Chapter 184.
In the shadowed, incense-scented privacy of an undisclosed inn in Liyue Harbor, The Knave sat perfectly still. Arlecchino took a slow, deliberate sip of her tea, her expression an impenetrable mask of calm.
Kneeling on the tatami mats before her were two Electro Cicin Mages, having just returned from the Northland Bank to deliver the Eleventh Harbinger's thinly veiled ultimatum.
"Is that truly what Childe said?"
Arlecchino asked, her voice smooth and devoid of surprise.
As the grand design inched closer to its climax, paranoia was a natural byproduct. To be completely honest, Arlecchino harbored a certain pragmatic admiration for Tartaglia. Within the ranks of the Fatui Harbingers, his reputation was notoriously one-dimensional—a reckless battle maniac who was perpetually either picking a fight or bleeding from one. Combat prowess was the absolute baseline for ascending to the Harbinger seats, but brute force alone could not maintain that authority.
Scaramouche, for all his volatile arrogance, was terrifyingly efficient when on task—at least until he collided with the anomaly known as Futsu Mitama.
Tartaglia, however, was currently sprinting headlong into a beautiful tragedy.
His chaotic maneuvering, his desperate efforts to distract the Millelith and agitate the harbor, were entirely in vain. Yet, in their futility, they were perfect. His spectacular performance was exactly what the Geo Archon required to fulfill his ultimate contract with Her Majesty the Tsaritsa.
He was doing all the heavy lifting to secure the Geo Gnosis, completely unaware that he was dancing on Morax's stage.
A faint, razor-thin smile graced Arlecchino's lips. She was genuinely looking forward to the look on Tartaglia's face when the curtain finally fell.
"Yes, Lord Knave."
The Mages replied in unison, their heads bowed low.
"If that is the case, let it be. I have no intention of dirtying my hands in his current theater."
Arlecchino stated, placing her teacup down with a soft clink.
Liyue was rapidly turning into a political quagmire. She understood exactly why Tartaglia was deploying his vanguards into the wilderness—it was a noisy, violent smokescreen designed to stretch the Millelith thin. As a Harbinger, she knew the Fatui possessed zero diplomatic credibility. For their forces to suddenly mobilize right before the Rite of Descension was a blatant declaration of foul play.
But even if the Qixing suspected treason, what could they actually do?
Ningguang could never fathom that Tartaglia was unhinged enough to inadvertently aid in the release of ancient demon gods.
The Qixing lacked the jurisdictional authority to unilaterally restrict a Harbinger's movements. Only Rex Lapis possessed that power. And since this entire labyrinthine plot was orchestrated by Rex Lapis himself, Arlecchino was perfectly content to sit in the shadows and wait for the Rite of Descension to ignite.
However, looking down, she noticed a distinct hesitation lingering in the posture of her subordinates.
"You two seem burdened by doubt."
Arlecchino observed coldly.
"Forgive my impertinence, Lord Knave." one of the Cicin Mages spoke up, her voice tight with anxiety as she lowered her head even further. "Are we—are we truly going to do absolutely nothing?"
It was a dangerous question, born of genuine confusion. As operatives of Snezhnaya, they had watched Lord Childe lay the groundwork for a massive, city-wide operation. He had even invoked the Tsaritsa's name to subtly threaten The Knave into compliance. The Mages, well aware of Arlecchino's lethal capabilities, felt that sitting idly by bordered on dereliction of duty.
The Harbingers were famously fractured, but for the sake of the Tsaritsa's ultimate dream, they were expected to cooperate. These sisters had previously served under La Signora. The Fair Lady had spent her days relentlessly cursing Lord Childe, Scaramouche, and Regrator, but she had always acted. If Signora uncovered intelligence, she struck immediately.
But since arriving in Liyue, The Knave had been a ghost. She spent her days either lounging in this inn or independently researching methods to shatter Fontaine's apocalyptic prophecy. While securing the Hydro Archon's Gnosis was a noble pursuit, Lord Childe's operation was happening now.
