More than a year and a half had passed by since Artoria's arrival in this new world, and a lot of things had already taken shape since then. First and foremost, she wholeheartedly became a mother to three adorable children. Second, she suddenly found herself thrusted into the position of Clan Leader in a Family that she barely knew, yet had accepted the position with humility and dignity. And finally she once again took the mantle of Knighthood by becoming the Grandmaster of the Knights of Favonius after defeating and humiliating its previous leader Randolf. Her very existence slowly changed the events that were supposed to happen, for better or for worse.
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During quiet late evenings, Artoria would often find herself in a quiet moment of reflection, the weight of her new existence settling upon her with a comforting, almost maternal, heft. In the quiet solitude of her private office, late at night after her children were asleep, she would sometimes trace the line of her jaw in the reflection of the window, a gesture of grounding, of reminding herself that this face, this body, this life was real.
She was no longer the King of a fractured Britain. She is no longer the aloof Goddess Rhongomyniad, the Fairy of Paradise and even the galaxy-hopping saber-hating heroine from a galaxy far far away. And…she's no longer the faceless orphaned single mother from Earth.
She is all of them.
She is Artoria Pendragon 'Gunnhildr', Mother, Matriarch, Grandmaster and Goddess. The titles, once symbols of power and isolation, now felt like facets of a single, unified purpose: to protect and nurture.
The Knights of Favonius were no longer the listless force she had inherited. They had been reforged in the crucible of her leadership. The city as well as the entire nation had started to bloom. The Nation of Freedom, established by The Anemo Archon BARBATOS was now entering a new age unlike anything before with her at the helm.
"The Nation of Freedom." Freedom, the ideal of Barbatos. The very word echoed in her mind. In her past life, she had been the antithesis of that ideal. She was the Lion King, who had sacrificed the free will of her people to ensure their survival, freezing them in a perfect, joyless moment to save them from the ravages of time. It had been an act of ultimate protection born from ultimate misguided love, but it had still been a cage, however gilded.
Now, she presided over a nation that cherished freedom above all else. And she found herself... agreeing with it. Perhaps it was the influence of this world, or perhaps it was the simple, profound wisdom of motherhood. She saw her children, especially Jean, blossom under the freedom to explore, to question, to make mistakes. True strength, she was learning, was not in controlling every outcome, but in fostering an environment where others could grow strong on their own.
Yet, she also saw the dangers. Unfettered freedom, she knew from bitter experience, could lead to chaos, allowing the strong to prey upon the weak, to cause the slow decay of a noble purpose. It was the very thing that had allowed a man like Randolf to seize power.
Her philosophy, then, became a synthesis. A fusion of her past and her present. Freedom must be the foundation, the very air they breathed. But it must be a freedom tempered by responsibility. The freedom to live one's life, coupled with the duty to protect that same freedom for others. It was the essence of chivalry, redefined for a new age. It was a paradox she found herself living, a queen who had once denied freedom now becoming its most ardent, and pragmatic, defender.
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One crisp autumn afternoon, Artoria decided to take her children on a small adventure. The estate was magnificent, a testament to her power and wealth, but if her little ones were to constantly stay there, sooner or later it would become a cage, albeit a gilded one. Her children needed to see the world they were a part of, to spread their little wings and enjoy the beauty of their nation. So, Artoria did something she hadn't done since ever, take her little family on a picnic!
Their destination: the hills behind Springvale, the quaint, pastoral village that nestled at the foot of Dragonspine.
She didn't go as the Grandmaster, with a retinue of knights, oh no, she wanted this to be a personal matter only between her and her adorable babies! She wanted to go as a mother. Dressed in a warm, simple woolen cloak over a practical dress, her golden hair loosely braided that made her look like any other well-to-do noblewoman out for a stroll with her children.
She had planned to do this for some time now. The hustle and bustle of her life as both Leader and Master, while rewarding, is somewhat getting dull. She needed a break, just a simple break, a break that would involve only her and her 3 adorable babies! And what better way to unwind than to go out for a family picnic! She made sure to only tell Melisa and Elspeth about her little sojourn into the hilly plains behind Springvale. A plan that the two reluctantly agreed to since the two were very much hesitant to allow them to go, especially without escort. Artoria herself is the de facto leader of Mondstadt and her children are considered as the nation's most precious treasures!
But her glare infused with a bit of her mother goddess persona was enough to silence any protests, hence they reluctantly agreed to her terms.
They found a secluded spot just a few minutes walk from the village of Springvale, in a meadow carpeted with wildflowers, the gentle babble of a nearby creek providing a soothing soundtrack. The air was clean and crisp, carrying the scent of pine and damp earth. Jean, who just turned seven two weeks ago, immediately took on the role of scout, bravely investigating the perimeter of their picnic blanket, a small wooden sword her mother had carved for her clasped firmly in her hand.
Barbara, a toddler with a sweet disposition and an infectious laugh, was content to sit on the blanket, meticulously plucking the petals off a daisy, her brow furrowed in concentration.
And Bennett... Little Benny was a force of nature. Now, almost two years of age and walking with a determined, if slightly wobbly, gait, he began his own little journey as a tiny explorer. He would take a few steps, fall, get up with a giggle, and then charge off in a new direction, his bright green eyes wide with wonder at the sheer vastness of the world. His luck was a palpable thing here in the wilds. He would trip over a hidden root only to land in a pile of soft, mossy leaves.
"Yes, this is life." Artoria let out a contented sigh. Her children laughing under the warm Mondstadt sun is something she will always treasure. The peace that permeates with no threat of paperwork and issued commands. Just a mother enjoying her precious time with her children. She had packed a small feast (read: four baskets worth of food) containing cheeses, fresh bread, cakes, strips of ham and bacon, and of course, a small basket of her own Golden Delicious apples. Though she did also bring a substantial back up of food, about 2 more baskets full just in case her little Benny became hungry again.
