After giving orders to his undead lieutenants and putting them in their right place, Momon decided to remain in Dragonspine for a while. Accompanied by the Grim Reaper Thanatos, they ventured deeper into the Wyrmrest Valley, their path illuminated by the dim, cold light of the snow-draped landscape.

As they moved through the jagged terrain, Momon couldn't shake the feeling that something monumental lay just beyond the horizon. The mountains loomed like ancient sentinels, and the whispering winds carried echoes of past battles. Soon, they encountered a group of Fatui patrolling the area, their insignias glinting menacingly in the pale sunlight.

With a swift motion, Thanatos drew his scythe, a chilling smile creeping across his skeletal visage. "Shall we, my lord?"

"Do as you will," Momon replied, his tone calm and commanding.

In a flurry of movement, Thanatos struck, his blade slicing through the air with a ghostly precision. The Undead Berserker stood at the ready, adding to the chaos as the Fatui fell one by one, their shouts of surprise turning into desperate cries. Moments later, the clattering of armor and bodies echoed through the valley, and silence returned, punctuated only by the distant howl of the wind.

"Well, this one must have been one hell of a dragon," said Momon, observing the aftermath of the skirmish. He turned to face the horizon, where the bones of a colossal dragon loomed, half-buried in the snow. "It might have been as large as the mountain itself."

"My lord," Thanatos said, his eyes glinting with intrigue as he pointed towards a cave partially obscured by a thick blanket of snow. "That cave over there—some strange energy is pulsing from it."

Momon's gaze followed Thanatos's finger, and he nodded. "Mhm, I'm feeling it too. Let's go see what's going on in there."

They entered the cave, leaving the Berserker and the newly animated undead knights to patrol the area outside. As they stepped inside, the warmth enveloped them like a shroud, contrasting sharply with the biting cold outside. The air was thick and heavy, tinged with a faint, acrid scent.

The cave expanded into a cavernous space, illuminated by an eerie, red glow that pulsed rhythmically like a heartbeat. Momon's eyes widened as he beheld a massive organism—or perhaps a massive, glowing heart—throbbing in the center of the chamber, its surface slick and glistening. The walls around them were veined, pulsating with the same unsettling energy that emanated from the heart.

"Could this be the heart of the dragon, my lord?" Thanatos asked, his voice reverberating in the stillness.

"I don't know," Momon replied, stepping closer to the pulsating mass. "But it seems like it." He reached out, hesitantly touching the surface. A jolt of energy surged through him, and he grimaced. "Mhm, this thing is very alive… and also toxic."

"Toxic?" Thanatos echoed, concern etched into his skeletal features.

"Yes, Thanatos. This is the same abyssal infection I saw in the body of Dvalin," Momon explained, his brow furrowing. "So this dragon must be Durin, the one slain by Dvalin and Barbatos centuries ago. Strange to see his heart still alive."

Thanatos regarded the heart with a mix of awe and unease. "Are you planning to resurrect this dragon, my lord?"

Momon shook his head slowly, considering the implications. "Not for now. It's too big and could draw unwanted attention. But I want you to guard this area most diligently."

"As you wish, my Lord." Thanatos bowed his skull, the respect in his gesture palpable.

Momon stepped back, his mind racing with the possibilities. The heart pulsed steadily, an ancient power still flickering within, waiting for someone to unlock its potential. "Keep a watchful eye. If anyone approaches, I want to know immediately."

"Understood. I shall stand guard," Thanatos assured him, moving to a position where he could observe both the heart and the cave entrance.

Momon teleported to the bridge of Mondstadt, the sudden appearance of his dark figure sending a flock of doves fluttering away in panic. The Overlord's dread aura was palpable, a wave of foreboding that washed over the serene city. The knights guarding the gate straightened their postures, eyes widening as they recognized the masked figure. They knew this presence—he was the Honorary Knight, a legend among them.

