"This is ten billion."
"Take it and get out of my sight."
Zhongli hadn't even finished speaking when the Tsaritsa, face dark with resentment, swept back through the air. She hurled a coffer at Rowan Galehart's feet—the ten billion Mora Rowan had demanded.
Rowan didn't bother to count it. He cracked the lid for a glance, shut it, then turned to Zhongli with an inviting nod.
"In that case, I should be going as well. Old man, let's talk properly when there's time. Why don't you come back to Mondstadt with us?"
Zhongli considered it, then shook his head.
"We'll discuss our agreement next time you visit Liyue. There's no rush."
"Fine. Then this is where we part. Let's go, Venti."
Rowan whistled; his horse appeared. He vaulted into the saddle, set the chest across the pommel, bid Zhongli farewell, and rode out of Snezhnaya. Venti turned into a breeze and followed.
Zhongli cast the Tsaritsa one last look, shook his head, and left as well. Her plight was, in truth, self-inflicted. It might not have been her own doing, but she was the one who'd recruited those people. When subordinates err, the leader bears the blame.
"Hmph." The Tsaritsa snorted and turned away.
"Back to Mondstadt!"
On the shore, Rowan saw that the Knights of Favonius were still waiting. He raised a hand and gave the order to return.
This time, no one dared question him. After witnessing that overwhelming strike, most had already equated Rowan with the Anemo Archon himself. If Venti hadn't appeared afterward, the knights might have started calling Rowan their wind god.
Now, after standing his ground against the Tsaritsa and wringing ten billion in compensation from Snezhnaya, Rowan had won every Knight's recognition. From that moment, he truly became Mondstadt's Knight-King—the king in the eyes of the Knights of Favonius.
The march back was silent. Hooves thudded; nothing else stirred. Even Jean and Kaeya said nothing, their eyes filled with reverence for the man riding point.
By dusk the next day, they reached Mondstadt.
They were greeted by cheering crowds lining the streets. The ever-informed Prophecy Daily had already blasted news of Rowan's border standoff with the Tsaritsa across the Seven Nations. Aside from closed-off Natlan and isolationist Inazuma, everyone now knew Mondstadt had a newly risen Knight-King—one whose power rivaled an Archon's.
What thrilled Mondstadt most was this: Rowan hadn't cowered before the Fatui. He'd met the Tsaritsa head-on and wrung ten billion Mora from her. For the first time ever, Mondstadt had come out ahead in a clash with Snezhnaya.
Buoyed by that headline, the people were ecstatic—and they accepted their sudden Knight-King in their hearts. No more of that indifferent, wait-and-see attitude.
"Welcome home, Your Majesty the Knight-King!"
"Welcome home!"
At Dawn Winery, Diluc lowered the newspaper, a glint flashing in his eyes. So the Knight-King really had some bite. Few could make the Fatui—or Snezhnaya—eat dirt. Fewer still lived comfortably after doing so. Yet Rowan had not only provoked both—he'd extorted ten billion Mora.
Impressive. Not your average upstart. Diluc had a feeling their paths would cross again—and often.
Back at the palace, Rowan pulled Jean aside.
"Jean, pass the word: morning assembly tomorrow. I have orders to deliver. Have your parents returned?"
Jean had braced herself for a reprimand, and blinked when none came.
"They're back. Mother and Father have both returned to Mondstadt."
Her mother: Frederica Gunnhildr.
Her father: Seamus Pegg.
A decade ago, their names were on every Mondstadter's lips—their romance the talk of the town. But after Jean and Barbara were born, love had withered. No official divorce, but years of separation. Her mother had taken Jean, trained her, made her the Knights' most brilliant talent—this generation's Dandelion Knight. Her father had raised Barbara, who became the Church's brightest cleric, bringing cheer and healing to Mondstadt each day.
Jean couldn't guess why the new king had summoned them both home. She didn't understand—but she didn't object. Rowan had proven his mettle. He was a king worthy of following. A knight obeyed.
"Good. Inform them as well. I'll be announcing many things tomorrow, and they must attend."
Hearing that the Gunnhildr couple was already back, Rowan exhaled in relief. Thankfully, Venti hadn't fumbled; otherwise tomorrow's appointments would've been awkward to unveil.
"Yes, my king."
Jean bowed and left the palace.
By now, the royal residence was largely complete. Rowan's chambers and offices were finished and ready, so he stayed the night.
At sunrise, he would begin reshaping this nation—into Rowan's Mondstadt.
Everything looked bright.
He lay back on the soft bed, running through the morning's agenda in his head, and drifted into sleep—where he dreamed of Arthur Pendragon.
A side effect of fusing the Saint Graph: nights filled, now and then, with Arthur's memories. Just like a Master glimpsing a Servant's legend in dreams.
"A beautiful day begins with a good stretch!"
(End of Chapter)
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