A short while earlier. In the square.
The massive boom of the wind sphere's explosion echoed through the skies of Mondstadt City, making hearts clench in chests.
The air was thick with the scent of fear.
The people stood, still shaken, some leaning on each other for support, others cowering alone. Their gazes were drawn as one to the towering spire, their eyes filled with the profound awe of having survived, and the terror of absolute power.
Decarabian's proclamation—"The foreign god is vanquished, My protection is eternal"—cascaded down from the tower like an icy waterfall, threatening to completely freeze the faint spark of rebellion kindling in the people's hearts.
The crowd spontaneously moved away from the figures who had just fallen from the sky. The injured were curled up, paralyzed on the cold stone slabs.
They formed a wide circle around them, as if shunning a plague.
Most people kept their heads down, not daring to speak, not even daring to look at the wounded, as if a single glance might invite the divine punishment of the gales.
Orion pushed against the retreating tide of people, struggling to get inside the circle and near the group of injured. Unlike the others, he did not turn his face away in fear, but drew closer to examine them carefully.
He saw them clearly. They were wearing ill-fitting, ornate old clothes. Though the fabric was fine, it was long outdated and worn, looking as if it had just been pulled from the bottom of an old chest.
But the lacerations on their bodies were even more glaring. Crisscrossing bloody welts stood out, their edges bruised a bluish-purple.
This could never have been caused by ice, snow, or wolf claws. Nor could the fierce winds have carved such patterns.
Whips?
Whips, nobles, fierce winds... the clues connected instantly in Orion's mind, outlining a suffocating truth. He knew at once what had happened to these people.
With a heavy heart, he said, "Everyone, look!" He pointed at the injured on the ground. "Look at these wounds! Can the king's divine wind blow patterns like whip marks?!"
A searing rage surged within him, dispelling his numbness. His arm, covered in the scars of the gales, had now, surprisingly, stopped trembling.
He raised his arm, pointing directly at the injured, his voice rising sharply, filled with biting sarcasm. "And look at their clothes! These are the clothes the nobles so 'kindly' gave them! They weren't going to join the wolf pack—they were tricked into leaving!"
Then, his arm swung around, pointing straight at the unreachable high tower. His voice trembled with extreme fury as he threw all caution to the wind. "And our king, did He ask? Did He look? No! All He knows is how to sweep people up like trash with His wind and drop them! The nobles whip us down below, and He smashes us with wind from above! He doesn't care if we live or die!"
Murmurs began to ripple through the populace, like a slight breeze rustling through dry grass. Their fearful gazes started to mix with doubt and confusion.
Just then, several bards, as if they had been prepared, immediately took up Orion's words.
They plucked their lyre strings and sang out improvised verses:
"Whose flesh and blood is swept by the gale? Is it loyalty to the tower, or a noble's tale?"
"Beneath fine clothes, the whip marks are deep! Within the lies, hunger and cold make us weep!"
"He sees not the whips, He hears not the cries, only cares if His wind wall will eternally rise!"
"The king offers us shelter from strife, but never asks what shelter we need in this life!"
The bards' words were like keys, unlocking the floodgates of suffering long suppressed in the people's hearts.
Children crying from hunger, loved ones forcibly taken away by noble guards, endless labor with no hope in sight... scene after scene of painful memories flooded their minds.
From within the crowd, someone, it's unknown who, was the first to shout hoarsely, "They don't even treat us like people!"
That sentence was like a spark falling into a sea of oil filled with resentment, and it instantly ignited!
"Liars!"
"Tyrant!"
Scattered roars of anger began to erupt, like sporadic points of fire, then quickly joined together, forming a tidal wave of fury that surged into every corner of the square, as if threatening to shake the very tower.
The white-robed attendant Hector arrived in a hurry with a squad of guards, intending to immediately take away the injured who served as damning evidence, to erase the final clue of the nobles' involvement.
But he was too late.
...
Amos pressed a hand to the simply bandaged wound on her forehead.
The enemy had escaped, the weapon was lost. Vexation made her face pale.
Forcing herself to stand tall, she ordered the assembled guards, "Hunt for the outsiders who have infiltrated the city, and retrieve my bow. Remember, do not harm the residents, and do not cause any damage. Do you hear me?"
"Yes, Lady Amos!" the guards responded in unison, but the eyes of several among them flickered with disdain.
The troop dispersed. After entering the labyrinthine residential district, a few of the guards who were accustomed to throwing their weight around quickly lost their patience.