"Are you questioning me?"
Arlecchino's voice did not rise in volume, but the sheer, suffocating weight of her killing intent instantly flooded the room. The temperature plummeted.
The color drained completely from the Cicin Mages' faces. They threw themselves flat against the floorboards, their bodies trembling violently.
"We wouldn't dare, my Lord! Please forgive us!"
"Enough. Stand up."
Arlecchino commanded, waving a dismissive hand. She reined in her aura, understanding that their doubt was a natural symptom of ignorance.
The Mages remained planted on the floor, too terrified to move.
Seeing their paralysis, Arlecchino didn't force them up. Instead, she offered a measured explanation.
"I cannot act freely right now, and by extension, neither can you. I am currently being monitored by a Liyue adeptus. If I make a single aggressive move in this harbor, Black Aila will not hesitate to engage me in open combat. And if we clash, do you truly believe I can secure a clean advantage in their own territory?"
She knew exactly why they were restless.
Over the past month, her inaction had gnawed at her as well. She deeply desired to travel to Qingce Village, to hunt down the Oceanid hiding in the waters and extract ancient secrets regarding Fontaine's past.
But the board was locked.
Black Aila was watching her from the shadows. If she stepped out of line during this hyper-sensitive period before the Rite, the Qixing would gladly use it as an excuse to authorize her arrest.
Furthermore, there was the ultimate wild card: Futsu Mitama.
Morax had assured the Fatui that Futsu Mitama would not interfere in the grand operation, but Arlecchino refused to blindly trust a god's guarantee. If Futsu Mitama decided to intervene for his own personal, unpredictable reasons, it would be catastrophic. She severely doubted that her diplomatic immunity held more weight in Morax's heart than Futsu Mitama did.
She was carrying the Tsaritsa's sacred mandate; to risk her life and the mission over a petty territorial skirmish was a capital offense she would not commit.
"I will intervene when the moment demands it."
Arlecchino said softly, her crimson eyes pinning the trembling Mages to the floor.
"But not a second before. Tartaglia's theater allows no margin for error. If you act presumptuously and draw the Tsaritsa's wrath upon us, no amount of groveling will save you."
Realization finally pierced the Mages' panic. The Knave wasn't idling; she was exercising terrifying, predatory patience.
"We were foolish, Lord Knave."
They whispered in unison, deeply ashamed of their insubordination.
"You may withdraw."
Arlecchino said, her tone neutralizing.
"Yes, my Lord."
The sisters rose shakily, bowed, and vanished from the room without another word.
Once the door clicked shut, Arlecchino turned her gaze toward an ornate folding screen in the corner of the room.
"Did you fall asleep? Or are you simply refusing to come out?"
"Ahem... No, Father."
From behind the painted silk emerged a meticulously dressed young man with a theatrical flair, followed closely by a young girl whose feline ears twitched nervously.
Lyney and Lynette stepped fully into the light, immediately offering deep, perfectly synchronized bows.
"Enough with the formalities." Arlecchino sighed, picking up her tea once more. "Report on Fontaine."
"Everything remains stagnant." Lyney reported, his tone dropping its usual playful lilt. "Fontaine has not dispatched a single diplomatic envoy to Liyue. The intelligence said Lady Furina performed on stage again today as if nothing were amiss. And Monsieur Neuvillette maintains his centuries-old routine—he is either presiding over a trial, or walking to one."
Arlecchino frowned, her fingertips tapping a slow, rhythmic beat against the lacquered table.
They didn't send anyone?
When she had caught sight of Futsu Mitama, Venti (Barbatos), Zhongli (Morax), the Raiden Shogun, and Nahida (Buer) earlier that morning, the realization had struck her like a physical blow. This wasn't just a festival; it was a clandestine summit of the Seven.
Any nation with a functioning intelligence network would send observers to the Rite of Descension, knowing it marked the greatest political paradigm shift in Teyvat in five centuries.
