Autumn in Fontaine, Blood in the Morte
Autumn in Fontaine always carries a damp, coppery tang. The flagstone streets of the Morte Region glint cold in the twilight. Gao Lan drags his iron spear slantwise across the ground; its tip strikes stone crevices, sending tiny sparks flying. Behind him, He Ji has already melted into the street-corner shadows, his short blade glistening with fresh blood beads wiped from a guard's throat.
"Men of Yuan Shao?" Wriothesley's voice echoes from beneath the arcade. The judge's uniform carves a sharp silhouette against the dying sun. Beside him, Clorinde has drawn her sword, its blade rippling with Fontaine's unique water-patterned sheen. Three days prior, the pair had raided the Academy's secret vault, stealing not just samples of Primordial Seawater but also evidence that could upend the entire system of justice.
Gao Lan suddenly chuckles low, slamming his spear butt into the earth hard enough to rattle nearby window frames. "The Yuan Army does as it pleases—does a Fontainian cur dare bark at us?" Before the words fade, the spear shaft whips like a black dragon's tail toward Wriothesley's knee. The judge is ready; he sidesteps, and in the same instant flings three grappling hooks—his signature trick for restraining hardened criminals, capable of locking an opponent's bones in place.
But Gao Lan is one of the Four Pillars of Hebei. He does not dodge or flinch. His right arm bulges with muscle as he blocks the hooks with the spear shaft, then flicks the tip upward in a counter-thrust straight for Wriothesley's face. The strike is so fast it leaves an afterimage. Wriothesley lurches back in haste; the spear's wind nips his nose, and a feather from his cap snaps clean off.
At that moment, He Ji strikes from the shadows. He glides across the wall like a dead leaf, his dagger aimed at Clorinde's back. The duelist reacts with astonishing speed, spinning to slash—but at the clash of blades, she realizes something is wrong: the enemy's edge glows with an eerie black sheen, clearly poisoned. She shifts her stance in a hurry, her sword wrapping around He Ji's wrist. The two tangle in the narrow alley, every strike spitting sparks, their eyes blazing with cold killing intent.
Meanwhile, Gao Lan and Wriothesley fight at fever pitch. The iron spear is heavy, yet Gao Lan wields it with effortless grace—now like thunder splitting the earth, now like a viper striking. Wriothesley, more skilled at strategy and interrogation than brute combat, begins to falter. As he retreats toward the alley mouth to call for guards, Gao Lan changes his attack: a sweeping spear strike forces Wriothesley to raise his arms in defense—exactly the opening He Ji has been waiting for.
"Watch out!" Clorinde shouts, but He Ji's dagger has already sliced into Wriothesley's left shoulder. The wound turns purple-black at once. The judge grunts, his movements slowing sharply. Gao Lan seizes the fleeting chance, driving his spear like a leaping dragon through Wriothesley's right ribcage, the tip bursting from his back in a spray of blood.
"Wriothesley!" Clorinde's eyes burn with rage. She forces He Ji back with a flurry of cuts and turns to rush to her ally—but He Ji does not let her. He slides low, his dagger arcing along the ground to slash her ankle. The duelist staggers and falls. Before she can push herself up, Gao Lan spins and slams the spear shaft into her spine.
Clorinde spits blood, staring at Wriothesley's body in the pool of red. The judge's eyes remain fixed on the sky, as if even in his last moments he weighs the meaning of justice. He Ji presses his dagger to her throat—but Gao Lan raises a hand to stop him.
"Leave her alive," Gao Lan says, prodding the bloodstained evidence with his spear tip. "Let her go back and tell that so-called Hydro Archon: whatever the Yuan Army wants, we will take it—sooner or later."
He Ji licks the blood from his blade and sheathes it. Clorinde struggles to crawl toward Wriothesley, but Gao Lan plants a boot on her back. The shadow of his spear looms over her, cold with triumph. "Run. Next time I see you, it won't just be a broken bone."
By the time guards' footsteps echo from the alley mouth, Gao Lan and He Ji have vanished into the deepening dusk. Clorinde drags herself forward on her injured leg, staring at Wriothesley's cooling form. She grinds her teeth until her jaw aches, swallowing only the coppery taste of blood in her throat. She knows this defeat will be an unhealing scar on Fontaine—and those two foreign assassins have carved a bloody mark of the Yuan Army into the flagstones of the Morte Region.