<h4>Chapter 129: Viin Simtor, Ch 128</h4>


    The thug hadn''t finished his taunt when a powerful kick sent him sprawling. To his shock, his assant was a mysterious figure dressed in ck, cloaked, and looking every bit like a "vignte."


    "W-who are you?" the other thug stammered, drawing a dagger from his belt. "Just because you dress up doesn''t mean I''m afraid of you!"


    This "vignte" was none other than Lucas. While searching for the stolen Holy Lyre, he''d stumbled upon this attempted robbery and couldn''t resist stepping in to y the hero.


    Naturally, these thugs were no match for him. Though he initially nned to give them a quick lesson, a mischievous idea shed through his mind, and a wicked smile crossed his face.


    "Witch''s Prank!" (Renamed the Witch''s Mischievous Kiss to this)


    Lucas waved his hand at the two thugs, and a magical aura surrounded them.


    This skill, a gift from Alice, cast a random spell effect.


    [Magic Activated: Chicken Transformation]


    [Effect: Turns the target into chickens for 24 hours]


    The two thugs began to transform, feathers sprouting as they morphed into clucking chickens. They took one look at each other, squawked in terror, and pped their wings as they fled down the alley.


    "Better run fast!" Lucas taunted, chuckling. "Or you''ll end up as Sweet Madame tomorrow!"


    As Lucas turned to leave, a young voice called out, "Th-thank you!"


    This kid was Timmie?


    The boy who fed pigeons at the city gate.


    Mondstadt''s top "poultry tycoon."


    And supposedly, though disproven, a secret Fatui Harbinger.


    "No need to thank me," Lucas said with a smile. "If anything, thank the pigeons you fed."


    After all, before he''d obtained the [Viin Simtor], his "viinous" acts mostly involved scaring away Timmie''s pigeons each morning, then making a quick buck by selling them as poultry.


    "I-I get it!" Timmie''s face lit up in excitement. "You''re the embodiment of those pigeons—the Dark Pigeon Knight!"


    That name was awful!


    Was it because he''d "ghosted" the pigeons so many times that this nickname stuck?


    "Uh, are there even ck pigeons?" Lucas asked, exasperated.


    "Of course!" Timmie replied confidently. "There are gray ones, blue ones, white ones, and yes, even ck ones!"


    Just then, Lucas caught the faint sound of a lyre in the distance. With a leap, he vanished from Timmie''s sight.


    "Goodbye, Dark Pigeon Knight!" Timmie shouted, waving enthusiastically. "I''ll remember you!"


    Little did Lucas know, the title of "Dark Pigeon Knight" would soon spread far and wide, and he''d be known alongside Mondstadt''s "Darknight Hero" as one of the "Twin Knights of Mondstadt."


    ---


    The faint strains of a lyre floated on the night air, barely perceptible but impossible for Lucas to miss. Moving carefully, he traced the sound to its source.


    As he neared the origin, he slowed his pace to avoid detection.


    Though not an expert in music, even he could tell that this "melody" was dissonant, as if someone were randomly plucking the strings without any knowledge of music.


    Compared to the original owner''s ethereal performances on the Holy Lyre, this was painfully unrefined.


    Soon, Lucas reached a pavilion where he spotted the musician: a figure holding the Holy Lyre, casually plucking its strings.


    Thanks to his night vision, Lucas could observe the person from behind—a slight figure wearing distinctly non-Mondstadt attire.


    It was odd. Why steal the lyre, only to linger here ying it as if drawing attention?


    Lucas''s mind shed back to the game''s storyline.


    The Holy Lyre belonged to Barbatos, the Anemo Archon, and could summon Dvalin, the Dragon of the East, through music.


    But as far as he knew, only Venti, the lyre''s original owner, could wield that power.


    Just as he debated whether to retrieve the lyre, a strong gust of wind suddenly arose, then dissipated, revealing a green-d bard standing before the thief.


    It was Venti!