The boy had an appetite that was simply legendary. His desire for food was something that he inherited from his mother. A trait that all of her children seem to share. An appetite so massive that even a large portion of roasted meat would not be enough to satisfy them. Artoria simply attributed this to the holy essence they received from her breast milk, and in the case of Benny, the small fragment of her soul that is now a part of him. The holy essence of a goddess is a very potent energy, and to sustain it, a large amount of nutrition is needed!
Artoria then took a bite from one of her golden apples and enjoyed its sweet and juicy taste. A taste that she had engineered to perfection. She then looked at her son who is now looking at her, with his mouth open and his hands stretched out, while his green eyes sparkled with hope. Artoria could not help but giggle at her son's antics. His gluttony is just too cute!
"Alright my little glutton," Artoria said with a laugh. "Mama will give you a slice." She then took a small slice of the apple and gave it to her son, who then began to devour it with a gusto.
If only every single day in her life would be like this. She can get use to this. But she knows that she has responsibilities to uphold, so at the very least, she could try to savor the peace of this small and wonderful outing along with her adorable little ones until it last.
...
Though unfortunately for the disguised hidden goddess of Mondstadt, her peaceful leisure would soon be interrupted by a bunch of hooligans fleeing from a neighboring country who would unfortunately try to intimidate her and her children. A bunch of pea brains that would soon sign their death warrants after they maliciously threatened her children!
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(Few days ago somewhere in Dragonspine, near the border of Mondstadt and Liyue)
In the desolate snowy lands of Dragonspine, a group of rugged thieves, mercenaries and rapists is seen trudging along a snowy path.
They've been exhausted for hours after fleeing Liyue with the Millelith in hot pursuit, they were given a lucky break when they accidentally awoken a sleeping Stone Hide Lawachurl who then spotted the group of Millelith that are chasing after them.
With Liyue's military force busying themselves fighting an enraged monster, the gang, led by a serial murderer named Yuchun Zuifan or more commonly known as 'Blade-Hand' was able to slip further inland into Dragonspine, finally crossing Mondstadt's border just a few minutes ago.
"I told you this was a bad idea," said a skinny man with a bald head. "If we just took the small job and not be greedy, we would still be in Liyue, warm and cozy, drinking wine."
"You want to go back there?!" the leader of the gang, a large man with a prosthetic right hand made of sharp blades, snarled at his subordinate. "The Millelith are probably looking for us everywhere after we killed that merchant and his family! Besides, I have another plan."
"A plan?" the skinny man asked, his voice trembling with fear. "What plan? We're freezing out here!"
"We'll sneak into Mondstadt," Blade-Hand said, a malicious grin on his face. "I've heard that the people of Mondstadt are a bunch of softies. And with their current Grandmaster being a woman, it will be easy pickings! We'll take over a small village, maybe one near a mountain, and from there, we'll build our own little empire!"
The other members of the gang, mostly illiterate thieves and crooks, murmured in agreement, their eyes gleaming with a newfound hope and anticipation.
"And what about the Knights?" the skinny man asked, his voice still trembling.
"Knights?" Blade-Hand laughed. "From what I've heard, the Knights of Favonius are nothing but a bunch of glorified bodyguards for their new Grandmaster, a woman who's more interested in playing house with a bunch of orphan brats than actually leading her men! We'll be able to take them down without breaking a sweat!"
The gang, a bunch of lowlifes and scums, cheered at their leader's words. With their morale restored, they continued their trek through the snow, their eyes set on the warm, welcoming land of Mondstadt. A land they believed to be ripe for the picking. A land they would soon regret ever stepping foot in.
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(Back to the present)
The afternoon sun cast a warm, golden glow over the meadow, painting the wildflowers in hues of amber and rose. The air was filled with the happy, chaotic symphony of her children's laughter. Jean, her face flushed with exertion, was now attempting to teach Barbara the proper way to hold a wooden sword, a lesson the toddler was interpreting as an opportunity to use the sword as a teething ring. Bennett, having finished his apple slice, had embarked on a new adventure: a one-baby mission to capture a particularly plump and iridescent butterfly, his chubby little legs pumping as he waddled after it.
Artoria watched them, a serene, maternal smile on her face. This was it. This was the peace she had fought for across lifetimes. Not the silence of a throne room, but the joyful noise of a family. Then no sooner than she thought about it, the said peace came crashing down.
It started when she heard a faint rustling from behind the bushes and trees. The rustling was accompanied by a series of hushed, guttural whispers. She got so caught up with her children-induced bliss that she didn't notice the approach of several individuals, individuals with no good intentions.
"Well, well, well, what do we have here?" a gruff voice rasped.
From the foliage, a group of men emerged. They were a wretched-looking lot, their clothes tattered and caked with grime, their faces gaunt and hardened by a life of violence.
The leader, a hulking brute with a cruel, jagged scar running down his left cheek and a gleaming, bladed prosthetic for a right hand, stepped forward, his eyes scanning the scene with a predator's gaze.
Artoria's serene expression vanished. She rose to her feet, moving with a fluid grace that was deceptively calm. In one smooth motion, she positioned herself between her children and the intruders, her body a living shield.
Jean, sensing the sudden shift in the atmosphere, stopped her play. Her small face tightened, and she dropped the wooden sword, her hand instead instinctively going to the small, wooden practice sword Artoria had gifted her for her 7th birthday two weeks ago. Barbara, sensing her sister's tension, began to whimper, crawling behind Artoria's legs and clutching at her dress. Even Bennett, in his innocent world of butterflies, stopped his chase, his brow furrowing as he looked at the newcomers, his intuitive luck screaming a silent alarm.
