Tenshukaku exudes a heavy atmosphere, with silence lingering in the air. Flickering oil lamps cast a dim light through the whispers of the breeze. Tenryou commission members sat rigidly in rows, like statues, casting shaky shadows across their faces. They carried the weight of the nation's grievances on their shoulders, and it was evident in their drawn faces. The stiffness of their postures indicated that this was no ordinary gathering. It was judgment day for the Kujou clan, specifically for Kujou Takayuki, the former clan head of the once-proud family, and his co-conspirators.
There was an unnerving stillness in the courtroom, a vast room cut into the center of Tenshukaku. Many in the audience had also been affected by the Vision Hunt Decree, but they sat in stony silence, their anger hidden behind masks they could not even see. Recollections of the Decree, including the parade of marching soldiers and the snatching of Visions from their owners' hands, were too recent and too painful to bear. The man who had supported everything and watched as innumerable dreams were shattered was now sitting at the center of this trial. With his head lowered, hands bound, and eyes fixed on the ground, Kujou Takayuki resembled nothing of his former self. Although he remained silent, it was not out of contrite remorse. A man who had made up his mind and was standing firm in his convictions exuded an icy rebellion
Kujou Sara stood to the side, her arms crossed firmly over her chest, the metal of her armor shimmering in the flickering light. Her expression was inscrutable, a facade of stone shaped by years of discipline, yet a subtle tremor in her hand revealed the turmoil brewing inside her. She had chosen her path—to serve the Shogunate, to stand for order and loyalty—and yet, this moment felt like a fracture within her very being. Her father, her clan, the very foundation of everything she had fought so hard to protect, was crumbling in front of her.
Raiden Shogun had yet to respond. The most powerful being in the room stood like a statue atop her elevated dais, her eyes closed as if she were imagining a future only she could see. Her presence filled the room, a silent reminder of the country's living god. Despite being repealed, the Vision Hunt Decree left wounds that had yet to heal, and the Shogun had made it clear that Inazuma needed time to recover. Nonetheless, justice could not be delayed indefinitely.
A sharp and unexpected cough broke the silence. One of the Tenryou officers, seated to the far left of the assembly, leaned forward and cleared his throat.
"Let the trial begin," he declared, his voice low but firm. "Kujou Takayuki, you are charged with crimes against the people of Inazuma, specifically your involvement in the Vision Hunt Decree and the suffering it caused. What have you got to say in your defense?"
Kujou Takayuki remained motionless. For a brief moment, it appeared that he had missed the question entirely. Then, gradually, he raised his head, his eyes gleaming behind heavy lids. His expression conveyed weariness as well as an unsettling calm, a certainty that made the air around him feel colder.
"I have nothing to say," he said quietly, his voice gravelly with age but steady. "I acted in the best interests of the country, as I always do. Every decision I made was for the betterment of Inazuma."
A murmur echoed throughout the audience, a ripple of disbelief and anger barely contained. Kujou Sara's eyes narrowed, but she did not say anything. She couldn't. Her hands clenched tighter at her sides, the leather of her gloves creaking under the pressure.
One of the Tenryou commissioners, an elderly man with a stern expression etched with years of battle and duty, leaned forward. "Inazuma's best interests?" he asked again, his words tinged with surprise. "You consider the suffering of thousands, the theft of Visions, the terror you unleashed on the people to be in the best interests of this nation?"
Takayuki didn't flinch. "The Vision Hunt Decree was necessary. Inazuma was stagnant, sinking into a mire of uncontrolled ambition. Those who possess Visions are dangerous. Without order, they would have torn this country apart."
"And yet, it was you who ripped it apart!" A loud and furious voice from the crowd pierced the room. A woman stood, her hands trembling and her face flushed with emotion. "My brother... my brother lost his Vision. He lost his future because of you!" Her voice cracked, and a shudder passed through her as she choked on her words. "He... he could not continue without it. He is already left. And you are sitting there talking about what is 'necessary'?"
Kujou Takayuki's gaze shifted to the woman, but his expression remained neutral. He did not offer her any words of comfort or regret, only that same cold certainty.
Raiden Shogun's eyes widened with the sound of the outburst. Her gaze was incomprehensible, as vast and distant as the storms she controlled. The weight of her presence brought the room back to silence.