As Momon stepped into the heart of Mondstadt, the usual vibrancy of the city remained, yet animals scurried away from him as if sensing the power he radiated. The citizens, however, were not deterred. They greeted him with smiles, a mix of admiration and unease washing over their faces. He moved through the bustling streets, nodding to those who called out to him, their voices warm and welcoming.

At the fountain in the center of the plaza, Momon spotted Venti, who was swaying slightly, a bottle of wine clutched in his hand. The bard's carefree demeanor seemed to blur with intoxication as he sang a raucous tune, his voice rising and falling with the wind.

"Hello, Venti," Momon greeted, stepping closer.

"Hohoho! What winds have brought the great and mysterious Honorary Knight back to Mondstadt!" Venti exclaimed, his eyes sparkling with mischief. He raised the bottle high as if toasting. "Let me sing a bard—for the great hero!"

Before Venti could commence another drunken serenade, Momon swiftly grabbed the bottle from his grasp, a bemused expression crossing his face. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Hey man, I sang all night for that bottle. It's my reward!" Venti protested, a playful pout forming on his lips, his inebriated state apparent in the way his words slurred together.

"I don't care about your 'rewards,' Venti. Momon said firmly, meeting Venti's gaze with a serious expression. "We need to talk about something important."

Venti's expression faltered for a moment, the reality of the situation creeping in. "No can do! This is my time to relax, you see. I have to sing again tonight, and the wine helps my voice!" he insisted, trying to sway back into his carefree spirit.

"How about I give you ten bottles of wine?" Momon proposed, raising an eyebrow.

Venti's demeanor shifted instantly, his eyes widening with delight. "But of course! Anything for the hero of Mondstadt!" He practically beamed, the prospect of ten bottles igniting a spark of excitement within him. "Come! I know a place where we can have a proper conversation."

With that, Venti led Momon through the bustling streets, the bard weaving in and out of the crowd, his laughter infectious despite the serious undertone of their meeting. They arrived at a cozy tavern named Angel's Share, its warm glow spilling out onto the cobblestone street. As they entered, the patrons turned to look, surprise evident on their faces at the sight of Momon stepping into their midst.

Momon, however, paid little mind to the startled glances and whispered conversations. He followed Venti up to the second floor, where a more private setting awaited. The noise of the tavern faded slightly as they settled into a corner booth, the ambiance shifting from bustling chatter to a more intimate atmosphere.

"Here we are!" Venti proclaimed, plopping down on a cushion as if the weight of the world had lifted from his shoulders. He leaned back, stretching his arms wide as he exhaled dramatically. "Up here It's quieter," Venti called, his voice bubbling with enthusiasm. "And the view is spectacular!"

Momon, sensing the excitement bubbling in Venti, reached out and touched a small portal that shimmered in the air beside him. With a flick of his wrist, he pulled out an elegantly crafted bottle of wine, the glass glinting under the warm tavern lights. The label was adorned with intricate designs, a mark of fine craftsmanship.

"Here," Momon said, offering the bottle to Venti with a slight smirk. "This should make your day a little better."

Venti's eyes lit up as he took the bottle, running his fingers over the elegant label and admiring the craftsmanship. "Wow, this looks magnificent!" He turned it over in his hands, his brow furrowing with playful suspicion. "I wonder if it's as good as Master Diluc's wine."

"Only one way to find out," Momon replied, leaning back in his chair, arms crossed, a satisfied expression on his face. He watched as Venti wasted no time, expertly removing the cork with a pop that echoed in the tavern's cozy atmosphere.

Without a moment's hesitation, Venti tipped the bottle back and took a generous swig. As the rich, velvety liquid flowed down his throat, his eyes widened in shock. For a moment, it seemed as though time stood still.

"By the heavens!" Venti exclaimed, nearly dropping the bottle in his astonishment. His expression shifted from surprise to sheer bliss as he wiped a tear from his cheek. "This… this is the best wine I have ever tasted in my entire existence!"

He set the bottle down on the table, still trembling from the experience. "I could feel the essence of Mondstadt in every drop! The notes of sweet anemo flowers, the hint of mountain air—oh, this is divine!" Venti leaned back, a dreamy smile gracing his lips as he savored the memory of the exquisite taste.