Blade-Hand's eyes fell upon Artoria, and a slow, despicable predatory grin spread across his face. He took in her ethereal gorgeous appearance, her fine cloak, her well-made boots, the obvious quality of her clothing. He saw a soft noblewoman, an easy target.
"Well now," he leered, his eyes raking over her with a disgusting familiarity. "Looks like we stumbled upon a pretty little bird all by her lonesome. And with a nest full of chicks, too. This is our lucky day, boys!"
His men laughed, a coarse, ugly sound that shattered the meadow's tranquility. They spread out, encircling the small family, their hands resting on the hilts of their rusted weapons.
Artoria said nothing. Her emerald eyes, once warm with maternal affection, were now as cold and hard as jade. She was not sizing them up as threats, they are far beneath it; she was assessing them as chores need to be solved. She noted their shoddy weapons, their poor stances, the slight tremor in the hands of the skinny one, a group of desperate amateurs, emboldened by a leader's false bravado.
"Hand over your Mora and any valuables you have, and we might let you and your little brats go," Blade Hand demanded, his voice thick with arrogance.
One of his men, a weasel-faced thug with missing teeth, took a step too close to the direction where Jean was hiding. "And maybe we'll take the little blonde haired, too. I hear there's a perverted noble in Fontaine who pays a pretty penny for fresh-faced little girls!"
"Yeah boss! I've heard they once paid three million mora for an orphaned eremite girl no less than 5 years of age! Archons know what they did to her in Fontaine? Hahaha!"
The world did not just go quiet for Artoria. It ceased to exist. There was no meadow, no sun, no babbling creek. There was only a single, all-consuming point of rage.
Did....did these insects…DID THESE LOWLY INSIGNIFICANT INSECTS JUST THREATENED TO TAKE HER DAUGHTER RIGHT IN FRONT OF HER?!
Artoria's rage skyrocketed even more when she heard the whimpers of both Barbara and Bennett as they cling to her legs in fear of the scums in front of her. Even her brave little Jean is faltering from the greasy threat of kidnapping that was so easily thrown by these thugs.
Artoria's gaze went cold, so cold that even the pathetic rabble in front of her took a step back after seeing the intensity of her gaze that looked like it could freeze even hell itself!
"Jean, please do Mama a favor and take care of your little brother and sister. Make sure to cover their eyes and close your eyes as well. Don't open until Mama said so, Ok sweetie? This will just take a minute."
Artoria's words are so sweet, so sickeningly sweet that Jean felt a shiver crawl down her spine for some reason. She can feel her Mama's love and affection but she can also feel a swirling cold storm of pure murderous rage that seems to be coiling behind that sweet tone.
"Yes Mama," Jean replied, her voice trembling but obedient. She quickly gathered a crying Barbara and a now-whimpering Bennett into her arms, shielding them with her small body and turning away, burying her face in Barbara's hair, her eyes squeezed shut as she had been commanded.
Blade-Hand, his momentary unease giving way to impatience and a desire to reassert his dominance, sneered. "Trying to be brave in front of your kids, bitch? It won't save you! Boys, grab the kids!"
Then a sickening lecherous smile crossed his face as he gazed at the defiant beauty right in front of him.
"After that, we'll make sure to force those little brats to watch us as we have our way with their lovely little mother before slitting her throat afterwards! Hahaha!" The rest of the gang laughed at the sadistic and cruel order of their leader, their minds now consumed by their base desires.
That was the moment that Artoria's patience completely snapped.
Before his men could even take a single step forward, a shadow fell over Blade-Hand and in less than a second he found himself hanging upside down. The Lady who he had thought was pampered and weak is now clutching his ankle with a grip that instantly shattered his bones!
But before he could even scream in pain, his vision blurred, that was the very last thing that he saw in his life as Artoria intentionally grabbed his ankle with a monstrous grip and started using him as a Human Club against his own gang!
The first thug to meet his end was the weasel-faced man who had suggested selling Jean. He didn't even have time to register the motion before his leader's body, spun with impossible speed, connected with his head. The sound was not a punch or a kick, but a wet, percussive 'CRUNCH' of bone and pulp. He was flung backward like a broken doll, his neck snapped, landing in a heap a dozen feet away.
The second, a burly man with a rusty axe, raised his weapon, a snarl dying on his lips as the human mace that was his boss and former leader slammed into his chest. His ribs caved in, his heart ruptured, and he was thrown into a tree with enough force to crack its trunk.
Panic began to set in. This was not a fight; it was a SLAUGHTER!
Artoria was a whirlwind of controlled, divine fury. Her movements were a terrifyingly beautiful dance of death. She spun, using Blade-Hand's body to shatter the jaw of another man. She swung, the battered leader's bladed prosthetic hand tearing through the throat of five men in an instant. She was not just killing them; she was systematically dismantling them with the very man who had threatened her children.
The remaining three thugs turned to flee. Survival was their only thought. They didn't get more than a few steps. Artoria, with a final, contemptuous heave, launched the broken, bloody body of Blade-Hand through the air. It flew like a gruesome projectile, striking the fleeing men in a line. Two were crushed under the weight, their bodies broken upon impact. The last, the skinny one who had complained about the cold, was impaled on a low-hanging branch, his terrified scream cut short as Blade Hand's severed prosthetic hand, still attached to the arm, speared him through his mouth.
Silence descended upon the meadow once more. The only sound was the gentle babble of the creek and the whimpering of her children. Artoria stood in the center of the carnage, her chest heaving, not from exertion, but from the sheer force of her rage receding like a violent tide. She was spattered with blood and gore, but her expression was one of cold, absolute finality.