"Kujou Takayuki," she replied, her voice as calm and steady as a blade slowly drawn from its sheath. "Your actions have thrown Inazuma into chaos, and the people are demanding justice." She paused, her pupils narrowing slightly. "But emotion cannot be the driving force behind justice."
The woman in the audience sank back into her seat, her sobs muffled by the intense silence.
Kujou Sara's heart clenched painfully. She would heard so many stories like that one—countless lives shattered, families torn apart by her father's ambitions, and, by extension, her own allegiance to the Shogun. She could not stop the flood of memories, the faces of those she would encountered in battle, Vision-bearers who had looked at her with betrayal rather than fear.
She took a step forward, speaking softly but firmly. "The people suffered under the Vision Hunt Decree," she said, referring to the Shogun rather than Takayuki. "They deserve to be held accountable. I am not defending the Kujou Clan's actions. My father's decisions were his own, and they should be judged accordingly."
Takayuki tilted his head slightly, his eyes narrowing in a faint, almost imperceptible frown, as if he had not expected her to speak at all. His daughter had always been the obedient soldier, blindly following orders.
Raiden Shogun regarded Sara for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Then she returned her gaze to Takayuki.
"The Kujou Clan has long served the Shogunate, but loyalty does not absolve one of responsibility," the Shogun said, her voice soft but full of determination. "Kujou Takayuki, you were given authority, and you abused it. The Vision Hunt Decree was more than a mistake; it was a tragedy.
Takayuki's face revealed a flicker of uncertainty for the first time. His hands, still shackled, were clenched in his lap, but he remained silent.
"The punishment for such actions must be severe," one of the Tenryou commissioners said, his voice piercing. "However, Raiden Shogun, we are awaiting your final decree. What will happen to those who were involved in the Decree?
The room held its breath. Even the air appeared to stand still, waiting for the Shogun's decision.
Raiden Shogun rose to her full height, her silent authority filling the room. "The Kujou Clan must face the consequences of its actions. But I will not condemn an entire family for the sins of one individual."
Kujou Sara felt a tremor of relief, but it was counterbalanced by the reality of what was to come. The Shogun's words contained both mercy and a steep price.
"Kujou Takayuki," the Shogun's voice rang out sharply and decisively. "You will be stripped of your title and banished from Inazuma. You will spend the rest of your days away from the land you once claimed to serve. Your co-conspirators will face similar fates, though their punishments will be determined separately based on their roles."
A murmur swept through the audience, a mix of surprise and grudging acceptance. The sentence was harsh, but not as severe as some had hoped. It did, however, bring the Vision Hunt Decree's legacy to an end.
Takayuki's face paled, but he said nothing, instead bowing his head once more.
As the court dispersed, Kujou Sara remained where she was, her gaze fixed on her father. He avoided looking at her. He remained silent. And in that silence, she realized that whatever remained of their bond had been severed irreversibly.
Raiden Shogun's voice echoed in her ears as she exited the chamber, her steps heavy with the weight of what had happened. Justice had been served, but the wounds would take much longer to heal.
Outside the courtroom, Inazuma's night air was thick with raindrops, and the streets were slick and glistening in the dim light of lanterns. Kujou Sara stood just beyond Tenshukaku's grand gates, her gaze drawn to the distant horizon where the ocean and sky met. The sounds of the city—the low murmur of voices, the distant clatter of armor as soldiers moved between their posts—were muffled, as if the world had softened and quieted in the aftermath of the trial.
She felt the weight of her armor more acutely than usual, with each piece pressing against her skin like a reminder of the burden she bore. The judgment had been handed down, and justice—whatever it was—had been served. Her father would abandon Inazuma, stripping him of his power and inheritance. She would remain, obedient to the Shogunate and the nation she had sworn to defend.
But what now? She wondered, her thoughts rolling over the question like a stone. What role did she play in the future of a country ravaged by her family's actions?
"Captain."
The voice, quiet but firm, pierced her thoughts. Sara turned to see one of the Tenryou soldiers standing a few steps behind her, his expression unreadable. "The Shogun has requested your presence."
