The overcast sky that had remained still all day finally began to weep as dusk gave way to night, squeezing out raindrops that fell heavily to the earth.
At first, the droplets were small—then they grew larger, denser.
Victor Wang swung his longsword, attempting to slice through the falling rain with sword energy. He succeeded—but only in cutting the one droplet he aimed at.
"It's raining, huh."
In the land of Teyvat, moonlight was usually bright enough to illuminate the path for nighttime travelers. But now, the thick clouds blocked the moon's glow.
A rainy night. Nearly three months in Teyvat, and this was his first one.
Darker than the usual night.
Mondstadt didn't see rain often, and when it did, it rarely lasted more than a day.
But vegetation in Teyvat grew with unnatural speed—so fast it made Victor Wang uneasy, as if growth required no consideration of soil, rain, or sunlight at all.
Later, he read even more absurd tales in the Mondstadt library: Legends spoke of ancient times when all plants matured overnight, fish repopulated rivers after a single night, wild boars in the forest never went extinct no matter how many were hunted, and ore deposits replenished themselves after each harvest.
Not as exaggerated as the Year of the Carnival in records before sun and moon, where food rained from the skies and ore sprang from the earth—but still unbelievable. Someone had clearly intervened.
Today's people called it myth, but Victor Wang knew better. After that, seeing crops mature in five or six days didn't seem odd anymore.
The rain grew heavier.
He decided to end his sword training early. Even with the blessing of the Sprite of the Springs, the rain showed no mercy.
Sheathing his sword, he summoned over fifty wind blades that slashed upward in unison toward the falling rain. Even so, he couldn't clear the area of droplets completely.
He stopped trying. Instead, he began releasing multiple Gale Blades overhead, allowing his mental energy to deplete rapidly along with the spiraling rain.
It did clear a wide area of rain—but compared to Rustan, who could slice down every raindrop with his blade alone, Victor Wang was far from that level.
Just what kind of mastery is that swordsmanship…?
He sighed. The more he learned, the more he realized how little he knew. He couldn't even begin to imagine the heights of Rustan's Favonius Bladework. All he could do was move forward—relentlessly.
He conserved a portion of his mental energy, channeled elemental power to his body, and sprinted toward Mondstadt.
Taking a forest path instead of the main road, the rain-soaked fallen leaves and slick grass beneath his feet made every step treacherous. Puddles—formed in moments—splashed up as he stepped through them.
The scents of wet earth and grass rose against the downpour, invading Victor Wang's senses.
Though his elemental power shielded him from the rain's damage, moving through such conditions was still deeply unpleasant.
It reminded him of school days, walking from dorm to classroom, or from the office during his working years. Rain meant juggling an umbrella while watching his step, trying to keep shoes and pant legs dry to avoid hours of discomfort.
And always—always—there'd be wind, making sure the umbrella never quite did its job.
If it rained at night, the usual buzz of off-hours city life vanished. Everyone rushed to escape the rain, turning vibrancy into chaos, into urgency.
And in such times… home felt especially warm.
Victor Wang remembered one time, working late until 1AM. Not a soul in sight on the rain-slicked street. Just as he prepared to hail a ride to his little shelter, he noticed a night bus route that went straight there. He boarded and let it carry him through unfamiliar roads in the rain. Still, he had to brave the storm again once he got off.
Loneliness, isolation, cold… That must be what those words really meant.
And so, rainy nights became the weather he hated most.
As he exited one dark forest and entered another, Victor Wang suddenly heard footsteps splashing through puddles to his right—heavy and urgent.
Instantly alert, he kept running, sword already drawn.
The figure moved faster than him and soon came into view—a tall man in a worn cloak.
Is he here for me?
Victor Wang recognized him: the Chief Instructor.
Seeing he had already been caught up to, Victor Wang slowed to a stop, turning to ask, "What are you doing out here, sir? Is the recruits' field training over?"
No response.
But the instructor stopped too once their distance closed.
His head was slightly bowed. In his right hand he gripped a black longsword, so dark it almost melted into the night—except the rain made its surface glisten. Its hilt had a strange spiral design, as if one glance could pull a man's soul into its depths.
What stood out most was that the instructor wasn't using any elemental shield. The downpour had drenched his hair and clothes, plastering them to his frame and outlining his muscular build.
"Sir?"
A strange, eerie tension filled the air.
Sensing danger, Victor Wang began stepping back toward Mondstadt. But for every step he retreated, the instructor advanced two.
He quickened his pace. The instructor matched—faster still.
Ten-plus kilometers to Mondstadt. Even at full sprint, it'd take twenty minutes… That wasn't going to work.
"Sir, please stop scaring me!"
Victor Wang halted again. The instructor did the same, as if in sync. But now, the distance between them had closed further.
Through the curtain of rain, Victor Wang could see those dull, lifeless eyes.
"Sir… is something wrong? Do you need to talk to someone? You can talk to me, alright?"
The two stared each other down.
The instructor lifted the black sword—then slowly lowered it.
For a brief moment, Victor Wang saw clarity return to the man's eyes. Just one instant.
At the same time, the instructor spoke.
"RUN!"
Victor Wang spun and bolted, pushing his movement technique to the limit. But his drained mental state and the sheer gap in strength meant the instructor caught up quickly.
No way I'm outrunning you…
Their positions flipped. Now the instructor stood in his path.
Victor Wang realized something was terribly wrong. The instructor seemed controlled—by someone, or something.
That black sword… he'd never seen the instructor use it before. Could it be like that cursed blade from the game, Kagotsurube Isshin, the Cursed Blade?
Without a word, the instructor pointed the sword at Victor Wang.
Victor Wang couldn't defeat him under normal conditions—let alone now, drained and exhausted. But with the road back to Mondstadt blocked, he had no choice but to fight.
Maybe I can knock the sword from his hand…
He sent three wind blades slicing through the rain toward the instructor's hand.
The instructor responded with lightning-fast slashes. Faster than the wind blades could fly—he deflected them all with ease.
Victor Wang hurled the dagger he'd bought ages ago. The instructor batted it away with a single motion.
Then he charged.
"Gale Blade!"
Wind swirled with rain like a watery drill, but Victor Wang didn't dare use the suction force—it would only bring his foe closer.
He built up some force and let the water-charged vortex blast forward. But the instructor countered with his own Gale Blade, shattering Victor Wang's attack and sending leftover gusts crashing into him.
His boots skidded through the mud, cutting grooves into the ground. Only by stabbing Wentian Sword into the earth did he stop himself.
There was no energy left to maintain an elemental barrier. The rain soaked his cloak and clothes in an instant, turning them into clammy snakes clinging to his skin.
The instructor's assault didn't let up. That black sword carved through the air without visible sword energy—yet Victor Wang could feel its deadly sharpness.
One cut could pierce through an elemental shield—could slice flesh with ease.
That sword is not normal.
His attacks came like a torrential storm, faster than the rain itself.
Realizing this was a true life-or-death moment, Victor Wang forced himself to focus, precisely controlling his body. Again and again, he narrowly blocked what could have been fatal strikes.
But the effort cost him. Cuts began to stack. His cloak was in tatters.