Problem solved.
She closed her eyes for a moment, taking a deep, cleansing breath, the rage dissipating, replaced by a profound, soul-deep weariness and a surge of maternal panic. She had promised her babies a peaceful day, but THESE SCUMS RUINED IT! She had to see them. She had to make sure they were okay.
She turned around, her movements slowing, the warrior goddess receding, the mother returning in full force. "Jean," she said, her voice soft, trembling slightly. "It's over, my sweet girl. You can open your eyes now."
Jean slowly turned, her face still buried in her sister's hair. She cautiously peeked one eye open, then the other. She saw her mother standing there, her face and clothes stained with red, but her eyes were no longer cold. They were her Mama's eyes again, warm, green, and full of a fierce, protective love.
Jean didn't cry. She didn't scream. She simply held her siblings tighter and looked at her mother with an expression that held no fear, only a deep, unwavering trust. This is her hero. This is her knight. This is her Mama. The world might be a scary place, but as long as Mama is here, they are always safe!
Artoria rushed to them, dropping to her knees and pulling all three of her children into a fierce, protective embrace. She kissed Jean's forehead, smoothed Barbara's hair, and cuddled Benny close, her heart aching with a fierce, overwhelming love. "It's alright," she murmured over and over. "Mama's here, Mama's here with you. Everything is alright now."
As Artoria was busy smothering her precious babies with all her love, her gaze fell upon a young teenage boy, no older than fourteen, with wild, blonde hair and blue eyes, who was peering out from behind a large oak tree at the edge of the clearing. He had been hiding there, watching the entire sequence of events unfold with wide, disbelieving eyes.
She had noticed his presence before she started slaughtering the thugs, and may have even tried to help if not for her 'little performance' but her mind was so full of rage that she chose to ignore the peeping teen who just hid behind the large oak tree.
The boy's name is Varka, a resident from Springvale known for his rowdy nature and his indomitable will. He had been captured earlier by Blade-Hand's gang during their trek from Dragonspine, a potential hostage they had planned to use if needed. But the boy was clever as he was strong. He was able to set himself free and quietly slipped away from the thugs as their complete attention was drawn into Artoria and her children.
He then hid himself in the nearby bushes. Fearing not only for his life but also for the family in front of him that could potentially meet their end at the hands of these scums from Liyue, Varka picked up a large wooden branch behind a large Oak tree and was preparing to assist them. However, his fears were dashed aside the moment the noble-like Lady suddenly appeared before the leader and flipped him upside down! He never witnessed such a feat, it's like the Lady just teleported in an instant!
He then watched the men, his captors, the source of his fear and anger, get slaughtered in a matter of seconds by a woman with the face of an angel and the fury of a demon. He had seen her move with a speed and grace that defied all logic. He had seen her become a goddess of vengeance to protect her children.
He was not scared. He was awe-struck. He was inspired.
As Artoria comforted her children, Varka slowly planned to back away from his hiding spot and quietly slip away once again. However before he could even take one step backwards, he heard the lady's voice.
"I know you're there young man, you can come out now. You know it's impolite to stare at people right?"
How did she know where he was hiding! Even he himself thought that his hiding spot was perfect! The boy was flustered and embarrassed at being caught. He slowly stood up from his hiding spot and nervously looked at the lady that was currently busy calming her children.
"I..I..I am sorry, My lady. I didn't mean to spy... I was just..hiding from them" he then pointed to the mangled pile of corpses that used to be the gang of Blade Hand. Varka's voice is full of fear and awe as he speaks.
"Thank you for saving me," he said, his voice surprisingly steady for a boy his age. "And for... for them." His gaze flickered to the three small children huddled in her arms. "I saw what they tried to do."
Artoria's gaze softened as she looked at the boy. He was young, but there was a fire in his eyes, a spark of courage and defiance that she recognized. It was the same spark she saw in Jean, the same spark she had once had as a young girl, a spark that had been fanned into a flame by a sword in a stone.
"May I ask, what were you doing out here young man?" Artoria asked, curious about the sudden appearance of this blonde teen.
"I…I was exploring the hills earlier today, my lady, trying to hunt some boars, when this group of bandits ambushed me. They immediately restrained me, and forced me to be their guide. They appeared to be foreigners not from Mondstadt since they didn't know much about the land." Varka paused for a bit.
"They say they wanted to create a sort of 'hidden base' somewhere near the city, but they don't look so bright, hence I tried to lure them to the outskirts of Springvale where a contingent from the Knights of Favonius are stationed for patrol. We were halfway there when they noticed you and your family, my Lady, having a picnic in the meadow. With them distracted, I was able to set myself free….yet, I saw their intentions, and I could just let them harm you guys!" Varka almost shouted, there was fear and a genuine concern in his voice.
"So…I hid behind that tree over there and found a large branch. I…I was planning to help you guys, to at least hold them off while you guys run for help…But, then you beat them so easily my lady! True…it was a bit bloody, but you beat them nonetheless!" Artoria was surprised with the sudden change of demeanour from this young man. She could practically see stars in his eyes.
"You were very brave, young man," she said, her voice still gentle. "And very clever too, to have escaped them. What is your name?"
"Varka," he replied, his chest puffing out slightly at the compliment. "I'm from Springvale!"
'Varka?' Isn't that the name of the Knights of Favonius Grandmaster at the time the Traveler and Paimon arrived at Mondstadt? The Absentee Grandmaster who was said to have led more than half of the Knights into an expedition to parts unknown? The same Grandmaster who taught Razor and is somewhat idolized by Bennett from the original timeline?
This child in front of her, no older than fourteen, is the Future Grandmaster of the Knights of Favonius?....and her potential successor?!