    Lucas realized the thief must have been trying to lure Barbatos himself.


    "All right, enough games," Venti sighed, shaking his head. "Hand over the Holy Lyre. That thing''s not even worth much."


    "Oh? You showed up quicker than I thought," the thief set down the lyre, smiling. "Barbatos... or should I call you Venti?"


    The thief''s voice was strikingly neutral, making it hard to determine their gender. Even stranger, Lucas felt he''d heard it somewhere before.


    Recognizing his true identity, Venti''s yful smile faded as he appraised the figure before him. "So it''s you Fatui again. Fine by me; if we''re going to fight, I won''t hold back."


    The Fatui?


    As the clouds parted and moonlight spilled over the pavilion, Lucas finally saw the thief clearly—a slight, deceptively innocent figure with short ck hair, a hat, and the attire of an Inazuman drifter.


    Scaramouche!


    Yet another figure Lucas could recognize instantly.


    What were the chances? In a single night, he''d encountered both the Sixth Harbinger, Raiden Ei''s creation, and Mondstadt''s elusive Anemo Archon.


    Lucas wasn''t confident enough to confront either alone. But if he chose to join one side, it could greatly sway the other''s advantage.


    This dilemma left him conflicted. Logically, he should back Venti, but a part of him was reluctant to oppose Scaramouche.


    After weighing his options, he decided to wait and observe, ready to act if the need arose.


    "Why resort to violence?" Scaramouche spread his hands in a cating gesture. "Why not make a deal? I''ll trade the Holy Lyre... in exchange for your Gnosis."


    "Though a Gnosis isn''t of much use to me, giving it away so easily would be quite a waste," Venti replied, chuckling softly. "Do you think defeating an Archon is that easy?"


    Even a weakened Archon like Venti still carried the power and wisdom of millennia. No one would assume that hecked skill, even if his carefree demeanor suggested otherwise.


    In the game''s storyline, Venti had indeed once been defeated by the Eighth Harbinger, "La Signora." However, that battle had been colored by Venti''s lingering guilt towards Rosalyne, so he had held back "just a little."


    But facing Scaramouche, Venti had no reason to pull his punches.


    "I admit, I don''t have the confidence to defeat you," Scaramouche said, his slender pinky plucking one of the strings of the Holy Lyre as he smiled. "But I am confident that I can destroy the lyre before you beat me."


    "Go ahead and break it," Venti replied nonchntly, smiling as if unfazed. "As long as you don''t mind the beating you''ll get afterward."


    "Don''t mind?" Scaramouche sneered. Without hesitation, he yanked at one of the strings with a sharp twang, snapping it in half.


    Venti''s face immediately betrayed a flicker of pain.


    "All right, all right!" he cried out. "Fine, you win. This lyre does mean something to me. So, tell me—what are your terms?"


    "Simple." Scaramouche smirked. "We both ce our items on the ground, then walk to each other''s position to retrieve what we want."


    It was clear that this arrangement was meant to prevent any underhanded tricks from either side. After all, neither Venti nor Scaramouche was known for being straightforward.


    "As you wish."


    Venti sighed, retrieving a Gnosis-shaped chess piece from his chest. "To think that a once-gentle woman would end up raising such a troublesome bunch."


    Was he agreeing so easily?


    Lucas was taken aback. In his mind, Venti wasn''t the type topromise without a fight.


    Both ced the Holy Lyre and the Gnosis down, and then slowly walked toward each other''s position.


    As they drew closer, Lucas felt an inexplicable tension. Somehow, he doubted things would go this smoothly.


    When the two figures crossed paths, Lucas''s heart raced, expecting a sudden twist. But to his surprise, they merely walked past each other without incident.


    The distance between them was short, and they soon reached each other''s items. However, neither of them immediately reached out to im what they hade for.


    "What''s wrong?" Venti asked with a smile. "Don''t you really want that Gnosis?"


    "I do," Scaramouche replied, smirking. "But I know this one''s a fake."


