*Bang!*
The closed wooden door was suddenly slammed open.
Cold wind carrying snow grains and grit rushed in, instantly scattering the rich tea aroma filling the room.
The three women jolted awake from their quiet atmosphere and turned to look.
There stood Daigan—who had set off two days ago—standing at the threshold.
He was covered in dust, his cloak stained with dark smudges of monster blood from his journey.
The iron sword held in his left hand rested against the doorframe as usual, having chipped a notch right into the wood.
He had just turned back on his way to Liyue.
*Damn it!
I almost intercepted that Balladeer halfway there!*
“Why are you here?!”
As impossible as it seemed, Daigan stood right at the doorway.
As though he could find any meeting place without an invitation, he had tracked them down here.
And it seemed he had sprinted non-stop the entire way; the soles of his boots were worn through with holes, and a thick layer of dust coated his face.
Yet his eyes remained as calm and unbothered as ever.
“Pulonia!”
Snapping out of her shock, Sandrone immediately called out, a flash of vigilance darting across her glass-like eyes.
The Knave raised her hand, pressing against the short blade at her waist, red crossed patterns flaring vividly in the depths of her eyes.
Columbina wiped the cream from the corner of her lips and slowly opened her eyes.
The crescent moon base radiated a subtle glow as a faint chill enveloped her.
In an instant, all three entered a combat stance.
None of them dared gamble on how this eccentric had found this hidden warm room—or what this lunatic had come here to accomplish.
“How did you find this place?” The Knave spoke first, her voice cold as ice.
Daigan didn’t even look at her.
His gaze swept across the four chairs inside the room.
Three occupied, one empty.
Naturally, that must be his assigned seat.
[Harbinger Meeting: Tea Party] [Destination reached.
Auto-tracking ended.]
This was his first time encountering a scenario like this.
Who knew an internal gathering among the Harbingers counted as an official meeting?
Having just unlocked 3D mode, the game’s time scale had converted to one real-world minute per game hour.
After twenty-four minutes of tedious manual travel, he had toggled on auto-tracking.
When he reopened his eyes, he was back in Snezhnaya.
Was meeting priority set to the highest among all quest types?
His chest heaved slightly.
He didn’t actually need to rest, but non-stop sprinting drained a bit more of his stamina bar than standard travel.
Too lazy to watch the cutscene, he decided to let it auto-play.
“You…”
Before the three could say another word, Daigan moved.
He walked straight toward the empty chair without a shred of hesitation and plunked his ass right down.
His tattered boots kicked against the carpet, sending a shower of dust onto the chair.
The bloodstains on his cloak dragged across the velvet backrest, leaving a dark smudge.
Arlecchino sat right next to him, separated by a single seat’s distance.
She eyed the oddity before her with a touch of hesitation.
No intent to fight?
Fatui Harbingers were forbidden from internal strife.
Unless faced with extraordinary circumstances, as the Father of the House of the Hearth, she preferred to avoid building a reputation for internal brawling, which could set a bad example for the children.
Seeing this, Columbina’s large eyes filled with bewilderment.
She glanced hesitantly at Arlecchino, then at the wide-eyed Sandrone.
Why hadn’t anyone attacked yet?
Were they allowed to attack now?
Sometimes, she truly didn’t understand human thought processes.
Meanwhile, rage burned brightly in Sandrone’s eyes.
How could this guy be so thick-skinned?!
He hadn’t even brushed the dust off the seat before sitting down!
He acted as if that chair belonged to him all along.
*Is that your chair?!
How dare you sit there!*
The air inside the room practically froze solid.
“That is not a place for you to sit.” The Knave, sitting closest to him, suppressed her anger, her voice dropping as deep as ice.
Daigan’s gaze immediately snapped toward her, locking onto her face with absolute precision.
The glare that once chilled Regrator Pantalone to the bone proved entirely useless against the Knave.
His voice was perfectly even and flat, devoid of any emotion:
“Empty seat.
Means I can sit.”
Five simple words dropped like a heavy stone into a quiet lake, leaving the three women completely bewildered.