Sara's heartbeat quickened in her chest. She had anticipated this, but perhaps not so soon. She nodded and followed the soldier back through Tenshukaku's winding halls, her boots echoing against the polished floors. The silence between them lasted a long time, with the gravity of the upcoming conversation pulling at her with each step.
When they arrived at the inner chamber, the soldier bowed and left her at the door. Sara took a moment to gather her composure before stepping inside. The room was filled with the soft glow of paper lanterns, their warm light casting gentle shadows on the walls. Raiden Shogun stood at the far end of the room, facing a low table.
The words "Your Excellency" were spoken by Sara as she approached, and she bowed deeply. Even though she maintained a steady voice, her heartbeat quickened in anticipation of what was going to happen next.
Raiden Shogun kept her back turned for the duration of the conversation, her eyes fixed on the sakura trees that were swaying just beyond the window. Their petals, which were illuminated by the light from the lantern, appeared to move in a slow motion, as if they were caught in a wind that took on an otherworldly quality.
The Shogun finally spoke, her tone remaining as even and unyielding as it had been throughout the entire conversation. "Although the trial has concluded, the repercussions of the Vision Hunt Decree have not yet been determined." As she slowly turned around, her penetrating eyes met Sara's with such a power that it gave her the impression that her very being was being exposed.
The posture of Sara became more upright, and she clasped her hands behind her back. "Yes, Your Excellency. I understand."
"Do you?" The question posed by the Shogun resembled a blade that hung in the air. "The actions that your father took were not solely his own. Because the Kujou Clan has been a pillar of the Shogunate for a very long time, you, as the current representative of the Kujou Clan, are responsible for dealing with the fallout."
In spite of the fact that she was experiencing a sharp pain in her chest, Sara chose not to show it. She had spent her entire life standing next to her father, obeying his orders, and having faith in the morality of the mission they were on. In spite of this, she had no choice but to watch him fall in order to acknowledge the damage that he had caused until the very end. The damage that she had been negligent in causing.
"I do not seek to avoid responsibility," Sara said, her voice low but firm. "I understand that I must make amends for the role my family played in the people's suffering."
Raiden Shogun stared at her for a long time, her face unreadable. "Atone," she repeated, the word heavy with meaning. "Inazuma is in a state of flux. The country has suffered greatly, and there are wounds that will take time to heal. But, Sara, you must understand that the people will not forget the Kujou Clan's involvement. They will not forget the pain caused by the Vision Hunt Decree."
Sara's heart pounded in her chest, the gravity of the situation looming over her like a cloak. She was aware of this—that her family's name would be forever tainted by the Decree—but hearing it from the Shogun herself added weight to the reality.
"What would you have me do, Your Excellency?" she asked, her voice quieter now, though no less resolved. "How can I serve Inazuma moving forward?"
The Shogun turned back toward the window, her hands clasped behind her. For a long moment, there was silence, broken only by the soft rustling of the sakura petals outside. Then, Raiden Shogun spoke, her voice softer than before, though still firm.
"You are a capable leader, Sara. Your loyalty to the Shogunate has never been in question. But loyalty alone is not enough." She glanced over her shoulder, her gaze sharp. "The people need to see that the Shogunate can change, that it can learn from its mistakes. You must be a symbol of that change."
Sara's breath caught in her throat. A symbol? She had always considered herself a soldier, a servant of the Shogunate. A symbol was something else entirely—something that would place her at the center of the public's eye, for better or worse.
Raiden Shogun turned fully toward her now, stepping closer. "The Kujou Clan must rebuild its trust with the people. That will take time, and it will take effort. You, Sara, must lead that effort."
"I..." Sara faltered, the weight of the Shogun's words pressing down on her. "I understand, Your Excellency."
"Do you?" The Shogun's voice was sharper now, cutting through the air like a blade. "This will not be an easy task, Sara. There are those who will resent you, who will see you only as the daughter of Kujou Takayuki, the man who helped orchestrate their suffering. You must be prepared for that."
"I am," Sara said, though the words felt heavier than she had expected. She had always known that her father's actions would cast a long shadow, but now, standing here before the Shogun, she realized just how deep that shadow truly was.
Raiden Shogun regarded her in silence for a moment longer before turning back to the window. "I believe in your ability to lead, Sara," she said, her tone softer now, though still carrying the weight of authority. "But the road ahead will be difficult. You must be prepared to face it head-on."