A smile began to form in Artoria's lips. This is destiny! She had been given a sign. A sign to take this boy under her wing! To be his teacher and his mentor! The chance to forge a future Grandmaster from the very beginning is just too great an opportunity to pass!
Artoria's mind worked swiftly, the strategic mind of a king and a goddess overlaying the protective instincts of a mother. The path forward became clear with startling clarity. She would not let this boy, this future leader, return to a simple life in Springvale. She would shape him. She would teach him. She would mold him into the Grandmaster he was destined to be, the one she knew would one day lead the Order with honor.
She then gently introduces herself and her children to her unknowingly soon-to-be apprentice. "I am Artoria Pendragon 'Gunnhildr'. And these," she said, her voice filled with a warmth that could melt the snows of Dragonspine, "are my children. Jean, Barbara, and this little adventurer is Bennett."
She gently shifted Bennett in her arms, who now, seeing the new stranger, curiously peered over his mother's shoulder, his bright green eyes full of innocent wonder. The sight of the baby, so small and vulnerable, seemed to break through Varka's awe.
"They... they're so lucky," Varka said, his voice soft. "To have a mother like you my Lady."
The sincerity in his voice, the simple, profound truth of his words, struck a chord deep within Artoria. This boy, with his wild hair and fiery spirit, understood. He understood the core of what she was. Not a Grand Master, not a Matriarch, but a mother who would move heaven and earth for her children.
"They are," Artoria agreed, a gentle smile gracing her lips. "They all are."
She then shifted her attention to the grizzly scene behind her. The bodies of the gang members lay scattered, a testament to her fury. She knew she couldn't just leave them there. It would cause a panic in Springvale, and the Knights would have to be called in to investigate, a complication she wished to avoid on this rare day of peace.
"Wait, ma'am did you just say your name was Artoria?" Varka paused as a steady realization came flooding his mind.
"Artoria? THE ARTORIA? The same Artoria that defeated the previous Grandmaster Randolf in an epic one-sided duel?! The same Artoria that is now the new Grandmaster of the Knights of Favonius and the Matriarch of the Gunnhildr Clan?!" He's now looking at Artoria with a star-struck expression in his eyes.
Artoria simply nodded her head with a wry smile.
"I knew it! I knew something was special about you ma'am! You're that heroine from the rumors! The stories that they told us back in Springvale were true! Your hair, your eyes, everything is just as they described!"
The boy, Varka is now fidgeting in his place, he's somewhat star-struck and very nervous to be in the very presence of his idol!
Artoria's amusement at the boy's star-struck reaction was a welcome balm after the violence. It was a reminder of the simpler, more innocent side of this world. She let him have his moment, waiting for his excitement to settle.
"Varka," she said, her voice calm and level, regaining his attention. "I am indeed the Grandmaster of the Knights of Favonius. But right now, in this meadow, I am simply a mother who has had her picnic ruined by some very rude men." She gestured vaguely at the carnage. "And as you can see, it has created a bit of a mess."
Varka's eyes widened as he looked at the scene anew. He wasn't just seeing dead men anymore; he was seeing a problem that his hero needed solved. "I... I can help, my lady! I can run to Springvale! I can tell the Knights!"
"No," Artoria interrupted, her voice firm but not unkind. "I will personally handle this situation. But I do need a favor from you, Varka. Call it a sort of test."
She looked at him, her emerald eyes holding a weight that made the boy stand up straighter. "I need you to take my daughters back to the path leading to the city. Keep them safe. Do not look back. Do not speak of this to anyone. Can you do that for me?"
It was a command, but it was also a vote of confidence. She was trusting him with the most precious things in her world.
Jean, who had been listening intently, looked at her mother, then at Varka. She didn't protest. Her Mama's word was law. She simply took Barbara's hand, her little face set with a stubborn determination, and looked at Varka, her purple eyes sizing him up. If her Mama trusted him, then she would, too.
Varka puffed out his chest, his face solemn. "I swear it, Grandmaster. I will protect them with my life."
Artoria's smile was genuine. "I know you will." She gently placed a hand on his shoulder, a gesture that felt like both a blessing and a knighting. "Go now. We will not be far behind."
As Varka, with Jean and Barbara in tow, disappeared into the trees, Artoria turned her full attention to the grim task at hand. She surveyed the battlefield with a cold, calculating eye. She had to remove the evidence, not just for discretion, but to spare her children and the boy from the hassle of the official investigation that would surely follow.
She knelt, placing Bennett on a clean patch of grass a safe distance away. "Stay here, my little adventurer," she murmured, her voice shifting again, the goddess re-emerging. "Mama has to clean up."
Then, she turned to the bodies. A faint, golden light began to emanate from her hands. It was not the light of creation she had used on the orchard, but the focused, purifying yet destructive light of a weapon that can anchor the very fabric of the world, Rhongomyniad, one of her formidable noble phantasms. She's only going to use a very miniscule amount of its power for the task she's planning, after all, even a partially weakened attack from her spear has the potential to obliterate a mountain as large as Dragonspine! She needed to be careful, to use only a very miniscule amount of its power….to get rid of these mangaled corpses in front of her.
She touched the first body, and a low hum filled the air. The flesh, bone, and even the blood-soaked earth began to dissolve, not into ash, but into pure, shimmering particles of light that rose into the air and vanished, returning to the elements.
One by one, she methodically erased the existence of the men who had dared to threaten her world. It was a silent, efficient, and utterly terrifying display of power. There were no clues left for the Knights of Favonius to find, no evidence of a struggle, no sign that a dozen men had ever died in this peaceful meadow. All that remained was a patch of unnaturally green and vibrant grass, as if nourished by a divine, unseen hand.
