Lisa accepted the chest of Delusions, and in that moment, she gained the most direct understanding of Severin's generosity—or rather, the sincerity behind his compensation.
Any single Delusion from this collection would spark fierce competition if released to the outside world. After all, Vision bearers were always a rare minority. Most people would never receive one in their lifetime.
Even within the Knights of Favonius, those with Visions were few and far between. A cache of Delusions like this was enough to outfit an elite army.
And yet, Severin treated them as though they were nothing more than trinkets, allowing her to pick freely, like browsing merchandise.
This, Lisa realized, was the bearing of a true powerholder.
Treasures coveted by mortals were little more than toys in their eyes.
She chose an Electro Delusion.
After testing it, her surprise was unmistakable.
The method of use was identical to that of a Vision, and more importantly—there was no discomfort during activation.
Her former reverence toward Visions had stemmed from uncertainty about their hidden cost. But Delusions showed no such price, no side effects. From now on, she could wield elemental abilities without restraint.
"For thousands of years," Lisa murmured thoughtfully, "we've unconsciously accepted one assumption—that Visions are the only way to wield elemental power. But this world still holds countless possibilities… Is it the gods who misled us, or our own ignorance that led us here? Perhaps the truth lies in what's hidden behind the Visions themselves."
She spoke absentmindedly as she always did when thinking—unaware that Severin heard every word.
"Miss Lisa," he said calmly, "have you ever imagined a world where all beings are equal? Where humans are born with the innate ability to wield elemental power freely?"
Lisa froze.
She had never dared to imagine such a thing.
"In that world," Severin continued, "everyone is a god from birth. There is no war, no aging, no sickness, no death. Infinite life. A truly perfect world."
Her thoughts ground to a halt.
"Your Highness…" she said slowly, "may I understand this as the new world you and the Tsaritsa are striving for?"
Intelligence from Snezhnaya often mentioned concepts like the "new world" and the "old world." Lisa had always believed this rhetoric was merely a reflection of Snezhnaya's ambition to dominate the other six nations.
But now, hearing it framed this way, that goal sounded almost… grand. Romantic, even.
And yet, something about it felt deeply absurd.
A paradise straight out of a fairy tale—was such a perfect world anything more than an illusion?
"Miss Lisa," Severin replied, "this isn't my idea. Nor the Tsaritsa's. But it may very well be Celestia's."
He shared a portion of his conjecture.
Lisa was a rare kind of scholar—one with an open mind. Unlike most academics, she dared to question the nature of gods and the truth behind Visions. New perspectives did not threaten her; they inspired her.
Severin's purpose wasn't to recruit her to Snezhnaya, nor to enlist her in research.
It was simply an extension of his compensation.
After all—what could be more gratifying to a scholar than the satisfaction of curiosity?
If she understood the true nature of Visions, perhaps she would no longer yearn for them.
"Ancient knowledge tells us that every Vision bearer possesses the potential to ascend to godhood—hence the name Genshin," Severin said. "But in Celestia's eyes, they're nothing more than caged test subjects."
Lisa's eyes widened.
"Visions," Severin continued, "are Celestia's tools for screening those 'subjects.' Their ultimate goal… may be the creation of a perfect world."
"Enough," he said suddenly. "That's where our discussion of Visions ends."
The evidence he possessed was still incomplete. Further exploration was necessary.
"If what you say is true," Lisa whispered, "then all of Teyvat has been shrouded in lies and conspiracies from the very beginning… Your theory is so radical that even the mad scholars of the Sumeru Akademiya wouldn't dare imagine it. It would completely overturn the foundation of divine authority."
"Then it would be best if you kept it to yourself," Severin replied lightly. "Unless you enjoy unnecessary trouble."
Lisa placed her left hand over her chest, removed her hat with her right, and bowed slightly.
"Thank you, Your Highness, for sharing such a novel perspective. I've gained a great deal from it."
Severin's gaze swept over her graceful figure.
"Compared to the Knights' salute," he said leisurely, "I'd much rather see Miss Lisa perform a proper lady's curtsy."
Lisa glanced at Aether and Paimon, then smiled coyly.
"There are outsiders present. Perhaps next time we meet, I'll indulge you. If Your Highness enjoys the Knights' swordsmanship, I could even don armor and put on a demonstration."
Her tone was playful—but Severin's next words were not.
"From what I know, the creator of Favonius swordsmanship was Rostam of the Knights of Favonius. Five hundred years ago, he fought alongside Dvalin against the corrupted dragon Durin, and fell in battle."
His expression turned solemn.
"Miss Lisa, may I view the relics he left behind?"
Lisa immediately sensed the weight behind his request. Though she didn't know how Severin had learned that Rostam's relics were stored beneath the library, she agreed without hesitation.
"Sir Rostam is a hero of Mondstadt. By regulation, his relics are not open to outsiders. But you're different, Your Highness. I believe you revere heroes—because you yourself are becoming one, a legend in the making."
She turned to the Traveler and Paimon.
"If you wish to come along, you may."
"Really?" Paimon beamed. "That's great! Somehow it feels like the Prince of Snezhnaya—uh, I mean, Your Highness—is about to do something huge."
Aether nodded. "Alright."
Deep within the basement lay a special exhibition hall, housing relics of legendary Knights throughout the ages.
Among them were the remains of Rostam—the knight who earned the title "Young Wolf" at just twenty-eight years old.
Those who bore that title were often candidates for Grand Master, a testament to his extraordinary talent. Even five centuries later, the Favonius swordsmanship he created remained unsurpassed.
The battle against Durin had been unimaginably brutal. Even Dvalin had suffered grievous injuries—how could a mere human fare better?
Few relics survived.
What remained was a shattered greatsword, armor corroded by poisonous blood, a war banner, and a storage box forged from the hardest refined steel.
Seeing Severin's gaze linger on the box, Lisa explained, "Your Highness, the Lord of Wind placed a mechanism on it back then. It's said that only a special key can open it."
Her voice carried a hint of shame.
Over the years, elders of the Church of Favonius had secretly invited countless master craftsmen to try unlocking it. Rumors claimed it contained Rostam's greatest secret—perhaps even his sword manual.
After examining the box, Severin fell silent for a moment.
Then he spoke softly.
"Barbatos… you designed this mechanism in this way because you've been burdened by regret and guilt for that mistake ever since."
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