well.
On the surface, the Harbingers harbored their own schemes, looking entirely incompatible with one another.
In secret, however, these high-and-mighty Harbingers were actually like ordinary people, quietly maintaining a small social circle with shared hobbies.
And the original organizer of this group was Sandrone, the Marionette.
The group was known as “The Ladies’ Tea Party.”
A few days later, Sandrone hosted a tea party.
The location was still that hidden warm room.
The fire in the hearth burned steadily, wrapping warm air and tea aroma together.
Sandrone had her mechanical servants set up four sets of tea service in advance: one was her usual white porcelain cup decorated with tiny gear patterns; one was Columbina’s preferred glass cup gleaming with the luster of moonlight; and another was Rosalyne’s gilded red teacup.
The rim of the gilded cup still carried fragments of Fontaine candy left behind from the last tea party—candy Rosalyne always complained was “far too sweet.”
Serving the Harbingers was the work of machines, but the tea was brewed by her own hands.
It was the Fontaine floral tea that Rosalyne had once called “barely drinkable,” clear in liquid and delicate in aroma.
The mechanical arm held the tea without a single shake.
Sandrone sat in her place, her fingertips unconsciously stroking the rim of her cup, not tinkering with new clockwork trinkets as she usually did.
…
Before long, Columbina and Arlecchino arrived one after the other.
Columbina was still barefoot, the crescent-shaped pedestals under her feet lightly touching the floor.
This time she didn’t hum her usual off-key tune; she simply sat down quietly, her gaze falling upon the empty gilded tea set, her eyelashes drooping slightly.
…That seat was empty now.
Arlecchino had also shed her outward sharp edge.
Her white hair was loosely pinned up, and the crimson in her eyes seemed slightly faded.
She picked up her cup from the table, said nothing, and merely took a gentle sip.
When her gaze swept over the vacant seat, her fingers clenched slightly under the table.
The three didn’t talk much.
The warm room held only the crackle of firewood and the soft clink of teacups.
Occasionally, Sandrone would raise a hand to have a mechanical servant top off the empty cup with warm tea, as if that complaining colleague was only temporarily absent.
She didn’t speak words of remembrance or longing, nor did she explain why she insisted on holding this tea party with one person missing.
To Sandrone, this was more like a “routine procedure that must be executed.”
Just as she was obsessed with machinery and bound by rules, the tea party was a faint link to the few people she considered “not entirely absurd.” Even if one person was missing, the program had to continue.
After three rounds of tea, as their bodies warmed up, Columbina reached for the cake.
This tea party was quieter than any before, yet filled with an unspeakable melancholy.
Sandrone’s fingertips still rested on that empty gilded cup, her mechanical arm hovering gently in midair because no more tea needed to be poured.
“The tea cools faster than usual.
Without her complaints, even topping it off feels redundant.”
Unable to hold it in any longer, Sandrone muttered softly to herself in a flat tone.
Arlecchino’s grip on her cup tightened as her gaze settled on the empty chair by the window.
She was actually far more emotional than she appeared.
Columbina lowered her eyelids, the crescent bases under her bare feet resting against the carpet, as she began humming that delicate, subtle tune.
Each absorbed in her own thoughts, the warm room contained only the crackling fire, even their breathing growing faint.
*BANG!*
Suddenly, the closed wooden door was thrown open.
Cold wind engulfed in snow and dust surged in, instantly dispersing the tea aroma throughout the room.
The three snapped out of their thoughts and looked toward the entrance.
There stood Daigan, who had set off two days ago, covered in dust, his cloak stained with the blood of monsters encountered along the way.
The iron sword in his left hand hung by his side as usual, chipping a notch into the threshold.
He had just rushed back from the road to Liyue.
*Must be nice, holding a team-building party right in the middle of my quest?!*