Early morning, in the outer ring of Mondstadt.
Lumiere silently wiped the last speck of dust from his greatsword, then rose, his gaze sweeping over the knights lined up in formation. Every straight spine, every pair of burning eyes beneath a faceplate, was a silent, blazing fire.
Not far away, Gunnhildr was helping residents load the last of their belongings onto a cart. To escape the potential collapse caused by the battle of gods, everyone had to retreat to the inner ring. People looked back at the hovels where they had lived for half their lives, yet not a trace of attachment could be found in their eyes.
Columbina held a warm loaf of white bread in both hands. The loaf was as thick as a thigh. She bit into a slightly browned edge, pulled gently, and tore off a strip of the fragrant core. She didn't chew it right away, but held one end with her front teeth, slowly taking it in, her cheeks puffing out again and again.
Coppelia stood to the side, stroking the powerful bow in her hand, which emitted a purple glow. She fired a light arrow at the rock wall, which only managed to carve out a shallow dent.
Without elemental energy attached, it could only achieve this effect, far from the power Amos had when she used it to shatter large rocks.
Coppelia touched the long wound on her right cheek.
Does Amos's Bow only unleash its full power in Amos's hands?
Just then, a light breeze stirred Coppelia's hair.
As if pulled by invisible threads, everyone's gaze, at that moment, turned in unison toward Himmel and Venti in the distance.
Venti hovered over Himmel's shoulder, and a gentle yet immense wind radiated from him as the center, like a warm tide washing over the body and mind of every warrior.
Himmel held up his lyre with his left hand, his right fingers brushing across the strings as he sang the 'Song of the Wind'.
The sound of the lyre and his singing flowed with the wind, echoing in everyone's ears:
"The mountains and rivers are broken, the world is in chaos."
"The gods have passed, their traces vanished."
"Seeking poetry in sorrow, seeking dreams in a cage."
"Fear not the chains of toil, fear not the darkness ahead."
"Spring flowers will bloom again, eagles will soar in the azure sky, the song of the wind will play, and freedom will arrive."
As the song ended, he suddenly pressed his right hand on the still-vibrating strings, his voice rising sharply:
"Everyone. In this final battle, the God of Wind will protect you!"
Then, he raised his right hand in a gesture of invitation toward Venti, and toward everyone, shouting loudly:
"Come with me! Crush the tyrant! Tear open the storm wall!"
"Charge—!"
The response was an explosion of human voices and boiling blood.
The shouts may have been ragged, but their will was one:
"Crush the tyrant!"
"Tear open the storm wall!"
There was no more hesitation. Several thousand pairs of feet stepped onto the earth at once, beating the war drums of the campaign. The point of their blades aimed straight for the inner ring, converging into an unstoppable flood.
The tide of the uprising easily submerged the Knightly Order's barracks and the noble district, meeting almost no resistance.
The cavalry defected on the front lines, binding their commander who had tried to flee and bringing him over to surrender; the lesser nobles who had long sympathized with the rebel army opened their gates and bowed in welcome.
The heavy oak doors burst open with a roar under the fierce kicks of the Lawrence Clan knights, sending splinters of wood flying.
Venerare led the charge, stepping into Janus's lavish mansion.
The knights behind her quickly moved deep into the mansion, dragging the members of the noble family who had tried to hide in wardrobes behind heavy curtains out one by one, like frightened rabbits, and gathering them in the empty front hall.
Two knights, one on each side, seized Janus by his fat, almost formless arms and dragged him before Venerare.
His magnificent formal suit was in disarray, and his face was drained of all color.
One of the knights, his eyes flashing with thirty years of accumulated hatred, kicked him viciously in his bloated waist!
"Thud!"
Janus's heavy body fell without cushion onto the cold, smooth marble floor, making a dull sound.
The intense pain made his fleshy face twist, but he showed no trace of anger or dissatisfaction. Almost at the instant he fell, he used his hands and feet to adjust his posture, kneeling humbly.
His forehead slammed hard against the ground, making a dull 'thump, thump' sound.
"Mercy! Spare us!" His voice was distorted with fear, tinged with sobs.
