Travels are full of meetings and partings. Perhaps the only trusty and inseparable companions of a Traveler, Are the sword in their hand and the dream in their heart. 

Despite how the folk belief would have it, silver does not actually have any special ability to exorcize. It is the pure heart of the wandering exorcist that is the true bane of evil.

A sturdy steel sword forged by the method of folding. It has a dull shine with a cold glimmer. It belonged to a famous adventurer who witnessed the vastness of the earth. With it, he severed the iron bones of monsters and crossed blades with bandits. But in the end, He gave up the vast earth, the boundless sky, His friends in the Guild, his trusty Cool Steel, and old pals, to be with the girl he loved.

"Why is your sword lying on the ground?" "I'm sun-tanning the sword to make it darker." "Why?" "Good question, kid. What's the darkest thing you can think of?" "Crows?" "...Sure. What else?" "Hm... Cooking pots!" "Good. Keep going. What's underneath the cooking pot?" "Fire!" "And where does the fire come from?" The girl thought for a bit. "Coal! Coal is the darkest thing of all!" "That's right! Coal, or carbon, is what makes iron stronger. But I figure I can just darken the sword by tanning it instead." With that, he flipped the sword to the other side.

It was said that the Ticker Fish was a favorite among the people of Liyue. As word caught on, somehow Ticker became Tiger. Now, the real Ticker Fish is hard to come by, but Tiger Fish fillets have become synonymous with delicious fish for the people of Liyue.

This sword has an extraordinary full name: The Triumphant Harbinger of Dawn that Points Towards Victory. Only one has ever fallen by this blade on the battlefield. One night, the bearer drew the sword triumphantly. The night sky lit up as bright as day, pin-pointing his precise location. Arrows rained down upon him.

Leap, the master swordsman Skyrider did, from the heights of Jueyun Karst.

He pierced the clouds as the winds hollered by his ears, But what followed was the sound of shattering. What he had hoped for was something swordsmanship could not bring him. He pawned the sword for medicine, But die it did not, his dream of flight.

A reliable and balanced sword made of fine steel. The one downside is that the partial-tang design renders it less durable than its full-tang counterparts.

That said, the partial tang creates space in the hilt for hidden knives, scissors, tinder, and other objects. Hence the name, Traveler's Handy Sword. It contains all sorts of handy items for travelers.

One of the "kageuchi" copies of the famed sword "Hakuen Michimitsu Amenoma."

It was gifted to the Saimon Clan by Douin, the founding patriarch of the Iwakura Clan.

This gift was given in thanks for the care that he received from them when he was living in seclusion in Konda Village.

It is said that Iwakura's secret blade technique, Tengu Sweeper, can only be performed when there is not a single trace of confusion in one's heart.

In the past, the name "Tengu Sweeper" sounded the same as "Tengu Victor," and it was a sword strike that could cut a Tengu soaring in the sky down.

For centuries, the swordsmen of Iwakura, they who inherited the name "In," would use this secret blade to destroy countless evils throughout the Inazuman archipelago.

Legend has it that the Tengu Sweeper was first created in the courtyard of a small shrine where incense no longer burned.

The technique was so powerful that it destroyed the building, and Iwakura Douin's sword was broken in two.

After that, he founded the Iwakura Art with his swordsmanship skills and became the instructor of the Kujou Clan.

He would also have the Amenoma master of that time craft the sword that would be passed down through the "In" line — the "Hakuen Michimitsu Amenoma."

Legends abound concerning the deeds done using that blade. It is said that its edge was so sharp that it might even cut through mortal fate.

As for the overly lengthy name, it is said that Iwakura Douin specified to Amenoma that it be called as such.

A longsword wrought from a rare kind of stone known as "blackcliff." Its sharp blade can cut through gold and jade with ease.

On a clear moonlit night a strand of dark crimson, about the length of an outstretched hand, becomes visible along the center of the blade.

Its blood-red glow faintly flickers in the dark, as if the blade is howling out into the night, announcing its desire to tear through the earth.

After designs for the new prototypes came into being, the master craftsman Han Wu overhauled his entire weapon catalog.

