The exchange between Aerin and Dainsleif was nothing short of explosive.
Every sentence they traded revolved around secrets of Teyvat that were never meant to see the light of day—
truths buried so deep that they left listeners awed, and at the same time, deeply afraid of what truly lay beneath this world.
Khaenri'ah may have fallen, but five hundred years were not enough to erase it completely from history.
Scattered records still existed—only none explained why the nation was destroyed.
In the long river of Teyvat's history, the fall of a single country should have meant little.
Countless kingdoms and dynasties had risen and fallen for all kinds of reasons.
Yet no one expected this—
That the origin of the black calamity that engulfed the continent had begun in Khaenri'ah itself.
Those who divided the Abyss' power—
beings who wielded strength comparable to an entire world—
had foreseen the catastrophe.
And yet, for their own benefit, they chose not to stop it.
They allowed their homeland to perish,
dragging the Seven Nations into disaster along with it.
Even now, the aftereffects of the black beast tide continued to wreak havoc in certain regions.
It was unbearable to accept.
But what could anyone do?
In a world ruled by power,
was it possible to reason with those who held strength on the scale of a world?
Obviously not.
And yet—
What truly shattered everyone's understanding was not the truth itself,
but the battle between Aerin and Dainsleif.
The instant the light screen flared—
An unseen force erupted outward like a shockwave.
In the blink of an eye, everything around Aerin was erased—
buildings reduced to nothing, not even dust remaining.
The tower of Stormterror's Lair, and everything surrounding it, was flattened in a moment.
Dainsleif himself was hurled away, sent flying an unknown distance, crashing to the ground—
his fate unclear.
And Aerin?
He didn't even look back.
He simply strode into the pitch-black vortex, calm and unhurried.
That—
That was the scene that truly overturned all common sense.
Hadn't Aerin said that Dainsleif, like the Five Sinners, possessed power on the level of a world?
Then how had he been smashed into the dirt in a single exchange?
No one even saw Aerin do anything.
Dainsleif was flung away like a catapulted Anemo Slime—
And the surroundings were instantly leveled.
[Childe]: "What… did Aerin even do?"
[Bennett]: "That was terrifying. I didn't understand a thing."
[Gorou]: "Did Dainsleif really have world-level power? He was defeated in one move."
[Furina]: "I told you all—Aerin was exaggerating. If the Abyss were really that terrifying, how would he even compete for the world?"
[Arlecchino]: "Oh? And does the Hydro Archon believe she can accurately judge the difference in their power?"
Fontaine — Palais Mermonia.
Furina's cheeks flushed crimson.
Who is this woman? Is she deliberately tearing me down?!
Yet as the image of Stormterror's Lair being wiped flat replayed in her mind, she couldn't help but tremble.
Too frightening.
If Aerin ever came to Fontaine…
wouldn't the Palais Mermonia vanish in an instant?
Beyond Teyvat.
Beneath a suit of violet-black armor and a masked helm, a grim face twisted in shock.
Surtalogi looked terrible.
He knew Descenders were different from natives of Teyvat—
but not like this.
A Descender was defined by willpower equal to a world.
Such beings were not bound by the world's governing will and were more capable of wielding authority itself.
What made a Descender terrifying was will, not sheer destructive force.
That was why even Aether at his peak could not defeat Dainsleif.
Though Dainsleif's goals differed from the other five, his strength was on the same level.
And yet—
He had been crushed in a single move.
Left sprawled on the ground like a dead dog.
Even Surtalogi, a man obsessed with ultimate power, was stunned.
He could not guarantee that he himself could reduce Dainsleif to that state in one strike.
Yet Aerin had done it casually.
"Is he planning to use Dainsleif as a chess piece… to pressure us?"
"To buy himself more time to do what he truly wants?"
Surtalogi recalled Aerin's final words.
He had clearly spared Dainsleif on purpose—
allowing him to truly become a seeker of vengeance.
"…Even while holding back?"
Under the helmet, Surtalogi's pupils shrank violently.
The Fifth Descender—
Was he truly just a Descender?
Or something far more terrifying?
Five hundred years after the shock the Abyss once gave him,
Surtalogi felt that same dread again.
"…This is bad."
"I sent Skirk to investigate the Fifth Descender."
"Did I just send her to her death?"
Dainsleif and Surtalogi existed on the same tier.
And Skirk, as Surtalogi's disciple, was still a step below them.
If Dainsleif had been crushed so effortlessly—
Surtalogi could easily imagine Skirk's fate.
"…Hah."
He let out a long breath.
"I'm letting worry cloud my judgment."
"Skirk isn't a fool. With the light screen revealing all this, she'll think for herself."
"Still…"
"She's already gone to Teyvat."
"All I can do now… is hope my disciple is blessed by fate."
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