*Do you think this is the Tsaritsa’s palace?!
You can sit wherever you like?!*
Sandrone opened her mouth, wanting to shout that the chair belonged to Rosalyne, wanting to scream at him to get the hell out.
Yet, looking into Daigan’s utterly emotionless eyes, the words caught in her throat.
Explaining it to him was pointless; he wouldn’t comprehend it anyway.
On the surface, Sandrone appeared the most emotional, but she was actually the most rational.
She understood this eccentric’s behavior and style all too well.
He was like a machine programmed with basic logic—and the lowest tier of logic at that.
He only recognized “empty” and “occupied.” Just like during past official meetings: if a seat was open, he sat; if there were no seats, he stood.
He possessed not a single shred of extra emotion or discontent.
*Whoosh!*
A crimson scythe blade sliced through the air, coming to rest firmly against Daigan’s neck.
The Knave’s fingertips turned white from the force of her grip.
The chair *was* empty.
Perhaps in his logic, that was the most valid justification possible.
Yet this move instantly wiped away whatever faint goodwill she had gained toward him two days prior when he made the Doctor eat humble pie.
“Aren’t you…
looking down on us a bit too much?”
By now, Columbina had somehow materialized behind Daigan.
She leaned down, peering at the dust-covered side of his face beneath the scythe blade.
Under the watchful, guarded eyes of Sandrone and Arlecchino, she suddenly reached out a finger and poked his cheek.
Feeling the supple, completely relaxed muscle of his face, Columbina let out a soft, light giggle.
“He seems to have fallen asleep.”
The room’s air turned as rigid as a block of ice while Daigan sat nonchalantly in Rosalyne’s chair.
Sandrone was the first to snap back to her senses.
*Asleep?!*
“Get out!
This isn’t where you belong!”
Daigan’s gaze locked onto her face with precise accuracy, his voice steady and flat.
“Meeting isn’t over.
Won’t leave.”
“Meeting?”
Sandrone laughed out of sheer fury, her glass-like eyes flashing with malice.
“This isn’t the Tsaritsa’s palace!
This is my place!
When I tell you to leave, you leave!
You ignorant, rule-breaking fool—you sword-toting lunatic, you don’t even have the right to sit here!”
Scathing words rained down like hail, curses practically leaping off her tongue.
But the moment they hit Daigan, who was already on auto-play mode—he couldn’t hear them.
He simply couldn’t hear a thing.
Sandrone continued her verbal barrage.
Arlecchino stepped in front of her to keep the girl from flying into a rage and picking a fight if the guy got too provoked by her insults.
Columbina closed her eyes, covered her ears, and backed slightly away from Daigan, who was bearing the brunt of Sandrone’s tirade.
Under the storm of verbal abuse, Daigan’s face showed not a single flicker of reaction.
He wasn’t angry, nor did he display the slightest trace of shame!
He didn’t even blink.
He merely repeated in a dull tone:
“Empty seat.
Means I can sit.
Meeting not over.
Won’t leave.”
His logic was complete garbage.
Yet his skin was thicker than a fortress wall—utterly impenetrable.
Sandrone scolded him until her throat went dry, her winding gears almost smoking from overwork.
Yet Daigan remained as steady as a mountain, his spine straight as a ramrod.
His eyes even began wandering aimlessly toward the fireplace logs, as if checking when the fire would die down.
Sandrone paused for a moment to catch her breath.
*How can anyone be this thick-skinned?!
He can’t be scolded, he can’t be chased away—he’s like a block of ice you can never warm up!*
*This is the first time I’ve ever encountered such a troublesome freak!*
Leaning against the edge of the table, the Knave watched Sandrone jumping up and down in frustration, feeling the anger in her own chest lessen slightly.
*This guy actually managed to irritate Sandrone to this extent?*
Columbina kept her eyes closed, a faint smile hovering at the corners of her lips.
He really didn’t seem to hear those harsh words—or rather, he simply didn’t care.
That was fine, too.
Saved him from unnecessary trouble.