"This… is my greatest secret, and my greatest fear…"
"These past years, I lived for his story, but his personality… his life… I can't even remember them clearly anymore."
"Hahahahahaha…"
Stanley laughed miserably, but no one present could laugh.
They all looked at him with pity.
Even Diluc, who had been polishing a glass behind the bar, was drawn by the commotion and listened closely.
He couldn't help letting out a quiet sigh—he understood, in a way.
His father's death had also left a scar on his young heart.
Only later, through his revenge against the Fatui and Snezhnaya, that wound had gradually "healed."
But his hatred for the Fatui—his hatred for Il Dottore—had never changed.
A blood debt could only be repaid in blood!
Rowan watched everything below in silence, then shook his head.
Sometimes, people were just like this.
Willing to live for others. Willing to fight for others.
Rowan would call someone like that an idiot to their face, but in his heart, he envied and respected them.
He envied their courage—the courage to do something like that.
He respected them because he couldn't.
He lived only for himself.
Once Mondstadt truly got back on track, he would set out on a journey with Lumine.
Rowan had no intention of dedicating his entire future to Mondstadt.
At least, not the current him.
Down below, "Stanley" kept talking.
"The only thing I can't forget… is that he died in the windless Mare Jivari—where the wind can't carry a soul away!"
Looking at him like this, Lumine shook her head.
"His life has been drowned in guilt. In his heart, his world probably only has that imaginary friend left… the one who's the same as Stanley."
Venti nodded in agreement.
"Yeah."
"The real Stanley, in his memories, isn't even a living friend anymore."
"He's forever frozen as that scarred warrior… binding his entire life."
But you couldn't really blame him. Anyone who went through something like that would carry it for a lifetime.
It was just that very few people would cling the way "Stanley" did—constantly thinking of him, spreading everything about him, sinking into regret for the past.
"I'm old…"
"No matter how unwilling I am to let go… I can't leave much behind."
"I'm useless… so useless…"
Guilt surged up, and tears spilled from "Stanley's" eyes.
"A true adventurer… can't die like that… can't…"
Watching him drown in remorse and self-blame, Venti sighed and spoke gently.
"Hans Archibald!"
Hearing that familiar name, "Stanley" jerked his head up.
"How do you know… my real name?"
Even he was close to forgetting it.
That a bard like Venti would remember was far too strange.
Venti didn't answer.
Instead, his aura changed.
A formless wind rose behind him and swept forward.
"Stanley's" eyes went wide, his hands flailing.
"Wind?"
"The wind I could never hear in Mare Jivari…!"
He stumbled to his feet, staring at Venti in disbelief.
In his eyes, Venti was no longer an ordinary bard.
He had become the Anemo Archon himself.
The sight shocked "Stanley"—and shocked the entire tavern.
Especially Diluc, who was cleaning glassware behind the bar.
He nearly dropped a cup worth tens of thousands of Mora.
He never imagined the Venti who kept drinking on credit in his tavern was the very Anemo Archon Barbatos he'd been searching for who-knew-how-long.
No wonder he could never find him.
If the Anemo Archon was like this, then yeah—he could search his whole life and still never find him.
"I… I always believed you existed!"
"Stanley" staggered up to Venti, reaching out as if to touch him—yet he didn't dare.
His hand froze in midair, held back by faith.
Venti didn't mind at all. He extended his hand.
"Can you give me your old friend's soul?"
The real Stanley had long since died. This man had only been playing Stanley.
If he didn't let go, he would only end up dying alone in some forgotten corner.
That wasn't what he deserved.
No one was born to sacrifice themselves for someone else.
Stanley died to save him—that was Stanley's choice, not his "debt."
You could feel guilty. You could remember him forever.
But to stop moving forward, to throw away your own life for it—
Was it worth it?
Venti didn't want "Stanley" to keep rotting like this. He'd already "paid" for Stanley for so long.
He couldn't still be calling himself "Stanley" in old age, forgetting even his own family name.
That wouldn't be remembrance.
It would be tragedy.
So Venti had to take back the obsession binding him to Stanley.
After hesitating, "Stanley" placed his hand into Venti's.
Then he saw the Stanley in his memories—the man smiled at him once…
And turned into an invisible wind, dispersing into the world.
After that, Venti withdrew the Anemo Archon's authority and returned to his usual self.
"This is unbelievable…"
"Thank you. Thank you all… thank you, Barbatos-sama!"
"Sorry… I still need some time to settle my emotions…"
"But I think… I'll be fine…"
With that, "Stanley" left—completely sobered, his drink blown away by the wind.
Seriously, Venti.
Why don't you use that ability when you're the one drunk?
Venti planted his hands on his hips, satisfied.
"Mm. Not bad."
"Stanley found his true self, and Jack succeeded in standing on his own."
"With so many good things happening at once, we should drink to celebrate!"
Paimon crossed her arms and complained,
"You're seriously planning to get drunk right here in the tavern?!"
"Why not?" Venti said shamelessly, leaving Lumine speechless.
Just as Lumine was about to snap back at him, a familiar voice came from upstairs.
"You hopeless drunk—can't you quit drinking?!"
"And you still have the nerve to call yourself the Anemo Archon—what a total boozehound!"
(End of Chapter)
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