The system's voice faded in Galehaven Comics, the promise of "Garp's Armament Haki" exciting Harlan Flint. A brilliant light cut through the dim shop, pouring into him like molten steel and merging with his very being. The glow vanished as quickly as it came, leaving Harlan flexing his hands, a surge of raw power thrumming beneath his skin. "As expected from Garp's top-tier Armament Haki," he murmured, satisfaction on his lips—he could feel the strength to shatter a mountain in one strike. It wasn't as powerful as the Seven Archons' divine wrath, but for a mortal like him, it gave him a formidable advantage.
He summoned the system panel, its glow casting faint shadows: six customers served, twenty-four to go for the exclusive reward, and a new task of ten for the next draw. "Six today—not a bad start, but the road to thirty is still long," he sighed, leaning back in his chair with a hint of impatience. Wendy's bardic charm should attract more people tomorrow, speeding up his progress toward Task 2's mysterious prize. "What could that exclusive reward be—something grand, surely?" he wondered, curiosity gnawing at him as he imagined the possibilities.
The sun had long set, swallowed by night, prompting him to glance outside with a rumbling stomach. "Late already—time to eat out." Rather than cook, he decided to explore Mondstadt, closing the shop and stepping into the cool evening air. He had barely left the shop walls since arriving in Teyvat—now, with Garp's Haki protecting him, he felt invincible. The shop's safety didn't worry him; its remote alley kept away unwelcome visitors, and the system's magic prevented entry without his permission. "Where to?" he wondered, then decided on the Deer Hunter restaurant, a place he had liked in-game for its hearty food and warm atmosphere.
Across town at the Goethe Hotel, a lone Fatui agent knelt in a lavish room, his mask unable to hide the sweat on his brow. Before him stood the Lady, eighth of the Fatui Harbingers, her golden hair framing a purple mask and icy blue eyes that pierced like daggers. Her aura was powerful and unyielding, like an elegant storm, as she stared at him. "Explain today's disaster."
She had sent Anastasia to pressure Mondstadt's leaders—to exploit Stormterror's chaos, and perhaps even track Barbatos for her mission. Solstice's power supported her confidence; a godless city should have submitted, yielding its defense map to her. Instead, Anastasia and her squad returned unconscious, carried back like sacks—failure clear in their limp forms. Her face remained calm, but inwardly, irritation flared—who dared defy the Fatui's reach? Was it Mondstadt's leaders, and if so, what gave them such courage now after years of meekness?
With Anastasia unconscious, she turned to Luke, the sole survivor, his trembling voice revealing the afternoon's entire story. Jean, provoked by Anastasia's taunts, had unleashed an unseen force, felling the Fatui and cracking the alley's ground. "A warning shot at me," the Lady concluded, her eyes narrowing as she put the pieces together. Mondstadt had tolerated her provocations before—buying out the Goethe Hotel hadn't caused any reaction—so why this sudden defiance?
"Is Barbatos pulling strings?" she wondered, then dismissed the idea with a sneer—five centuries ago, he had failed worse than this. Disgust for the wind god flickered in her gaze, a bitter echo of history she pushed aside to focus. Luke's words replayed: an invisible shockwave, not wind, had shattered stone and stunned her troops—beyond Jean's Anemo Vision. Her mind caught on a detail she had overlooked, her voice sharpening. "You found Jean at a bookstore—Galehaven Comics, you said?"
Luke gulped, nodding quickly. "Y-yes, and she treated the young owner with real respect—like he was important."
"Bookstore, young owner, respect…" the Lady murmured, repeating the words as suspicion took root. In a city under dragon attack and diplomatic pressure, why would Jean linger in a remote shop unless it hid something vital? She wasn't foolish like Anastasia, scoffing at leisure—Jean's deference hinted at a secret worth pursuing.
"Galehaven Comics—intriguing," she purred, a sly smile blooming as her interest sharpened into a keen focus.