"If we actually do as Lady Amos says, knocking on every door and asking questions, how long is this going to take?" one guard complained, impatiently rapping his scabbard against a nearby wall.
Another guard sneered. "Let's just use the easier way. It's how we've always done it, and those commoners wouldn't dare say a damn thing."
Having said that, the guard walked straight to the nearest house, the thin wooden door seeming nonexistent in his eyes.
He lifted his iron-booted foot and kicked hard at the center of the door!
"BANG—!"
With a loud crack, splinters of wood flew. The fragile latch broke on impact, and the door slammed against the inner wall, then bounced back with a pained groan.
Before the startled cries inside could subside, several guards poured in one after another.
They roughly dragged the family that was cowering inside, young and old alike, out onto the street as if they were hauling livestock.
At any sign of hesitation or attempt to protect a loved one, they would immediately strike with their scabbards or crack their whips in the air to intimidate.
"On the ground! All of you, stay put!"
"Did you see anyone suspicious? Speak!"
The people, at first, endured it out of habit, cowering and flinching like frightened animals.
But when they watched the doors that sheltered them from the wind and rain get smashed to pieces, watched their elderly parents be violently shoved to the ground, watched the guards casually snatch the last of the rations they had hidden in a jar...
Their eyes began to change. The initial fear gradually turned to humiliation, and then to an irrepressible rage.
...
In a stone chamber.
Coppelia's internal energy was nearly depleted. She sat weakly on a stone stool by the bed, her back against the cold wall.
Columbina, who could recharge her core, was lying quietly on the bed, her breathing even and deep. The blood had mostly faded from the shocking wounds on her body, returning them to an almost inhuman pallor.
Gunnhildr and a group of resistance members she had gathered stood inside the room.
They wore patched leather armor and cloth garments, holding longswords or spears in their hands, but their movements seemed somewhat lethargic and hesitant, clearly still full of doubt about what had just transpired.
Coppelia stared at the ceiling, as if she could see the city-enveloping wind wall through the thick stone slabs.
"Venti went to ask Andrius to hold back the Solitary King, but it seems he wasn't held back at all, was he?" she muttered to herself, a hint of helplessness in her tone.
Gunnhildr hummed thoughtfully, her brow furrowed. "Perhaps Decarabian still had power to spare."
Coppelia did not look away.
This large-scale, sustained phenomenon couldn't help but remind her of the eternal red sandstorm over the Scarlet King's Mausoleum.
But there didn't seem to be any complex arrays or energy mechanisms in Mondstadt City comparable to the Scarlet King's technology.
This wind wall... could it be maintained solely by Decarabian's own power?
For over four hundred years, every single moment?
Could it be that He's never once left that tower?
She lowered her head, her gaze falling on the bow she had snatched.
The bow's lines were smooth and elegant, engraved with intricate patterns. It had the cold texture of metal and was currently emitting a faint, strange fluorescence.
A glow?
She remembered that when she stole it, the light had looked somewhat white. Why was it purple now?
Weapons in Teyvat change their appearance when they are ascended... so does this change mean the weapon has been de-leveled?
She subconsciously raised her hand, aimed at an empty corner of the room, and gently drew the bowstring taut.
An arrow formed purely of condensed light appeared instantly, vibrating slightly.
She slowly relaxed her fingers, and the light arrow faded and disappeared.
A pity. Her core had no spare energy to draw upon, otherwise she would have really liked to see if she could infuse the light arrow with an element and fire a "Frostflake Arrow."
Suddenly, a growing noise came from outside the door, a mixture of cries, shouts, and the heavy clang of colliding armor.
In an instant, the lethargy of the people in the room vanished, replaced by total alertness.
A member of the resistance subconsciously walked to the door, wanting to check the situation outside.
His hand had just touched the bolt—
"BANG!!"
The door was kicked open violently from the outside! The immense force seemed to make the entire doorframe shake.
A brutish-looking guard appeared at the doorway. He was about to order them out, but he hadn't expected so many people inside, all of them armed.
He froze for a moment, then his eyes widened, and he was about to shout, "Reb—!"
Before the "—els" could leave his mouth, Gunnhildr was already in motion. Her figure was like the wind as she instantly lunged forward, delivering a sharp side kick that landed solidly on the guard's chest plate.
Caught completely off guard, the guard was sent flying backward by the tremendous force, landing heavily on the street outside with a dull thud.
The remaining resistance members reacted with extreme speed, pouring out like cheetahs, with the last one pulling the damaged door shut behind them.