His family, those usually arrogant wives, young masters, and ladies, also completely panicked. Forgetting all decorum and restraint, they fell to their knees with him, their cries and pleas for mercy mingling and echoing in the front hall.
The knights of the Lawrence Clan, blades in hand, formed a circle, their cold gazes like tangible things, pinning down this group of enemies who had once exiled them to the frozen plains and taken everything from them.
The knights' chests heaved violently, their faces flushed an unnatural red with the ecstasy of excitement and revenge, their eyes so fiery they seemed about to shoot flames.
They did not move. All eyes were focused on Venerare, awaiting her final verdict.
Venerare's gaze swept over the figures kowtowing like they were pounding garlic.
There was none of the expected catharsis of revenge, but instead, a thick sense of nothingness mixed with disgust washed over her.
Were these the targets of revenge the Lawrence Clan had obsessed over for thirty years?
Not evenly matched opponents, not unyielding enemies, just a group of maggots whose spines turned to mush in the face of power.
Their kowtows and cries could not quell the hatred; instead, they were like a basin of dirty water splashed on the former glory of the Lawrence Clan, making the thirty years of suffering and struggle seem... cheap.
She closed her eyes, and when she opened them again, only a cold weariness remained.
She gave a slight nod to the waiting knights around her.
The gesture was like a pardon, yet also like the key that opened the gates of hell.
A blood-red light erupted in the knights' eyes, the anger suppressed for thirty years finally finding its release.
Venerare did not look back. She turned and walked out of the mansion filled with wails and extravagance. The air outside seemed a little fresher.
When the knights of the Lawrence Clan stormed Vladimir's mansion, they found they were a step too late.
Under the magnificent crystal chandelier in the study, the harsh nobleman had used a golden sash to hang himself from the window frame.
His body swayed gently in the breeze blowing through the broken window, his face purplish-blue, his tongue slightly protruding. It was a clean and decisive end.
Venerare stood beneath the swaying corpse and looked up for a moment.
Her heart was calm, with neither satisfaction nor regret.
He got off easy.
Following a memory that was long blurred but never truly forgotten, Venerare walked alone through the intricate streets of the inner ring.
She bypassed the crudely styled noble towers, walked over streets paved with new flagstones, and finally stopped before an abandoned ruin.
In her memory, it was a single-story building built of sturdy rock—spacious, simple, yet full of warmth.
A huge wooden table for spreading out architectural blueprints occupied the center of the room, surrounded by scattered scale rulers, set squares, and clay pots filled with various drawing charcoals and pigments. The air was always a mixture of the scents of graphite, old leather, and wood.
And now.
The roof had long since mostly collapsed. Broken beams and rubble were piled haphazardly in the center of the room, smashing the great table of her memory beyond recognition, revealing only a few mottled wooden fragments.
The surrounding rock walls had been eroded by years of fierce winds, their surfaces peeling, almost weathered into coarse sand.
Dense, withered vines and tenacious weeds grew from the cracks in the stone, like a shroud, entangling this lost memory.
The ruins were scattered with broken furniture and trash left by unknown people, emitting a moldy stench.
Venerare stood at the entrance of the ruin, as if struck by an invisible hammer, her body trembling almost imperceptibly.
Thirty years of haunting dreams, thirty years of a warm image that had sustained her through the wind and snow of the frozen plains, were torn to shreds before this scene of devastation.
Completely disregarding her dignity as the Matriarch of the Lawrence Clan, she rushed in like a child who had lost her most precious treasure.
With her leather-gloved hands, she frantically tore at the tangled vines, pushed aside the obstructive trash, rushed to the rubble-covered remains of the wooden table, and began to dig through the hard stones and thick dust with her bare hands, her fingers filling with dirt.
She then searched frantically in the four corners of the room, hoping to find some trace of the past.
A pipe her father had used? A ceramic vase her mother used for arranging flowers? Or the pen she had used to draw 'my mansion' all those years ago?
There was nothing. Nothing at all.
Some things might have been taken by later occupants; others had completely turned to dust.
Unwilling to give up, she reached out to touch the mottled wall. The moment her fingertips made contact, a large chunk of weathered rock broke off and crumbled into a pile of powder at her feet.