Momon chuckled, pleased to see Venti so moved. "You know, I figured you'd appreciate it. I wouldn't want to waste a good bottle on just anyone."

Venti clutched the bottle protectively as if it were a rare treasure. "You're right! This is no ordinary wine! It deserves a grand celebration! We should gather everyone, and tell them the story of this glorious vintage!"

Momon shook his head, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves."

Venti chuckled, a mischievous glint in his eye as he took another sip. "Hehe, sorry, sorry! But this wine is so good—I simply must know where you found it!" he asked, raising the bottle in a toast to its mysterious origins.

Momon tilted his head, amusement flickering in his gaze. "I can create it with magic."

Venti's eyes widened, his grin growing even broader. "Ah, what an incredible magic to possess! Unlimited wine for eternity—now that's what I call divine! If I had such magic, I'd be singing ballads from dusk 'til dawn. You know, you could open a tavern with this! I'd be here every day and night, singing my heart out just for a taste." He laughed, his voice filling the room with its bright, melodic sound.

Momon let out a low chuckle. "Well, it will take some time to alter my domain and set up something permanent," he said, a hint of mystery in his voice, "but I am working toward that goal."

"Your domain?" Venti echoed, his curiosity piqued. "What are you talking about, exactly?"

Momon leaned forward slightly, his voice lowering as he spoke. "The lands beyond Mondstadt—the Dragonspine and the ruins of Old Mondstadt. I've decided that from now on, those lands will be known as Nazarick."

Venti raised an eyebrow, momentarily surprised. "Nazarick, huh? Sounds rather ominous," he mused, swirling the wine in the bottle. "But…you're not expecting me to get mad about that, are you?"

Momon's gaze remained steady. "Will you?"

Venti broke into a carefree laugh, waving a hand dismissively. "Nah, not at all! Why would I? Those lands have had countless names over the centuries; they've seen heroes, kings, and entire eras come and go. They've belonged to the winds and the snow and everything in between," he said with a carefree shrug. "If they're Nazarick now, so be it."

He took another long drink, letting out a sigh of contentment. "I think I like the name, actually. It has…a certain mystique." He gave Momon a playful grin. "Though, you'll owe me a few more of these magnificent bottles if I'm to bless the name with one of my songs!"

Momon leaned back, a faint smile on his face. "Deal. And maybe I'll even have you compose an anthem for Nazarick one day."

Venti laughed, raising the bottle in mock solemnity. "It would be my honor, mysterious knight. But only if I get first dibs on the wine supply!"

Venti took another sip of wine, then leaned back in his chair, a glint of amusement in his eyes as he looked at Momon. "Anyway, I heard about your deeds in Liyue. The merchants here are praising you to the heavens," he said, his voice a bit softer. "Fighting an army of Adepti and even defeating the ancient Overlord of Vortex… People are starting to believe you're some kind of god."

Momon tilted his head slightly, the shadow of a smirk tugging at his lips. "Let them think what they want," he replied. "A reputation can be a powerful shield."

Venti nodded thoughtfully, then sighed, his gaze drifting to the bottle in his hand. "But Morax being assassinated… that's just horrible." His voice held a note of sadness. "To think the Geo Archon himself would fall…"

Momon watched him carefully, his voice steady and measured. "Venti, the Gnosis was taken from you by force, but what if I told you that good ol' Morax gave his Gnosis to the same Harbinger in the form of a contract?"

Venti's hand froze mid-sip, his eyes widening in shock as he slowly lowered the bottle. "You don't say…" he whispered, the shock giving way to a knowing smile. "Of course, he'd pull something like that. That grandpa is as old as the rocks he commands and has ruled over Liyue for three thousand years. Still…" he chuckled, shaking his head. "Don't tell me you got tangled up in one of his plans?"

Momon's expression darkened slightly, his jaw tightening. "True, and I messed those plans up more than once. And yet, in the end, I found out he was still alive all along—working hand in hand with the Fatui."