Coppelia forced herself to her feet. Lacking the strength to join the others, she could only move behind the door immediately, using her own body to brace the teetering door, preventing anyone else from bursting in and protecting the still-sleeping Columbina behind her.
...
The street outside was already in chaos.
Cries, curses, and the sounds of fighting all mingled together.
The doors of several homes had been smashed, and belongings were scattered everywhere, trampled beyond recognition.
An old man sat on the ground crying helplessly, a child hid terrified behind a water urn, while some of the bolder commonfolk peered from cracks in windows or from the edges of rooftops, their gazes a mixture of fear and anger.
Gunnhildr and the few resistance members were well-trained. They quickly disarmed and subdued the guard who had been kicked, along with two of his nearby accomplices, their movements clean and efficient.
The commotion here attracted other guards who were searching the vicinity.
Three guards in standard-issue armor heard the noise and rushed over. Seeing their comrades subdued, they immediately drew their longswords and charged.
"Rebels! Seize them!"
Gunnhildr's swordsmanship was solid and swift, but the Solitary King's personal guards were clearly stronger than ordinary knights, superior in both combat experience and strength.
One guard brought his sword down in a heavy, powerful chop. As Gunnhildr sidestepped, the tip of his sword sliced towards her ribs. She parried it, her wrist going numb from the impact.
Another guard coordinated a thrust from the side. She ducked into a spin, the blade grazing her scalp and cutting a few strands of hair.
It took some effort before she found an opening. She kicked the back of one guard's knee, and as he stumbled, she struck the nape of his neck with her sword's pommel, knocking him unconscious. At the same time, she swung her sword back to parry another's chop, then surged forward, ramming her shoulder into his chest and knocking him to the ground.
While her companions dealt with the guards, Gunnhildr, catching her breath, turned to the surrounding commonfolk who were watching from behind cover, angry but afraid to speak.
Her voice was clear and powerful, cutting through the chaos. "You've all seen it! All they care about is bullying us! Endurance won't be met with mercy, only with a harsher whip!"
Someone called out worriedly from behind a rooftop, "But... divine punishment... what if we anger the Solitary King..."
Gunnhildr cut him off decisively, her voice ringing through the district with resolute conviction:
"Divine punishment?! With all that commotion in the square just now, who did the Solitary King punish? He doesn't even ask before He strikes down commoners! When has He ever cared whether we live or die?!"
"If He truly cared, these parasite-like nobles, these bastards who steal our food, take our clothes, and whip our families, would have been torn to shreds by the gales long ago! But they're still here! Still lording it over us!"
She raised her longsword high, its blade reflecting a cold glint in the dim light of Mondstadt, and issued a final call to arms:
"The only ones who can protect us are ourselves! Neighbors, friends, join us! Let's drive out those who bully us!"
A few young people who could no longer hold back were inspired by her words and actions. They leaped from their hiding places, picked up stones and broken bricks from the ground, and hurled them viciously at the guards who were trying to surround Gunnhildr's group again.
"Get them!"
With someone taking the lead, more people were infected by the courage. Residents familiar with the terrain threw debris and splashed dirty water from rooftops and windows at the guards below, creating chaos.
The guards were suddenly on the defensive, having to fend off the sharp attacks of Gunnhildr and the few resistance fighters while also watching out for sneak attacks that could come from any corner. Their formation fell into disarray.
"Kill them!" someone else shouted. The pent-up fury was like a bursting dam, surging and powerful. Enraged commoners swarmed from all directions, overwhelming the tyrannical guards with hoes, wooden clubs, and even their bare hands.
The guards could no longer withstand this sudden "human wave tactic." Their morale collapsed, and they wretchedly dropped their weapons, pushed through the crowd, and fled with their heads in their hands.
Amid the chaos, some of the elderly and women also cautiously came out of their homes, bringing out stored fresh water and simple food to give to those who dared to fight, or quietly helping to support their fellow people who had fallen and been injured in the conflict.
At another entrance to the residential district, Amos had arrived at some point.
She looked at the chaotic street before her, at her subordinates fleeing like beaten dogs, at the fury in the eyes of the commonfolk that was now fully ignited, a blaze that threatened to burn everything to the ground. Her face turned deathly pale.
"No..." she murmured, her voice so soft it was nearly carried away by the wind.
She clenched her fists, her knuckles turning white from the force.
The scene before her, this completely out-of-control situation, this drastically worsening conflict—it was absolutely not what she wanted.
A profound sense of powerlessness and an ominous premonition seized her heart.
___
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