"I will not falter," Sara said, her voice steady. "I will do whatever is necessary to restore the Kujou Clan's honor and to serve the people of Inazuma."
The Shogun nodded, though she did not turn to face her again. "Then go, Sara. Begin the work that must be done. And remember—your actions from this point forward will define not only your future but the future of your clan."
Sara bowed deeply, her heart pounding in her chest. "Thank you, Your Excellency."
As she turned to leave, the weight of the Shogun's words settled over her like a mantle. Her path was clear now—clearer, perhaps, than it had ever been. But it was also fraught with danger, with the possibility of failure looming over her like a storm cloud.
Outside, the night air was cool against her skin, and the soft sounds of the city surrounded her once more. But this time, they felt different—more distant, as though she were standing at the edge of a great precipice, looking out over an uncertain future.
She took a deep breath, steeling herself. There was work to be done, and she would not shy away from it. Whatever it took, she would restore the Kujou Clan's honor. She had to.
With one last glance toward Tenshukaku, Sara began walking, her steps purposeful and steady.
The man with a cowboy hat leaned against the sturdy wooden pillar of Dawn Winery, his broad shoulders relaxed but his mind far from at ease. His worn cowboy hat sat low, casting a shadow over his sharp, weathered eyes as they scanned the horizon. The scent of fermenting grapes lingered in the crisp air, blending with the salty breeze that blew in from Dornman Port. The bustling activity of the port was visible from his vantage point—ships coming and going, merchants haggling over wares, the rhythm of life in Mondstadt's undercurrent.
A woman stood a few feet away, her arms crossed over her chest as she finished delivering her report. Her voice had the same calm, steady quality it always did, but the man in his teens could hear the frustration laced beneath her usual composure.
Jean Gunnhildr, the Acting Grand Master of the Knights of Favonius, is the embodiment of Mondstadt's ideals: honor, duty, and unwavering resolve. As a descendant of the prestigious Gunnhildr Clan, one of the oldest and most respected families in the city of freedom, Jean shoulders the weight of her responsibilities with grace and determination. Though her title is technically "Acting" Grand Master, her leadership is absolute, as the citizens of Mondstadt have long since looked to her as their steadfast protector in times of crisis.
Jean's appearance reflects her noble lineage and the discipline she holds herself to. She stands tall and composed, her posture always perfect, exuding both elegance and strength. Her long, blonde hair, tied neatly into a high ponytail, flows down her back, a few strands framing her face, softening the otherwise stern, determined expression she often wears. Her eyes, a calm shade of blue, seem to carry the weight of Mondstadt's struggles—always alert, always thinking ahead, yet filled with compassion for those she protects.
Her uniform is a symbol of her role as both a knight and a leader. Jean's attire is a blend of practicality and refinement, a reflection of her balanced nature. She wears the standard armor of the Knights of Favonius, but her version is modified for her status. A long, navy-blue coat with silver accents flows over her shoulders and down to her knees, the emblem of the Knights emblazoned on her chest. The coat's design is both regal and functional, allowing her to move freely in combat while still presenting an air of authority. Underneath, she wears a white tunic with gold embroidery, cinched at the waist with a belt that carries her sword and various small pouches.
"We've had multiple incidents this week alone," Jean said, her tone firm. "And once again, several criminal elements have slipped through the Knights' net. We had two ambushes along the trade routes near Windrise and a robbery at the western edge of the city. Each time, the Knights arrived too late to prevent the damage." She paused, her blue eyes narrowing slightly. "We're stretched too thin."
The cowboy remained silent, his gaze never leaving the horizon. He had heard this story before. Too many times, in fact. The Knights of Favonius were noble, sure, but nobility wasn't always enough. They had rules, procedures, and lines they wouldn't cross. And lately, that meant they were always one step behind.
"You're quiet," Jean said, her voice pulling him back. "I thought you might have something to say about all this."
He finally looked over at her, tipping his hat back just enough to meet her gaze. There was something unreadable in his eyes—something that spoke of experience, the kind that came from years of doing things others wouldn't.
"Not sure what you want me to say, Captain," the teenager drawled, his voice low and measured. "Seems to me you already know the problem." He straightened, pushing himself off the pillar and stepping closer to Jean. "Knights of Favonius are spread thin, you said it yourself. And those criminals out there? They know it, too."