At this, Venti's mouth fell open before he let out a delighted laugh, his hand slapping the table in mirth. "Oh, that is too rich! I wish I could have seen his face! It must have been glorious, all his plans, all his schemes suddenly unraveling." He leaned forward, eyes sparkling with mischief. "Did he look shocked? Did he finally crack that stone-cold expression of his?"

Momon leaned forward, his gaze sharp and serious. "Something like that," he said, his voice lowering. "But, Venti, we've strayed far from the real topic. I came here to ask you about the hilichurls."

Venti blinked, visibly caught off guard. "Hilichurls?" He gave a short, puzzled laugh, leaning back slightly. "I… I'm not sure what exactly you're hoping to learn. They're just… well, they're hilichurls, aren't they? Misguided, troublesome creatures, always popping up in the wilds. Why the sudden interest?"

Momon's gaze remained unyielding. "While traveling in Dragonspine, I found a hilichurl trapped in a cage by the Fatui and decided to conduct a little experiment. It was then that I discovered something troubling. The creature was possessed by an… immortal curse."

At the mention of the curse, Venti froze, his fingers tightening around his bottle. His expression shifted, a hint of discomfort flashing in his eyes, and he swallowed, his usual light-hearted demeanor dampened by an underlying tension.

Noticing Venti's reaction, Momon pressed on, his voice edged with curiosity and something darker. "You seem uneasy, Venti. Do you know anything about this?" he asked, his tone almost accusatory. "Because it seems that all hilichurls suffer from this curse."

Venti's smile faltered, though he quickly tried to hide it with a nervous laugh. "Haha… I… I'm not really sure about any curses, to be honest. But, did you… did you manage to break it?" He leaned in, forcing a lighthearted smile but unable to fully mask the discomfort in his eyes.

Momon watched him closely, noting every shift in his expression. He knows something, Momon thought. Venti's discomfort was unmistakable, and his curiosity sharpened, sensing the Archon's struggle to keep something hidden.

"Yes, I did break it," Momon replied, his tone calm but probing, letting the weight of his words sink in. "And do you want to know what happened next?" He paused, giving Venti just enough time for the tension to rise. "The hilichurl transformed back into a human—a human body, lifeless and… very rotten."

"I have never met a person so mysterious and strange as you Momon but at this point, I should tell you the truth even though I might get punished by the Heavenly Principles."

Momon listened intently, his piercing gaze fixed on Venti as he shared the secrets of the past. Venti's voice, normally so carefree, was heavy with the weight of memories, each word revealing a painful history buried under centuries of silence.

"Five hundred years ago," Venti began, his voice lowering as if to keep his words hidden from unseen listeners, "there was a kingdom—a place called Khaenri'ah. Unlike the seven nations of today, this kingdom had no god. It was governed entirely by humans, humans who were brilliant, fearless, and endlessly curious. They advanced their knowledge, their technology, and their society to heights rarely seen." He paused, casting a wary glance around as if the shadows might betray his confession.

Momon's non-existing expression didn't change, but he inclined his head slightly, encouraging Venti to continue.

"But…" Venti's face darkened. "Their curiosity, their desire to surpass the divine, led them down dangerous paths. They tampered with powerful alchemy, dabbling in secrets best left forgotten, and used forbidden knowledge to craft new lifeforms. These creatures… they were not natural. They bore the taint of the Abyss, twisted in both mind and body." He took a deep breath, his eyes filled with regret and something deeper—an ancient sorrow. "These creations went wild and spread across Teyvat, bringing with them destruction on a scale unseen before."

Momon absorbed the information in silence, the weight of Venti's words settling like a dark fog. "So, this 'Cataclysm'… it was sparked by Khaenri'ah's hand, then?" he asked, his voice calm but edged with understanding.

Venti nodded solemnly. "Yes. When the other nations felt the Abyssal corruption spreading, when monsters began pouring from the darkness, they had no choice but to intervene. The gods themselves descended upon Khaenri'ah, and…" he hesitated, looking pained, "the kingdom was destroyed, along with most of its people. It was… the will of the Heavenly Principles."