When she was finished, she walked back to Bennett, who was babbling happily, trying to catch a dandelion seed floating on the breeze. The carnage was gone, the meadow peaceful once more, the only evidence of the violence a faint, almost imperceptible scent of ozone, the unnaturally greener patches of grass and a lingering warmth in the air. She scooped him up, her demeanor once again that of a simple mother, and followed the path Varka and the girls had taken.
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In the city of Mondstadt, a different kind of storm was brewing within the halls of the Knights of Favonius headquarters. Sir Hemlock, the Captain of the First Company and second-in-command of the Order, his face a mask of grim fury, slammed his gauntleted fist on the polished wood of the conference table. The map of the region spread across it, dotted with markers representing recent sightings, trembled with the impact.
"Nothing! Not a single trace!" he roared, his voice echoing in the tense room. "Captain Yuan's best Outriders have been tracking them for days. Blade-Hand and his filth vanish near the base of Dragonspine, only to reappear here, in our lands! And now, a patrol from Springvale reports hearing a commotion near the old creek meadow, but when they arrived, they found nothing! Nothing but patches of oddly green grass! How can a dozen men simply disappear into thin air?!"
Around the table, the newly appointed company captains sat in grim silence. They were a new breed of knights competent, loyal, and driven by a desire to restore their order's honor. The escape of such a violent gang into their territory was not just a security failure; it was a personal insult.
Captain Zhencha Yuan, leaning against the wall with his customary quiet intensity, finally spoke. "My trackers found something else. Broken branches, signs of a struggle. And... tracks. The tracks looked like it belonged to a woman and two younger companions, possibly children." He paused, letting the implication sink in. "The tracks lead from the meadow back towards the city. They were... precise. Unhurried."
A cold dread crept into Sir Hemlock's heart. He knew of only one woman who could walk through such a scene with that kind of composure. One woman who was currently spending a rare day off with her three children in that very area. He didn't voice his fear, but the possibility turned his blood to ice. The Grandmaster of their Order, the Matriarch of the Gunnhildr clan, along with the three most precious children in Mondstadt, potentially walking into an ambush. The thought was unbearable.
Before he could give the order to mobilize every available knight, the main doors to the headquarters swung open. A guard, his face pale and his eyes wide with disbelief, stumbled in.
"Sir Hemlock! It's... it's the Grandmaster!" he stammered.
Hemlock and the other captains were on their feet in an instant, their hands flying to their weapons, expecting a fight.
But what they saw was not a scene of battle, but a procession. Walking down the central aisle was Varka, the boy from Springvale, his face a mask of solemn pride. Behind him, holding his hand with an unwavering trust, was little Jean. And at the rear of this strange small parade was Artoria.
She looked as serene as if she were returning from a pleasant stroll in the city park. Both Barbara and Bennett were perched happily on her arms, babbling away and both trying to pull strands of her golden hair. There was not a single speck of blood on her simple dress, not a hair out of place. The only thing that hinted at anything unusual was the profound, almost chilling calm in her emerald eyes.
A collective sigh of relief, so powerful it was almost audible, swept through the room.
They were safe.
Sir Hemlock rushed forward, his grizzled face etched with concern. "My lady! We heard reports... Blade-Hand's gang, a notorious criminal gang that fled from Liyue had been sighted in our borders….We were preparing a search party..."
Artoria held up a hand, her gesture silencing him immediately. "There is no need, Sir Hemlock," she said, her voice quiet but carrying the weight of an absolute decree.
"But..but my lady, these are not your ordinary typical run in a mill bandits, those are cold hearted criminals that would rape and kill for pleasure! Captain Yuan even found tracks belonging to a woman and three children on a site that Blade-Hand and his gang were supposed to go to. My Lady, we thought...that something bad happened to you." Hemlock said with nervousness in his voice. He can't just simply let this go, a gang of violent criminals on the loose is a major problem to his nation!
Artoria's gaze did not waver. She met his, and in that moment, Hemlock saw not just his Grandmaster, but the person who had turned Randolf into a mangled armored pile of meat with a training sword. He saw an ocean of power held back by a paper-thin dam of maternal composure.
"Don't worry about me Captain, I was just taking a nice scenic picnic with my children on the hills behind Springvale," she said, her tone somewhat jovial.
"Wait Springvale? Isn't that the place where Blade-Hand was supposed to...."
Captain Muscovado tried to voice his concern after hearing his Grandmaster casually speak of taking a wonderful picnic in a place where the potential terrorist might be on the loose. But he was cut off before he could finish his sentence.
"Like what I've just said, don't worry, nothing bad happened." Artoria chimed in.
"Although...we did encounter some pesky 'INSIGNIFICANT INSECTS' trying to buzz around our picnic spot." The room SUDDENLY got cold as Artoria mentioned about some 'INSIGNIFICANT INSECTS' bothering their picnic. Every knight present in the room felt a sudden shiver crawl down their spines, a primal fear that they have never felt before. It's a fear that is somewhat directed not to an enemy, but to their own beloved Grandmaster who is now smiling at them with a serene look in her eyes yet her presence feels like that of a furious goddess ready to smite them all.
She then continued her statement with the same calm and sweet tone of voice. "Let's just say I've taken care of them." The finality in her voice, the unspoken promise of absolute resolution, silenced every question in the room. The message was clear: THE PROBLEM WAS GONE. Not dealt with, not contained, but erased. It was not a matter for discussion.
She then turned her full attention to the boy who had been standing quietly beside her, his posture ramrod straight, trying to look as important as he felt.
"Everyone this is Varka, a young man from Springvale. He gave me some assistance when I was in the middle of 'cleaning up' the remains of those 'INSIGNIFICANT INSECTS' back in Springvale. A very brave and clever young man." The sudden shift in Artoria's voice from a chilling goddess into that of a mother praising her child was so sudden that it gave everyone in the room a minor whiplash.