Jean's lips pressed into a thin line, a brief flicker of frustration crossing her face. She prided herself on keeping the peace in Mondstadt, but these last few weeks had tested even her patience. The criminal elements within the city had grown bolder, more organized. It was as if they knew exactly when and where to strike, slipping away just before the Knights arrived. And each time, it was Sallie who had been there to pick up the pieces, dealing with problems in ways that the Knights simply couldn't—or wouldn't.
Sallie, a 17-year-old commander of the female Knights of Favonius division, cuts a striking figure, standing out from the usual order of knights with a look that seems pulled from another time. With his distinct blend of old western charm and knightly prowess, he commands attention wherever he goes, whether it's in the bustling streets of Mondstadt.
Sallie is tall for his age, with a wiry yet strong build, the kind that comes from long days spent in the field rather than from structured training. His eyes, sharp and always alert behind a pair of glasses with thin wire frames, reflect an intensity and focus that belies his youth. His glasses, an unassuming yet practical accessory, are often the first thing people notice, adding a studious contrast to his otherwise rugged appearance. Behind them, his gaze is always cool, calculating, but with a glint of mischief that hints at his unpredictable nature.
Resting on his head is a wide-brimmed cowboy hat, the most distinctive part of his attire. Weathered and worn from years of use, the hat casts a shadow over his face, making his expressions harder to read. It's a symbol of his independence and the unorthodox path he's taken as a knight. Where others might wear a helmet or plume, Sallie prefers the raw practicality of the hat, a relic from some forgotten corner of Teyvat, or perhaps a nod to his origins, which remain shrouded in mystery.
His outfit is a peculiar fusion of two worlds. From his shoulders down, Sallie wears the traditional Knights of Favonius armor, but it has been modified to accommodate his unique style. The polished steel plates of the knights are interwoven with the worn leather of a classic western duster coat, the coat's hem brushing just above his boots. The armor is lighter than most knights wear, allowing him to remain mobile, quick on his feet—his fighting style depends as much on his agility as it does on his sharp aim.
"The Knights are sworn to protect Mondstadt," Jean said, her voice carrying the weight of duty. "But we can't always be everywhere at once."
Sallie gave a short, humorless chuckle. "That's your problem right there. You're tryin' to be everywhere, but you're spread too thin to be anywhere when it matters."
Jean's jaw tightened at his words, but she didn't disagree. She knew he wasn't wrong. Sallie had a reputation, not just in Mondstadt, but across Teyvat. He was a fixer, someone who handled things outside the usual channels. When situations called for a heavier hand, a quicker resolution—Sallie was the one people called. And lately, it seemed Mondstadt had needed him more than ever.
She stepped closer, her gaze steady. "What are you suggesting, Sallie? That we let people like you handle things instead?"
He shrugged, his hand resting lightly on the hilt of the pistol holstered at his hip. "I'm not sayin' you should do things my way. But your way? It ain't workin' right now."
Jean stared at him, her eyes narrowing slightly. She knew what he was implying, but she couldn't—wouldn't—say it out loud. The Knights operated under the laws of Mondstadt, and that meant certain lines couldn't be crossed, no matter how dire the situation. But Sallie… Sallie didn't answer to those laws. He answered only to the job, to whatever it took to get results.
After a moment, Jean exhaled, her shoulders relaxing slightly. "We need to find another way. Something between your approach and ours."
"Another way, huh?" Sallie tilted his hat back further, giving her a long, appraising look. "You sure about that? You sure you're ready to deal with the kind of people that way'll attract?"
Jean's gaze hardened. "We can't ignore this, Sallie. Mondstadt's been a beacon of freedom for centuries, but that freedom's being exploited. People are suffering." She shook her head, her expression fierce but troubled. "I don't want to resort to extreme measures, but we need a solution. Something more… decisive."
Sallie raised an eyebrow at her words, though his face remained impassive. Jean wasn't the type to ask for help lightly, and for her to suggest anything outside the usual bounds of Knightly conduct was telling. He could see the weight of leadership bearing down on her, the strain of trying to protect a city that was slipping from her grasp in ways she couldn't control.