Momon's eyes narrowed slightly, sensing Venti's unspoken guilt. "And the hilichurls?"

Venti's voice softened, his usual playfulness replaced by a deep solemnity. "Because of the Cataclysm, the people of Khaenri'ah are deemed the 'greater sinners,'" he began, his gaze fixed on some distant memory. "Those of pure-blood descent... they were cursed with immortality—a life of endless watching, endless suffering. But for everyone else? The half-bloods, those who had roots in other nations... they were condemned to something even worse. The 'curse of the wilderness' twisted them into monstrosities, creatures that no longer recognize their own faces. Hilichurls, Abyss Mages, Abyss Lectors, Abyss Heralds… all of them are what's left of Khaenri'ah's once proud people."

Momon's expression darkened as he processed the truth. "So, the hilichurls… they are the remnants of an entire civilization."

Venti nodded, an uncharacteristic bitterness flickering in his eyes. "Yes. An entire kingdom, stripped of its future, its dignity, reduced to nothing but wandering souls and broken bodies." He hesitated, the weight of his own guilt pressing down on him like a storm cloud. "And as much as I despise it... I was one of the gods who took part in that destruction. I was there when the heavens raged and the earth split apart."

Momon's gaze sharpened as he leaned closer to Venti, his voice low and contemplative. "So, you're saying that the monsters they created went wild… but did Khaenri'ah really face not only Celestia and their own creations but also the wrath of the Archons in the middle of all this chaos?"

Venti sighed, a rare seriousness overtaking his usual carefree demeanor as he looked down at the wine bottle still gripped in his hands. "Momon, Khaenri'ah wasn't just any kingdom. They were formidable, a nation of innovation, driven by a desire for freedom—freedom even from the gods. They dared to defy Celestia's rule openly. Their power was immense, so much so that they weren't just prepared to defend themselves; they were actively preparing for war, dreaming of overthrowing the Heavenly Principles."

He took a long sip as if trying to ease the weight of memories far older than Mondstadt itself. "But their ambitions came with a cost," he continued his voice barely above a whisper. "Weapons of mass destruction, created solely for the purpose of tearing down the heavens. They were relentless. It wasn't enough to push back Celestia. They wanted to bring it down, to claim their own place among the stars. In this dark event, three Archons died."

Momon's voice was steady, but beneath it lay a trace of cold resolve. "Hmm, I can see why Celestia acted as it did. Humanity's ambition has no bounds—they endlessly seek control, power, dominion." His gaze drifted, as if remembering scenes far from Teyvat. In his mind's eye, he saw flashes of a world he had left behind: skyscrapers stretching into the sky, machines of war, and weapons capable of obliterating nations with a single strike. Earth's history had proven that humanity would pursue dominance no matter the cost.

Venti watched him, eyes narrowed with curiosity, before quietly asking, "Momon… what exactly are you?" He seemed to study every detail of Momon's masked face, as if searching for answers in the mystery before him.

For a long moment, Momon was silent, holding Venti's gaze. The question lingered between them, heavy with curiosity and caution. But rather than answering... "Thanks for the information, Venti. And as promised…" With a casual flick of his hand, ten bottles of exquisite wine materialized on the table, each one rich with aroma and deep red in color.

Venti's eyes sparkled, and in an instant, the solemn atmosphere evaporated. "Woho! This is paradise—I'm about to dig in!" He clasped his hands in childlike delight, the tension of the conversation slipping away as he reached eagerly for the bottles.

But before he left, Momon's hand rested on Venti's shoulder, his voice calm but firm. "Venti, if Celestia ever comes for you… I will be there to protect you."

Surprised, Venti looked up at him, his expression softening. The gratitude was there, though unspoken, and for a brief moment, Venti's mischievous cheer was replaced by something more profound. "Thank you, Momon." The words came quietly, carrying the weight of someone who had watched over Mondstadt and its people for centuries, yet seldom had someone to watch over him.