"In fact, I was so impressed that I've decided to take him under my wing."
She placed a gentle but firm hand on Varka's shoulder. The boy's chest swelled with pride so immense he looked like he might burst.
The knights stared, their minds reeling. Take him under her wing? What does their grandmaster mean by that statement?
"Sir Hemlock," Artoria continued, her voice returning to the calm, authoritative tone of the Grandmaster. "You are hereby ordered to prepare the necessary accommodations for my new... squire."
Silence. Absolute, stunned silence.
Sir Hemlock's jaw went slack. A squire? A raw, untested boy from the countryside, to be the personal squire to the Grandmaster of the Knights of Favonius?! It was unprecedented. It was unheard of. But looking into Artoria's emerald eyes, he saw no hint of jest. He saw only the unshakeable will of a monarch who had just made a decree.
Captain Zhencha Yuan, a man who valued pragmatism above all, simply stroked his chin, a flicker of understanding in his sharp eyes. He had heard things about this boy when he was still a hunter back in Springvale. Rumors on how abnormally strong he was for his age, and how he would occasionally venture out into Wolvendom only to return with a smile on his face but also with dozens of scratch marks (that oddly look like they've been inflicted by wolves) all over his body.
He had seen the tracks in the meadow, particularly behind a large oak tree, with a piece of tree branch that looked like it had been gripped by a young but strangely strong pair of hands. There's a high chance that the boy was there. The Grandmaster was not just rewarding bravery; she was securing a future asset. He saw the tactical genius in the move.
Artoria didn't wait for a response. She turned, took Varka's hand, and guided him towards the grand staircase that led to the residential quarters. "Come, Varka. Let's get you settled in. You have much to learn, and we will begin your lessons tomorrow. At dawn."
As they ascended the stairs, the knights in the war room slowly recovered, their silence turning into a low hum of murmured astonishment. Sir Hemlock closed his mouth, a slow, grim smile spreading across his scarred face. A squire. She wasn't just reforming the Order; she was forging its next leader from raw, untamed steel. The future of the Knights of Favonius, he realized, had just walked up the stairs holding the Grandmaster's hand.
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The next morning, dawn was still a pale promise on the horizon when Artoria found Varka waiting in the training courtyard of the Knights' headquarters. He was there, alone, the air crisp and cold. He wore a simple tunic and trousers, likely borrowed from the barracks, and he stood with a straightness that spoke of a desperate desire to please. He looked small against the vast, empty stone expanse, but his spirit was a towering flame.
Artoria approached, not in her Grandmaster's armor, but in simple, practical training clothes. Her golden hair was tied back in a tight, functional braid. In her hand, she carried not a practice sword, but two simple, wooden wasters.
"You are early," she observed, her voice neutral, a test in itself.
"I didn't want to be late," Varka replied, his voice cracking slightly.
"Good. A knight's first duty is punctuality. His second is diligence." She tossed one of the wooden swords to him. He fumbled it for a second before catching it, his face flushing with embarrassment. "Your third," she continued, ignoring his clumsiness, "is to never drop his weapon."
The training began. It was nothing like Varka had imagined. He had dreamed of grand clashes, of learning powerful, flashy moves to defeat monsters. Artoria taught him none of that.
For the first week, all she did was make him stand. "Feet shoulder-width apart. A strong foundation is everything. A knight who cannot stand cannot fight." For hours he would stand, his legs burning, his back aching, while she would circle him like a patient hawk, occasionally tapping his shoulder or knee with her waster, forcing him to correct his posture.
"Balance. You are a tree, not a reed. Root yourself to the earth."
The second week, she introduced movement. Not lunges or strikes, but simple footwork. Forward, back, side to side. Endless, grueling drills that were more exhausting than any chore he had ever done on his family's farm. "The battle is won or lost before the first blow is ever struck. It is won with footwork. With the ability to be where you need to be, when you need to be there."
Varka, to his credit, did not complain. He was frustrated, his body ached in ways he didn't know were possible, but he saw the method in the madness. With each passing day, he felt a change. He felt steadier, more grounded. He could feel the earth beneath his feet, not just as dirt and stone, but as a source of strength.
Weeks turned into a month. Varka was now a familiar, if somewhat odd, sight in the headquarters. The other knights, at first curious and even a little resentful of this boy who had leapfrogged them all into the Grandmaster's direct tutelage, soon came to respect his relentless work ethic. They would see him in the courtyard at dawn, practicing his footwork until Artoria arrived. They would see him after dinner, practicing his stance under the light of a lantern. He was a boy possessed, driven by a fierce, unwavering devotion to the person who had seen the potential in him.
The day finally came when Artoria deemed him ready. "Today," she announced, her voice holding a note of anticipation that Varka had not heard before, "we cross blades."
Varka's heart leaped into his throat. He gripped his waster, his palms sweaty.
They faced each other in the center of the courtyard. The morning sun cast long shadows, making the empty space feel vast and sacred.
"Defend yourself," she said. The lesson was not a duel. It was an education in humility.
She did not attack with blinding speed or overwhelming force. Her movements were simple, economical, and utterly unstoppable.
A straight, high strike. Varka raised his sword to block. The impact was not what he expected. It was not a loud clack, but a sharp, stinging jolt that traveled up his arm and sent his waster flying from his numb hand. It skittered across the stone.
"Your form is strong, but your arms are soft," she said, her voice calm. "You block with the strength of your arm alone. A knight must block with the strength of his entire body. Pick it up."
He scrambled for his sword, his face burning with shame, and they resumed. This time she aimed low. He intercepted the blow, bracing himself, channeling his strength from his feet, through his legs, and into his core. The waster connected, and this time, he held. The shock was still immense, but he didn't break. A small flicker of pride surged through him.