The Tsaritsa couldn't attend, yet she deployed her Harbingers. Natlan was consumed by endless war, rendering their absence logical. But for a peaceful, thriving nation like Fontaine to completely ignore the gathering?
It baffled her.
"Father." Lynette's quiet voice broke the silence, her tail flicking behind her. "Did you summon us all the way from Fontaine because you have a mission for us?"
They were supposed to be embedded in the Court of Fontaine, executing the House of the Hearth's ongoing operations. But days ago, a sudden, encrypted summons from Father had dragged them across the ocean to Liyue Harbor.
Lyney, too, looked at her with thinly veiled curiosity.
"Yes. And no."
Meeting the confused gazes of her children, Arlecchino's tone remained infuriatingly calm. It was a stark departure from her usual absolute directives.
She reached into her coat, producing a crisp photograph of the golden-haired Traveler and her floating companion, sliding it across the table.
"You should already met the Traveler, Lumine. The Rite of Descension is imminent, and my presence here is highly volatile. I cannot move freely." Arlecchino explained slowly. "You are operatives of the Fatui, yes, but to her, you will simply be Fontaine's premier illusionists. I want you to approach her."
Lyney picked up the photograph, his violet eyes analyzing the smiling girl in the frame.
"You said this is a mission, yet not a mission, Father. Why the contradiction?"
He knew Father better than anyone.
In the House of the Hearth, a mission was an absolute law written in blood. Ambiguity was not in her nature. Was this Traveler truly that exceptional of an anomaly?
"The parameters of success depend entirely on how you choose to interpret the engagement."
Arlecchino smiled—a faint, genuinely warm expression reserved solely for the children she was grooming to lead. She wanted Lyney to stretch his wings, to navigate the gray areas of human connection without a strict script.
Lyney fell silent, staring at the photo for a long moment before nodding firmly.
"I understand, Father. I will rely on my own judgment."
A flash of profound approval danced in Arlecchino's eyes, though she withheld her verbal praise.
"And what of the sea levels back home?"
Lynette hesitated, her ears flattening slightly against her hair.
"Father... the waters in Fontaine have risen again."
The faint smile vanished from Arlecchino's face, replaced by a quiet, heavy sorrow. A rising sea meant the prophecy was ticking closer to its apocalyptic conclusion. Time was bleeding out.
"Very well. Business is concluded for today." Arlecchino sighed, deliberately shifting the atmosphere. She gestured to the empty chairs beside her. "Sit down. Replenish your energy."
She pushed a platter of delicate Liyue pastries toward them.
"The tea and confections here are good. It is rare for you to visit Liyue. I will not have you returning to Fontaine empty-handed."
Lyney and Lynette shared a small, relieved smile, taking their seats beside their Father and reaching for the sweets.
"You are far too lenient with them, Father."
Lynette murmured, taking a delicate sip of her tea. Her feline eyes narrowed in quiet indignation.
"You offered them sanctuary when they had nothing. Yet they dare to question your authority."
The disrespect the Cicin Mages had shown earlier clearly grated on the young assassin. When La Signora fell, Arlecchino had mercifully absorbed her orphaned operatives, elevating them to trusted positions. To repay that grace with insubordination was a sin Lynette found difficult to digest.
Lyney remained silent, but the tight set of his jaw mirrored his sister's fierce loyalty.
"Do not judge them too harshly. They are simply haunted by La Signora's ghost."
Arlecchino replied magnanimously, taking a bite of a pastry.
She understood the Mages' anxiety. Signora had been a force of nature—a burning crusade incarnate.
She had dragged her subordinates through the frozen winds of Mondstadt, the political fires of Liyue, and the lethal storms of Inazuma. Now that she was dead, her manic urgency had infected the operatives she left behind. They were terrified of stagnation.
"I can tolerate their anxiety."
The Knave said softly, her crimson eyes reflecting the warm glow of the inn's lanterns.
"But if their impatience threatens the House, or Her Majesty's grand design—my tolerance will end."