"Decisive, huh?" Sallie said, his voice low. "Well, I'll tell you this, Captain. The people you're dealin' with? They ain't gonna play by the rules. And if you want to stop 'em, you're gonna have to be quicker and meaner than they are."
Jean bristled slightly at his words, but she didn't argue. Instead, she looked out over the port, the steady movement of ships in and out, oblivious to the dangers lurking just beyond the city's walls. "We're trying to hold the line, but it feels like every time we gain ground, we lose it again somewhere else."
Sallie nodded slowly. "That's how it goes. When you're fightin' people with nothin' to lose, they'll keep coming until you show 'em somethin' worth fearin'."
Jean's gaze snapped back to him, a flicker of uncertainty in her eyes. "And what would that be, exactly?"
He shrugged again, his expression unreadable. "Sometimes, all it takes is a reminder that they're not the only ones willin' to get their hands dirty." He glanced at her, his eyes sharp and knowing. "Not sayin' it has to be you, but… someone's gotta make 'em understand the consequences of crossin' the line."
Jean remained silent, her thoughts clearly spinning. Sallie could see the inner conflict playing out across her face—the clash between her duty to uphold the laws of Mondstadt and the practical reality of the situation. The Knights of Favonius were noble, yes, but nobility didn't always win wars.
After a long moment, she sighed, her shoulders slumping slightly. "I can't ask the Knights to do what you're suggesting, Sallie."
"You didn't ask," Sallie replied simply, tipping his hat lower. "But you're thinkin' it."
Jean's lips pressed together in a thin line, but she didn't deny it. She turned away from him, looking out over the port once more, her expression unreadable. "I don't like where this is going," she said quietly, almost to herself. "But I can't let Mondstadt fall into chaos."
Sallie said nothing, giving her the space to wrestle with her decision. He wasn't one to offer solutions where they weren't wanted, but he knew the path she was on. He'd walked it enough times himself.
After a moment, Jean turned back to him, her eyes hardening with resolve. "I need you to continue helping, Sallie. But on my terms. No needless violence, no crossing lines that can't be uncrossed."
He gave her a slow nod, though there was a glint of something unreadable in his eyes. "I can work with that. For now."
"Good." Jean's expression softened slightly, though the tension in her shoulders remained. "Because whether we like it or not, Mondstadt needs you. And I'm trusting you to keep things… manageable."
Sallie tipped his hat to her, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Don't worry, Captain. I'll make sure things stay manageable." He turned, his boots crunching against the gravel as he began to walk away. "But remember—you asked for this."
Jean watched him go, the weight of her decision hanging heavy in the air. She had chosen a dangerous path, but the safety of Mondstadt depended on it.
The moon hung low over Springvale, casting a silvery glow over the sleepy village, its fields quiet save for the rustle of wind through the trees. But despite the calm, Sallie knew better than to trust the peaceful facade. Beneath the surface, Mondstadt's criminal elements had spread like rot, and Springvale had become their latest hunting ground.
He crouched low behind a line of trees just beyond the village, his sharp eyes scanning the area with the keen attention of someone who had long since learned to see through the dark. His hand rested lightly on the handle of his 500-millimeter revolver, the weight of it familiar and comforting in his grip. At his back, his lever-action rifle was slung tight, ready for when the situation called for something more decisive.
From his vantage point, he could see the faint glow of campfires on the outskirts of the village-bandits. This particular group had been harassing Springvale for weeks, and though the Knights had made several attempts to drive them off, they had proven slippery, always one step ahead. Sallie had taken it upon himself to change that.
"Alright, boys," he muttered under his breath, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Time to show you how we do things my way."
With a silent, practiced motion, Sallie rose from his crouch and
began moving toward the camp. The soft clink of metal and leather was the only sound that accompanied his steps as he approached, his pace steady and deliberate. His years of tracking through the wilderness had honed his instincts -he moved like a ghost, unseen and unheard.
As he neared the camp, the bandits came into clearer view. A rough group, no more than a dozen men, most of them gathered around a fire, their laughter and conversation drifting through the night air. The leader-a tall, scarred man with a wicked grin-was easy to spot, seated on a makeshift throne of crates, his sword leaning against his knee.