It was extinguished a moment later when, with a simple twist of her wrist, she redirected his blade and tapped him squarely on the chest.
"You stopped the blow. But you lost the fight," she stated simply. "A knight does not simply meet force with force. A knight directs force. He uses his opponent's strength against them. He is water, not stone. Water yields, but it can wear away the hardest stone."
The day continued in this fashion. A relentless, methodical dismantling of every instinct he had. She would show him an opening, and when he lunged to take it, he would find it was a trap, her waster waiting to tap his head, his ribs, his leg. She taught him to watch not her blade, but her eyes, her shoulders, her movements, the true tellers of intent.
By the end of the session, Varka was a sweating, exhausted, bruised, and utterly demoralized mess. He was covered in red welts from the waster's taps, his muscles screamed in protest, and his pride was shattered.
He fell to his knees, his sword clattering to the ground. "I... I can't," he panted, his voice thick with frustration and the sting of impending tears. "I'm no good. You were wrong about me."
Artoria stood over him, her expression unreadable. The sun glinted off her golden hair, making her seem like a statue of some ancient, unforgiving deity.
She knelt down, her face level with his. Her emerald eyes, which had been so cold and analytical during the lesson, now held a warmth that was almost painful in its intensity.
"Varka," she said, her voice soft. "Look at me."
He reluctantly raised his head, his vision blurred with exhaustion.
"When a blacksmith forges a great sword, does he simply polish the metal and declare it a blade?"
He shook his head, confused by the change in topic.
"No," she continued. "He heats it in the fire until it is white-hot. He hammers it, folding the steel upon itself, beating out every impurity, every weakness. He plunges it into cold water to temper it, making it hard and strong. The process is violent. It is painful for the steel. But without it, it is nothing more than a lump of useless ore."
She placed a hand on his shoulder. "Today, I have heated you in the fire. I have hammered you. You are not broken. You are being forged. The frustration you feel, the exhaustion, the shame, they are the impurities being beaten out of you. Do not despise them. Learn from them. Tomorrow, you will be stronger. The day after, stronger still. And one day, you will not be a boy playing at being a knight. You will be a knight. You will be the sword that protects Mondstadt. Do you understand?"
Varka looked at her, at the absolute faith in her eyes. She hadn't given up on him. She had just begun his true training. He saw it now. It wasn't a punishment. It was a gift.
He scrubbed at his eyes with the back of his hand, banishing the tears. "Yes, Grandmaster," he said, his voice hoarse but steady. "I understand."
"Good," she said, rising to her feet and offering him a hand. He took it, and she pulled him up with a strength that still startled him. "Now, pick up your sword. We will practice your stance until the sun sets."
And he did. Without a single word of complaint.
(End of Chapter)
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(Unique Skills)
Since becoming a goddess with the amalgamation of all her variations and aspects, Artoria was able to access new abilities.
A). Soul Sharing
B). Divine Arms Mastery
- The ascended version of the skill Eternal Arms Mastery.
- Since she's the literal amalgamation of all her forms, Artoria's mastership of combat arts has reached the point of being said to be unrivaled.
- She has achieved a complete merging of mind, body and technique that makes it possible for her to make use of full fighting skills of all her forms.
- With this skill, she could even use a simple fork, stick or even the bodies of her enemies and turn them into fierce weapons of combat.
C). Marble Phantasm (Avalon)
D). ???
E). ???
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(Noble Phantasms)
A). Rhongomyniad
- Rhongomyniad, a Divine Construct regarded as the "Spear of the End" and said to be capable of incinerating the entire planet at FULL POWER (though this ability is only invoked in order to save the world).
- Holy Judgement: A high level magical attack that shots out like a beam of light. It is a long range attack capable of splitting the land in two.
- Rhongomyniad can also be used defensively by creating an outer shell similar to that of a fortress that can protect an area the size of a large city. This shell is incredibly durable, and they repel without taking a scratch from any malicious attacks. This shell only grants access to those with righteous hearts.
- For lesser purposes, Artoria can channel a very miniscule amount of power from Rhongomyniad into her hands or fingers. Such a technique, though much smaller in scale, had enough power to obliterate a normal person out of existence, and can be used to shoot small beams of pure energy into the enemy's ranks causing devastation.
B). Excalibur
C). Invisible Air
D). Bright Ehangwen
E). ???
F). ???
G). ???
H). ???
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Varka
- A blonde, blue-eyed teenage boy hailing from Springvale whose family owns a farm and is probably a descendant from the 'lost' fourth great clan of Mondstadt.
- He is infamous around Springvale as a sort of troublemaker (though not intentionally), and would often get into fights with local bullies and gangs. His reputation matches his strength which is unusually high for someone of his age.
- Varka has aspirations of being a hero and thrill-seeker. He would often use hunting as an excuse to venture out into the wilderness, particularly Wolvendom, to challenge wolves and mess around with the local Hilichurl tribes.
In his recent escapade, he ventured out into the hills at the foot of Dragonspine while hot on the trail of a large boar. Unfortunately for him, he was ambushed by a gang of criminals fleeing from Liyue, he put up a fight yet was overwhelmed. The gang originally planned to use him as a guide of sorts for them to conquer a village or a settlement in the highlands of Mondstadt, instead Varka lured them into following him into the vicinity of Springvale where a contingent of Knights from the First Company was stationed. However, the plan was thrown out of the window when the group encountered Artoria and her children having a picnic in a meadow just above Springvale.
- Varka is easily fascinated with tales about Knights and Heroes, and is a sort of fan towards the newest Grandmaster of the Knights of Favonius, long before meeting her.
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