Tears could no longer be held back. They surged into her eyes, instantly blurring her vision.
But she bit her lower lip hard, not letting a single sob escape her throat.
Everything she had missed for thirty years, everything that had carried all her childhood and family glory, was truly... all gone. It would never come back.
A few Lawrence knights silently came up behind her. Seeing their Matriarch's desolate state, no one dared to break the heavy silence.
After a long while, a young voice, filled with confusion and a hint of uncertainty, asked in a low tone:
"Matriarch... did we... succeed in our revenge?"
Upon hearing this, Venerare's body stiffened, freezing in place.
A few seconds later, she blinked hard, letting the brimming tears slide silently down, wetting her dust-stained cheeks.
She took a deep breath of the dust-filled air of the ruin, as if to press all her sorrow and loss into her lungs. Then, she resolutely turned around.
Behind her, at some unknown point, more and more Lawrence knights had gathered.
They looked at her reddened eyes and the tear tracks on her face, every face etched with gravity and dejection. The emptiness after revenge spread through the crowd like a plague.
Venerare looked at them.
She looked at these kinsmen who had returned with her from the northern lands, who had endured ice and wind.
The past was indeed gone, but the people of the Lawrence Clan were still here!
The skills and knowledge passed down through countless generations were still here!
As long as the people were here, there was hope. Why grieve over this pile of long-decayed ruins?
A new strength rose from the bottom of her heart, dispelling all the gloom.
She took a few steps onto a higher pile of rubble, looking down at her kinsmen, her voice suddenly rising with a kind of heroic spirit:
"Look clearly! These things from the past are all rotten! There's no use picking them up, just let them rot here!"
She waved her arm, pointing at the ruin:
"There's no need to care about this pile of junk! It's just some houses! Stones weather, and wood rots!"
Her gaze swept over every face:
"But we, the people of the Lawrence Clan, are still here! The skills passed down in our minds are still here! What does it matter if the house has collapsed? We'll just build a new one! Not only will we build a new one, but we'll build it better than before, grander, more worthy of the Lawrence name!"
"Yes! Build the best!" Someone in the crowd, infected by her emotion, shouted excitedly.
Venerare's face broke into the first truly cheerful and spirited smile since her return. She replied loudly, "That's right! We'll build the best!"
Morale was completely ignited. The gloomy atmosphere was swept away, and flames were rekindled in everyone's eyes.
Venerare leaped down from the pile of rubble and waved her hand decisively:
"Let's go! Don't linger in these ruins anymore! Let's go lay the foundation for the future!"
She led her re-energized soldiers toward the next target.
They stormed the dark places where the nobles held slaves. Venerare herself swung her sword, its blade whistling through the air as it fiercely hacked open the heavy prison doors and shattered the cold iron chains on the prisoners' ankles!
They stormed the private storehouses where the nobles hoarded supplies, opened the heavy doors, and unhesitatingly distributed the mountains of grain, cloth, and weapons inside to the ragged commoners who were constantly arriving!
The sound of the uprising reached its peak at this moment!
The cheers of liberation, the clamor of distributing supplies, the clang of swords striking iron chains, and the hopeful shouts of the knights all intertwined, converging into an unstoppable flood that washed away the last foundations of Mondstadt's old order!
Meanwhile, on another street.
Coppelia, Gunnhildr, and their group prepared to launch an attack on the High Tower, to face Decarabian directly.
Himmel's face was filled with an unparalleled excitement and joy. He ran forward with Venti hovering over his shoulder, the energetic footsteps of the youth echoing lightly on the stone slabs.
Venti's light flowed cheerfully. It joked, "How are you running faster than I can fly?"
Its attention was completely captivated by Himmel's pure happiness.
However, amidst this hopeful clamor—
"Swoosh!"
A cold arrow, with a vicious whistle, mercilessly pierced Himmel's chest as he ran!
The smile on the young man's face instantly froze. The immense force of the impact threw his body backward, and he fell heavily to the ground.
The old lyre he had been holding so carefully in his left hand, covered in cracks and crude repairs, flew from his grasp and struck the hard stones.
"Crack!"
A crisp, heart-wrenching snap.
The lyre, along its deepest crack, broke completely in two.
___
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