Sallie's eyes narrowed. He had seen this type before-cocky, ruthless, and drunk on the fear they'd instilled in the locals. But fear wasn't going to help them tonight.
He crouched low behind a nearby rock, his revolver now in hand. The cold steel of the weapon was a perfect fit in his palm, a tool he knew as intimately as his own breath. He inhaled deeply, steadying himself, and then rose from cover.
The first shot cracked through the night like thunder.
One of the bandits closest to the fire dropped before he even
realized what had happened, the heavy slug from Sallie's revolver catching him square in the chest.
The others froze, shock flashing across their faces as they scrambled to process the sudden attack. Before they could react, Sallie had already moved, his revolver barking out two more shots in quick succession. Another bandit fell, clutching his leg with a scream, while the third shot went wide, burying itself into the wooden crate by their leader.
"Who the hell-!?" the leader barked, his eyes wild as he scrambled to his feet, knocking over the crate. "It's a goddamn ambush!"
Sallie stepped into the light of the fire, the brim of his hat casting a shadow over his face, his revolver still smoking in his hand. "Ain't no ambush, son," he said, his voice low and cold. "Just me."
For a moment, there was stunned silence. The bandits stared at him, their fear turning to rage as they reached for their weapons. One of them-a wiry man with a patchy beard-rushed Sallie with a blade drawn, but before he could get close, Sallie's revolver roared again. The bandit crumpled to the ground, the knife slipping from his hand.
The leader snarled, his hand going to his sword as he pointed toward Sallie. "Kill him! Take him down, now!"
The remaining bandits hesitated for a split second, but then, driven by either desperation or anger, they surged forward. Sallie didn't flinch. Instead, he calmly holstered his revolver and swung his lever-action rifle off his back in one fluid motion.
With a flick of his wrist, the rifle's lever cocked back with a satisfying clack, and in the next instant, he fired. The bullet caught the nearest bandit in the shoulder, sending him spinning to the ground with a pained shout. Before the others could react, Sallie fired again, his movements quick and practiced, each shot hitting its mark with deadly precision.
Within moments, half the group lay sprawled on the ground, either dead or too injured to fight. The remaining bandits stumbled back, panic clear in their eyes. The leader, still standing, gritted his teeth, his sword drawn as he backed away toward the trees.
"You picked the wrong night, friend," Sallie called out to him, the
firelight glinting off his rifle as he calmly advanced. "Could've just walked away. But now? I'm afraid you're outta luck."
The leader let out a growl of frustration, his knuckles white around the hilt of his sword. "You don't scare me, stranger. You're just one man."
Sallie chuckled softly, the sound low and humorless. "You're right about one thing," he said, leveling his rifle at the leader's chest. "I'm just one man. But that's all I need to be."
The leader's eyes widened, and before he could even raise his sword, Sallie pulled the trigger. The rifle's report echoed through the trees, and the leader staggered back, clutching his chest as the impact of the shot knocked him off his feet.
He hit the ground hard, his sword falling from his hand as he gasped for breath. Sallie approached slowly, his boots crunching over the dirt as he stopped next to the fallen leader. He stared down at him, his rifle resting on his shoulder. "I told you this was a bad idea."
The leader looked up at him, blood trickling from the corner of hismouth. "Go to hell," he spat, his voice a ragged whisper.
Sallie tipped his hat back, a faint smirk playing on his lips. "Reckon I'll see you there, then." With that, he turned away, leaving the leader to his fate.
The remaining bandits who were still conscious didn't make any moves to follow him. Their fight had left them the moment they'd realized who they were up against.
Sallie didn't look back as he made his way toward the village, the flicker of the bandits' campfire fading behind him. Springvale had been safe for now, but he knew this wouldn't be the last time criminals tested Mondstadt's defenses. The Knights couldn't handle this on their own, and whether Jean liked it or not, Sallie had become Mondstadt's last line of defense when the law failed.
As he approached the edge of the village, the soft glow of lanterns greeted him, the townspeople blissfully unaware of the violence that had taken place just beyond the trees. Sallie paused for a moment, glancing back toward the darkness he had just emerged from. His revolver and rifle were still warm in his hands, but the job wasn't done yet.
He tipped his hat low again and made his way into Springvale, ready to take on whatever trouble came next.