Momon extended his hand, and Venti took it. They exchanged a look that held both friendship and an unspoken understanding of the worlds they'd come from and the ones they sought to protect.

Then, without another word, Momon turned and left the tavern, his cloak billowing behind him

The once silent and haunting ruins of Old Mondstadt, known now as Stormterror's Lair, were now a battleground. The scattered tribes of hilichurls who called this ancient land home were falling to a terrifying force. Hulking, unnatural beings had arrived, cutting down any resistance that came their way. Massive and clad in armor so thick that no hilichurl spear or arrow could hope to pierce it, these newcomers moved like shadows of death across the land.

The hilichurls had tried everything to defend themselves. They hurled rocks, unleashed flaming arrows, and threw themselves fearlessly into battle—but it was all in vain. The newcomers were impervious, unaffected even by the fiercest attacks.

A hilichurl with a makeshift club in hand stood at the edge of the ruins, watching in horror as another of his kin was struck down effortlessly. He could see the grim figures moving closer, their weapons gleaming under the pale light that filtered through the broken stone walls.

As he began to flee, he caught sight of a monstrous figure standing atop a broken archway, overlooking the carnage below. It was larger than the others, with a sword as long as a man was tall and eyes that glowed a deep, unnatural red. It raised its weapon, a silent command, and the slaughter continued.

An Abyss Mage, clad in dark robes and shimmering with the ethereal blue of his cryo aura, staggered back, his heart pounding as he took in the carnage. All around him, his hilichurl minions lay broken and lifeless, their bodies mangled and scattered like discarded dolls. He'd been tasked by the "Princess" herself to oversee a mysterious mission here in Old Mondstadt—but this was no ordinary threat he'd anticipated.

"What in the Abyss is going on?!" he shouted, desperation edging his voice as he looked around frantically for an escape route.

The ground trembled beneath him as a shadow loomed, blocking his path. One of the monstrous figures advanced with slow, deliberate steps, its armor nearly black under the dim, fractured light. In its hands, a massive mace, spiked and dripping with blood, swung lightly, as though it were a simple toy rather than a weapon of death. With every footfall, the ground shuddered, and the Mage felt a suffocating dread creep into his chest.

"These... these are no mere humans! What manner of beast has come to this forsaken land?" The Mage muttered, his hands glowing as he prepared a cryo shield, hoping to hold off the advancing terror.

But as the Abyss Mage cast his spell, the creature simply swung its mace with astonishing speed. The force of the blow shattered the cryo shield in an instant, sending icy shards scattering like broken glass. The Mage stumbled back, gasping, clutching at his chest as he felt the icy remnants of his magic dissolve.

"You... you won't stop me! I was sent here by the Princess herself!" he screamed, his voice shrill with fear as he conjured a desperate frost attack, sending jagged ice spears at the monster.

Yet the figure seemed unfazed, the ice shards glancing harmlessly off its armor with dull thuds. Without a word, it raised its mace again, preparing to deliver the final blow.

The Abyss Mage's pulse quickened, his cloak whipping behind him as he fled upwards, his frantic breaths piercing the cold air of Mondstadt. Behind him, the sounds of slaughter echoed, the relentless crushing of the hilichurl tribs beneath the invincible forces of his pursuers. His eyes darted over his shoulder, but the figures chasing him were relentless, impossible to outrun. His only chance now was to complete the mission—the very mission that had brought him here.

He gritted his teeth, forcing his body to fly faster, his dark magic propelling him upward with unnatural speed. The tower was so close now.

He reached the towering structure, a looming silhouette against the moonlit sky, and shot toward the summit. His heart leapt when he saw the ruin: the wreckage of an ancient Ruin Guard, its massive metal form broken and scorched from some past battle.

"This is it...!" the Mage muttered under his breath, eyes gleaming with anticipation. He circled the fallen machine, its cold, lifeless body sprawled across the stonework like a discarded toy. There, nestled in the core of its massive chest, was the prize he had been sent to collect—the Field Tiller eye.

