"Naberius, I'll call you that from now on."
"Since Lulu has chosen me, I will protect her completely."
"You don't need to worry about that."
Hearing this, Naberius was just about to snap back—
A weak little Descender like you, what right do you have to protect her?
Even though Rowan had inherited Gilgamesh's divinity and ascended to the level of a god,
giving him a lifespan that definitely wouldn't be short in the future—
In terms of pure combat strength, he still wasn't on the level of the Seven Archons.
As one of the Four Shadows beneath the Heavenly Principles, Naberius stood at the apex under Heaven itself.
It was child's play for her to see through Rowan's current power.
So in her eyes, a god who hadn't even reached the Four Shadows' level—
what right did he have to talk about protecting Istaroth?
"You're trying to say I have no right to protect Lulu, aren't you?"
"Strictly speaking, I don't need to explain anything to you."
"But since you're technically her 'family,' I'll let you see for yourself what backs me up."
"This is the power I've obtained since arriving in Teyvat."
"This is the confidence of your king."
Rowan's eyes narrowed. Golden ripples surged out from his body.
From within those ripples, divine weapons—treasures dyed in radiant gold—manifested one by one.
In an instant, the entire royal palace was drenched in golden light.
Rhinedottir and Naberius, standing below, were both struck dumb.
Even though Rowan didn't bother introducing the abilities or power of each treasure,
just from the sheer pressure coiling around them, it was obvious—
None of them were ordinary tools.
Every single one was a divine artifact.
In fact, they were even more terrifying than the weapons the Four Shadows themselves used.
Especially the strangely shaped "sword" that fell into Rowan's hand.
It wasn't that Naberius was ignorant—
it was genuinely that she couldn't tell what that thing was supposed to be.
It looked like a staff, but also not quite.
Yet the power wrapped around that sword-like weapon made her entire being shudder.
This power was even stronger than the one Rowan had unleashed when he attacked Snezhnaya last time.
If he truly released it in full, destroying the entire continent of Teyvat probably wouldn't be much of a problem.
The Four Shadows had personally lived through the War of the Year of Buried Flame.
Back then, Nibelung and Phanes had nearly shattered all of Teyvat.
Even the outer barrier constructed by Phanes was almost completely broken.
And now, the aura coiling around that sword was in no way weaker than the aftermath of that ancient war.
"So," Rowan said lightly,
"do you still want to say I can't protect her?"
"Naberius—answer me."
"…"
Naberius fell silent.
Not just her—even Rhinedottir, who had been standing on her side, shut her mouth.
If they'd known Rowan was this monstrously strong,
she never would've teased him like that earlier.
Now look what happened—
any good impression she'd painstakingly built up just got cashed out and burned away by her own mouth.
Crying inside…
Without another word, Naberius immediately shrank back into Rhinedottir's body and went quiet.
Leaving Rhinedottir alone, standing there below the throne, not knowing what to do.
"Hold on. You make the mess, and I'm the one who has to take the blame?"
"You okay in there, Miss Nabe?"
Rhinedottir looked up at Rowan's razor-sharp gaze, wanting to cry but having no tears.
Inwardly, she was roaring.
But Naberius was like a stone thrown into the sea—no response at all.
Helpless, Rhinedottir could only grit her teeth and raise her head.
"She said… she acknowledges you."
Even if Naberius didn't say it out loud,
given how well Rhinedottir knew her, that was definitely what she meant between the lines.
"Hmph. Had to force me to get serious…"
"All right, Rhinedottir. The Avalon I gave you will gradually help you break free from the Abyss' control."
"So how are you planning to repay me?"
Seeing Naberius flee the scene, Rowan didn't keep pressing the attack.
He recalled the Gate of Babylon, then slowly sat back down on the throne.
Istaroth, ever perceptive, immediately settled herself on his lap,
arms wrapped around his waist, snuggling into his chest like a little bird.
A flicker of envy flashed through Rhinedottir's eyes at the sight.
Five hundred years had passed.
She'd gone from a young girl in full bloom to a five-hundred-year-old "granny."
And yet she had never once tasted the flavor of love.
Meanwhile, an Archon who had been present since the creation of Teyvat
had already found love and a man before her.
How could Rhinedottir not feel frustrated?
But among the colleagues from her era, it wasn't like she had any real options either.
They were either already devoted to someone she had no interest in
(that referred to Reliel)—
Or they were scheming old foxes, or men with no room in their hearts for women, their swords being their only god.
(The former being Hroptatyr, the latter Dainsleif.)
Then there was that maimed battle maniac missing limbs,
and the prophetic "savior" figure…
(the former was Surtalogi, the latter Vedrfolnir.)
Among the Five Great Sinners, there wasn't a single normal person.
So how was Rhinedottir supposed to choose?
The only one who could barely be called "normal" was Dainsleif.
But that guy held a deep grudge against the five of them
because they'd divided up the Abyss' power among themselves.
Forget about romance—if she ran into him,
he'd probably cut her down the way he did to Reliel.
Rhinedottir absolutely did not dare face Dainsleif head-on.
Not to mention, she was just a researcher, not a frontline fighter.
Even though the Dark Calamity she caused was the most terrifying one,
that didn't change the fact that, in direct combat, she was the weakest.
"I'll leave it to you—
as long as you're not asking for my life."
Rhinedottir couldn't be bothered to keep babbling.
She just wanted to finish this conversation with Rowan as quickly as possible.
As a five-hundred-year-old single dog, having to watch Rowan and Istaroth flaunt their affection in front of her…
she really couldn't take it.
"If I wanted your life, why would I bother giving you Avalon?"
"My request is very simple. I want you…"
Rhinedottir froze, pointing at her own nose.
"Me?"
"You really fancy me?"
"Miss Istaroth is okay with you going after other women?"
She didn't even realize it herself,
but there was a faint, indescribable excitement in her tone.
Clearly, even she hadn't noticed that
Rowan boldly standing up for Istaroth earlier had stirred something in her heart.
Istaroth didn't say anything.
She just nestled quietly in Rowan's arms, leaving everything to his judgment.
"You're overthinking it."
"What I want is for you to serve me—with your alchemy."
Rowan rolled his eyes, expression clearly saying,
What kind of fantasy do you think you're having?
If you really were my woman,
would I still be able to order you around as I please?
Don't make me laugh.
Rowan had zero interest in treating his own woman like a tool to be bossed around.
Before Rhinedottir helped him make what he wanted to make,
there was no way he would consider making her his woman.
Even if he did find her quite interesting.
As for the things she'd done in the past,
Rowan could only say one thing—
The benevolent see benevolence, the wise see wisdom.
In the end, there was only one conclusion he could accept.
Everything was the Abyss' fault.
(End of Chapter)
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