Inside the contact point.
Lumiere, his back to the others, was gathering several rusty shortswords and a few crude crossbows into a half-open wooden crate.
The leather-wrapped hilts clattered dully against the wood.
Coppelia stood in a corner with Columbina and Venti, watching nervously. Lumiere and Gunnhildr had been talking civilly at first, but at some point, the conversation had taken a hostile turn.
Gunnhildr stood in the center of the room, her gaze sweeping over the four or five other black-clad figures standing silently before finally settling on Lumiere.
"Your organization," she began, her voice steady, "how many bards can you contact?"
Lumiere's movements halted, but he didn't turn around.
"Bards?" He scoffed. "What good are bards? They write poems day and night. Can they write those nobles and that tyrant to death? Can they rescue Orion from right under the Lone King's nose?"
The image of Orion being knocked unconscious and carried away by the personal guard gnawed at his sanity like a venomous snake.
Gunnhildr's expression remained placid.
"The nobles know how to spread rumors about you, to make the people afraid to trust you." Her tone was even. "Of course you should bring bards into the organization. Rely on them for propaganda, to let the people see the true faces of the nobles and the tyrant, and join the resistance."
"See the truth, and then what?" Lumiere spun around, took a step forward, and slammed his palm onto the rough stone table with a crack. "Can the starving commoners even lift a weapon? Their stomachs are hungrier than their ears!"
"When you were attacking the nobles' granaries," Gunnhildr pointed toward the door, toward the area shrouded in the tower's shadow, "did you not think to take the food inside and distribute it to everyone?"
"We don't have enough people!" Lumiere growled.
"The members of your resistance," Gunnhildr met his furious gaze, "were they recruited one by one from the Knightly Order?"
Lumiere's chest heaved. He stared at the blonde woman before him, whose unwavering gaze, colored by his own anger, seemed to become a form of defiance.
"You two... please stop fighting..." Coppelia couldn't help but speak up from the shadows of the corner, her voice laced with anxiety.
Beside her, Columbina gently tightened the edge of her hood, and the levitating Venti also circled anxiously, the glow he emitted dimming slightly.
Their pleas were ignored.
...
The Inner Ring. A magnificent mansion built of white stone was ablaze with light.
Through the tall glass windows, one could faintly see the silhouettes of people moving inside.
A banquet was being held within the mansion. The air was filled with the savory aroma of roasted meat mixed with the scent of expensive spices.
Gorgeously dressed noble men and women chatted and laughed in low voices amidst the melodious music, while servants carrying silver platters weaved through them like swimming fish.
Hector, a white-robed attendant who served Decarabian, slipped silently along the clamorous edge of the banquet hall.
He pushed open a side door covered with a heavy velvet curtain and entered a separate stone chamber, insulated from the music.
Two people were already waiting in the room. Hector didn't look at them or offer any pleasantries. He walked straight to a stone table placed against the wall, sat down, reached for a glass of amber-colored sugar water that had been prepared for him, and took a slow, deliberate sip.
On the other side of the stone table, the corpulent noble Janus, dressed in a silk formal suit, was sunk deep into a wide stone chair, his expression so dark you could wring water from it.
His short, stubby fingers continuously grabbed roasted nuts from a silver plate on the table, stuffing them into his mouth one after another and chewing forcefully, producing a crisp "crunch, crunch" sound that was particularly jarring in the quiet room.
Another noble, the tall and thin Vladimir, paced back and forth restlessly on the carpeted floor.
He was finally annoyed by the continuous chewing and stopped abruptly, turning to Janus.
"Stop looking so gloomy," his voice was laced with impatience. "So a house was blown up. If you're that unhappy, I can send you some slaves. They'll have a new one built in a few days."
Janus slammed the nutshells in his hand onto the polished floor. He shot his head up, eyes narrowed. "What do you mean, 'so a house was blown up'? Do you know how many of this year's new account books were stored in there, how many contracts that hadn't yet been filed?! Those peasants burned my life's work!"