With a triumphant hiss, the Abyss Mage extended his hands, his magic swirling darkly as he conjured a vortex of force. "Yes, yes, this is it! The first-ever Field Tiller... This is the key to everything."

His fingers twitched as the eye slowly pulled free, glowing faintly in the air as if calling to him. He grasped it eagerly, his smile widening. "The Princess will be pleased. With this, we can finally overthrow the gods themselves. Celstia, the Archons, they'll all fall before us..." His words grew more fervent as he cradled the eye in his hands, marveling at its power.

His thoughts were consumed with visions of the chaos he would unleash, the revolution he would bring. He was so close, so close to fulfilling his mission. The anticipation sent a shiver down his spine, the air crackling with the promise of something monumental.

But then...

The air suddenly grew colder. The world around him seemed to shift.

A shadow fell over him.

The Abyss Mage froze. His senses screamed at him, a deep, primal warning that he couldn't shake. His heart pounded in his chest, his body tense. Before he could react, the sound of something massive slicing through the air echoed behind him.

A moment later, the Abyss Mage felt it— a sharp, overwhelming force tearing through him.

The massive sword descended from above, faster than he could even blink. It cleaved through him effortlessly, the blade cutting through his body like butter. His magic sputtered, the abyssal energies swirling uncontrollably before dissipating with a final gasp.

The Mage's breath caught in his throat as his body was split in two, the world around him turning to blinding pain. His magic faltered, the energy dissipating as the sword's edge finally came to a rest. The glowing Field Tiller eye slipped from his grasp and tumbled to the cold stone, forgotten, a hollow echo of the Mage's failure.

Blood spurted, dark and sticky, splattering across the ground as his body fell lifeless.

From the shadows, a figure emerged—tall, imposing, and cloaked in ominous armor. The faint glow of crimson eyes cut through the darkness like a beacon. The figure's hand remained tightly wrapped around the hilt of the massive sword, now stained with the Mage's blood.

The Death Emperor stood over the lifeless form of the Abyss Mage, his crimson eyes glowing faintly beneath the dark hood and helmet that shrouded his face. His massive frame, encased in dark, armor-like bones, loomed menacingly over the wreckage of the battlefield. The air around him was thick with the scent of death and destruction—his undead soldiers had already obliterated most of the hilichurls, and the few that remained scattered in terror.

The Death Emperor's hand moved as though guided by some ancient force, reaching down to retrieve the glowing Field Tiller eye that had slipped from the Mage's grasp. His gloved skeletal fingers wrapped around it, and a quiet hum of energy filled the air. His head tilted slightly as he examined the artifact in his palm.

"Hmm…" he murmured in a voice that sounded like the grinding of tombstones, low and hollow. The eye pulsed with an eerie light, radiating strange, unfamiliar energy that the Death Emperor could feel resonating through his bones. He raised it closer to his face, studying it with the kind of curiosity reserved for something dangerous yet intriguing.

"Interesting," the Death Emperor continued, his voice almost a whisper. "This lower lifeform was after this thing." His voice was void of emotion, but there was an undercurrent of intrigue. He had no particular use for the Field Tiller eye, but its power was undeniable. He could sense the faint hum of its energy, something. A weapon, perhaps. A key.

"I'll hand it over to Lord Momon," the Death Emperor muttered, his skeletal gaze narrowing, his decision final. "He will know what to do with it." His fingers tightened around the eye, the eerie glow illuminating the darkened remnants of the battlefield, casting long shadows over the broken bodies of his enemies.

He looked out into the distance, hearing the faintest sounds of the remaining hilichurls trying to regroup, their fearful cries cutting through the silence. His expression, hidden beneath his helmet, remained impassive, but the faintest flicker of amusement seemed to dance in the air around him.

"I'll take care of these scumbags first," the Death Emperor said with a cruel chuckle. His voice held the promise of pain, of a relentless force that would not rest until every last enemy had been eradicated.