    With that, Scaramouche lifted his foot and stomped down, shattering the fake Gnosis into pieces.


    Before Venti could react, Scaramouche''s figure suddenly vanished in a burst of purple mist. From within that mist, another Scaramouche emerged, plunging his hand directly into Venti''s chest and ripping out the real Gnosis in his palm.


    Venti stumbled back, ring. "You''re resorting to tricks?"


    "You started it," Scaramouche scoffed. "Trying to fool me with a fake Gnosis? Did you really think I''d fall for that?"


    "Fine," Venti said, visibly displeased. "Since you have the Gnosis, hand the Holy Lyre back to me."


    "You mean this?" Scaramouche sneered, raising the Holy Lyre before smashing it to the ground, its delicate frame splintering upon impact.


    "Destroying someone''s cherished possession feels rather satisfying," he said, grinding the lyre''s fragments beneath his heel. "Pathetic Archon. You''re nothing special."


    "You...!"


    For the first time, Venti''s eyes shed with fury, and a swirling vortex of wind began to coil around him.


    This was the first time Lucas had ever seen Venti this angry. In his mind, Venti had always been a carefree bard who couldugh off almost anything, even a p in the face. Clearly, the Holy Lyre was deeply significant to him.


    "Finally getting serious?" Scaramouche''s eyes gleamed with fervor. "Good. Show me what a god can do."


    Nicknamed "Kabukimono," or "The Vagrant," Scaramouche was built to embody destructive power. He was no ordinary foe, strengthened even further by the power gifted to him by the Tsaritsa.


    "Wind''s Grand Ode!"


    A shortbow materialized between Venti''s hands, and he loosed an arrow in Scaramouche''s direction. Scaramouche sidestepped, smirking.


    "Too slow," Scaramouche taunted. "Even Childe''s arrows are faster than that..."


    But before he could finish, a violent gust erupted behind him. The arrow had transformed into a vortex, a raging Stormeye that sucked in everything nearby.


    Scaramouche, standing closest, was instantly caught in the tempest.


    In the game, this ability was mostly useful for gathering enemies, but now, fueled by Venti''s wrath, it had be a deadly executioner.


    "Crush him!"


    Venti clenched his hands, and as he did, the force of the vortex intensified. Trees around them splintered under the pressure, and the winds shed at Scaramouche, shredding his clothing and leaving deep cuts across his skin. Were he a mere mortal, he would have been reduced to mincemeat by now.


    "Enough."


    Venti finally let go, dispersing the Stormeye. Scaramouche stumbled to the ground, battered and bleeding, his clothes in tatters.


    "Have you learned what it means to face a god?" Venti asked coldly. "If I were my old self, you would''ve been scattered with the wind."


    "Stop!"


    At that moment, Lucas could no longer remain a silent observer. Stepping out from the shadows, he removed his mask. "It''s me!"


    "You?" Venti frowned. "Why would you plead for a Harbinger? Do you have ties to the Fatui?"


    "I... I''m just thinking about the bigger picture," Lucas replied earnestly. "If a Fatui Harbinger dies here in Mondstadt, it would cause no end of trouble. The Tsaritsa wouldn''t let it go unchallenged."


    By now, Venti''s anger had subsided somewhat. He knew that if he killed Scaramouche, it would only give Snezhnaya grounds to act against Mondstadt.


    Besides, he hated unnecessary trouble. If Scaramouche''s death stirred Snezhnaya''s wrath, his peaceful life as a wandering bard woulde to an abrupt end.


    As much as he understood the reasoning, Venti still nced at the shattered Holy Lyre, a flicker of regret in his eyes.


    Barbatos, along with Morax, was one of the oldest gods, and for both of them, the rare relics that connected them to their past held special meaning.


    But now, one of the few remnants of Venti''s connection to his former self had been destroyed beyond repair. There was no way he could forgive Scaramouche so easily.


    ---


    Author''s Note: yes.. the name''s awful but kinda funny..