Hector placed his glass down at the opportune moment. His voice was flat, betraying no emotion:
"Only one culprit was caught at the scene. The King has locked him at the base of the tower to be blasted by the winds."
Vladimir raised his eyebrows, his tone exaggerated. "That's it? The King didn't order us to send out troops to punish those rebels?"
"The King has sensed the power of an external god infiltrating Mondstadt," Hector said, his gaze sweeping over the two men. "Tomorrow, he will mobilize the Knightly Order to conduct a thorough search of the entire city. The external god's whereabouts must be found."
"An external god? What are they going to find?" Vladimir's voice rose. "Those rats hiding in the gutters... say they aren't rebelling, but recently there's been theft, sabotage, and incitement everywhere. But say they are rebelling, and even with this explosion, after all this trouble, they still haven't managed to kill anyone! We can't even find a reason for the King to personally descend with divine punishment and crush them completely!"
He turned anxiously to Janus. "You're the smart one, what's the plan?"
Janus stuffed another nut into his mouth, his cheeks bulging. His voice squeezed out from between his teeth, sinister and low, "A plan? We wait. Be patient. Wait for them to lose control and cause an even bigger disaster. Then, we can use it as a pretext to eliminate them in one fell swoop."
...
The stalemate in the contact point continued, and was threatening to escalate.
"We need weapons!" Lumiere's voice was decisive. "The nobles need to see some blood! We have to make them feel pain! With just words and stealthy sabotage, they'll forever see us as nothing more than annoying rats!"
Gunnhildr immediately retorted, her tone still calm: "Make them see blood, and will they change their policies because of it?"
Lumiere turned his head to look at her, took a deep breath, and threw down his condition: "If you're really so capable, then prove it to me. Go find three hundred weapons. Standard-issue swords from the Knightly Order, or crossbows. Three hundred of them!"
A few stifled gasps could be heard in the room.
Gunnhildr did not back down. "That's a considerable number. We'd have to figure something out from the Knightly Order's armory or the nobles' private guards. Three hundred is enough to arm an entire squadron. If they investigate, our current strength couldn't withstand it."
Then, her gaze swept over the handful of people in the room. "Besides, do you have three hundred people by your side who can immediately take up arms and fight?"
"That's your problem!" Lumiere cut her off harshly. "You say 'ideological work' is useful, that it can awaken the people. Fine. I want to see with my own eyes if your 'ideology' can turn into the sharp sword I need!"
He took a step closer. "If you can place three hundred weapons before me, then this organization can be yours to lead from now on. Whatever 'ideological work' you want to do, however you want to spread propaganda, it's all up to you!"
After speaking, he gave her no further chance to object, turning back to the wooden crate and continuing to pack the scattered equipment.
He thrust a dagger fiercely back into its leather sheath, producing a sharp clang as if to put a final stop to the argument.
Gunnhildr stood silently in her spot. She could feel the gazes from the black-clad figures behind her—suspicion, observation, even a hint of pity.
After a long moment, she slowly let out a breath, turned to a few of the men in black, and lowered her voice to ask about personnel and hiding spots.
Coppelia walked to her side. "You can see that what happened earlier has put Lumiere in a very bad mood. His words were a bit harsh, don't take them too personally." She paused, her brow furrowed. "But, three hundred weapons... acquiring them will definitely cause a huge stir, and it's very likely to attract the Lone King's attention. Are you really going to do what he says?"
Gunnhildr turned her head slightly, her gaze sweeping over the faces in the room—some young, some weathered, but all filled with unease and confusion—before finally returning to Coppelia.
"Everyone here... they don't quite trust me yet." Her voice was soft but exceptionally clear. She pressed her lips together. "I'll do my best to find a way, to keep the commotion to a minimum."
Columbina also drew near, asking in a low voice, "Do you have a plan already?"
Gunnhildr nodded, her voice steady.
"I still have some old acquaintances within Mondstadt's Knightly Order."
___
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