Port Ormos.
Sumeru's greatest port never slept. Ships from across Teyvat lined the docks, stevedores bellowed, merchants haggled, spices and sea-salt thickened the air.
But beneath the noise, the sky screen's storm had struck deep.
The black market—lifeblood of Canned Knowledge trade—trembled.
Orien, hooded in a plain robe, walked as part of the crowd. Stealth and Concealment wrapped him like mist. The air felt different—some sellers gone, shops shuttered, Matra stalking the streets.
"Good. Fear makes them sloppy." He smiled coldly.
Whispers drifted past:
"Vulture got hit last night—lost half his stash!"
"Serves him right!"
"Who's still got real stock? I'll pay double—"
"Are you crazy? Cyno himself's here!"
"Damn it, I've still got a batch of Scarlet King's Codices—all worthless now!"
"…buyers went insane…"
Orien marked the names: Vulture.Scarlet King Codices. And…"Akademiya."
He followed leads to a shabby store reeking of fish and rot. Inside, a dozing old man.
Orien tapped a coded rhythm on the counter—an echo from encrypted void chatter.
The man's eyes slitted open, sharp beneath the fog. "What do you want?"
"From the desert—the bitterest poison apple."
A pause. Then: "Back room. Price doubled. Cash."
Bingo.
Orien descended into a hidden cellar. On shelves—metal canisters shimmering faintly: Canned Knowledge.
Labels read:
[Ancient Runes (Fragment)] — Risk: Low
[Sumeru Rose Cultivation, Revised] — Risk: Low
[Scarlet King's Tomb Speculation (Madman's Draft)] — Risk: High (Severe hallucinations reported)
[…Divine Knowledge Fragment (Extreme Danger! Do Not Touch!)] — Risk: ???
His heart jolted. A Divine Fragment—here?
Behind its shelf, a near-invisible seam. An alcove.
He pressed—click.
Inside: leather scrolls and a violet sigil pulsing with Fatui runes.
The scrolls, encoded, spoke volumes:
"Eye of Ahn'khamar Phase Three funding transferred via Rose Chamber."
"Materials shortage—Fontaine shipment required."
"The Craftsman (Dottore) satisfied with current vessel (Scaramouche), but demands more 'fuel.'"
"Orchard at risk. Prepare alternate Nursery."
"Next handoff with the Fools scheduled…"
The chain was clear: Akademiya sages, Fatui's Doctor, Rose Chamber merchants, and a hidden factory.
The sigil? A one-use teleport beacon—likely to that factory.
"Got you." Orien scanned the documents into the system, replaced everything, pocketed only the sigil.
To keep cover, he bought the least dangerous canister—Rose Cultivation. Paid overprice, left.
But he circled back, hidden in shadows. Half an hour later, the old man slipped out, furtive, and ducked into the Rose Chamber's guildhouse.
"Just as the scroll said." Orien noted the location, then activated the sigil. It pulsed—pointing to a derelict warehouse at the edge of the docks.
"Found you."
But before he could move—
Crash!
Knowledge surged. The canister he bought—the rose manual—burst in his mind, flooding him with endless grafting tips, gardener gossip, even useless chatter about the Chamber's heiress.
"Damn—info pollution? Even this trash is tainted?!"
His vision spun—just as a Matra patrol turned the corner.
"Over there! Elemental flux!"
"Who's hiding? Show yourself!"
Boots thundered closer.
Orien, caught between invasive whispers in his head and the Matra's encirclement, stood at the knife's edge of disaster.
(End of Chapter)
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