This particular design used a rare substance, crystallized blackcliff, to produce a superior-quality blade.

When forging a blackcliff sword, subtle differences in temperature and in the type of water used for cooling can influence the final hardness and durability of the blade.

This presents a major challenge to manufacturers of blackcliff weaponry. But it is one that the bladesmith must overcome if he is to free himself from the shackles that bind him and reach new heights of competency in his trade.

Han Wu struggled to see beyond the limits of his casting techniques. Thanks to a contact of his good friend in the house of Yun, he was able to go with a crew to the Chasm to personally procure the materials for his new weapon.

But a cave-in trapped the crew in the mine shaft for four days.

Imprisoned within the impenetrable rock walls of the cave, the crew found their mining tools to be of no use.

Deprived of all the natural light and thus of all the knowledge as to the time of day, one by one the trapped crew succumbed to the madness and despair.

Just when they thought all hope was lost, Han Wu thought he saw a faint flickering emanate from the corner of the cave, where lay the prototype sword he had brought with him into the mine.

With that sword he carved their way to freedom, and the survivors emerged from the pits of the earth into glorious bright sunlight.

but the moment that the first ray of sunlight made contact with the blade, it shattered into a million pieces.

All strength left the master craftsman's legs and he collapsed on the ground. Months later, he remade the sword and declared, "This sword shall be named the Blackcliff Longsword, for it is made of blackcliff."

All who beheld the Blackcliff Longsword were bewitched by its beauty, spellbound by its sharpness, and transfixed by its tenacity. But the crew spoke not a word of what they had witnessed during their ordeal in the mine...

Deep in the all-consuming darkness, when the master craftsman struck his blade against the cave wall with all his might, the sword released a deafening roar, like thunder sweeping across the plains. Perhaps the crew knew that the sword's cry was to foreshadow an earthquake years into the future...

Separate the dust in the flames with joy, and extract the exquisite from the crude.

For all in the universe comes from a single source, and all things may be derived from a single thought.

You must pursue that which your elder brother, the one-horned white horse, could not accomplish.

Reach the far side of philosophy, and create a new destiny for myself and your brothers...

A standard longsword wielded by the Knights of Favonius. It is usually issued after the approval of both the Master of the order and the Church.

The craftsmen in Mondstadt have achieved some results in elemental affinity by studying Mondstadt's Anemo.

This light and agile sword is not only an honor bestowed upon a Knight of Favonius, but also the fruit of the hard work and skills of the guardians of Mondstadt.

It can channel elemental power with ease. Its bearer could do well to remember that its sharp blade is intended for defending, not attacking.

The traditional art of Favonius Bladework was originated by the childhood friend and spiritual counterpart of Arundolyn, the Lion of Light, whose name was Rostam, the Wolf Pup.

Legend says he could chop each drop of rain out of the sky, and that the wind from his sword dance could split the rose and extinguish the torch.

In this lies the essence of Favonius Bladework: light, swift, and precise in the defense of Mondstadt.

At age of twenty-seven, Rostam received the title of Wolf Pup.

Knights of Favonius tradition dictated that the titles of Lion and Wolf were reserved for those of great leadership potential. Such individuals would one day assume the position of Grand Master, devoting themselves to the leadership of a multitude of knights and the safeguarding of Mondstadt.

But though he fulfilled his duties faithfully, and devoted himself to Mondstadt, Rostam would not live to see that day.

Since Rostam introduced the bladework style, no other practitioner has ever matched his legendary ability.

But his fervor, along with his will to protect Mondstadt, have stayed with the knights throughout the generations.

This was a story from long ago...

Unborn life, unfulfilled wishes,

Tragic dreams at the edge of the universal darkness that could never come true,

Indwell my body, and descend unto this world.

Then, my lovely children,

Like rainwater flowing into creeks, and plants growing towards the sun,

Go unto a lovely place, and display your own beauty there with pride.

This is a memory, a memory that a child named Durin had of his mother...

"Thank you, Mother, thank you."

"You gave me wings to soar and a mighty form."

"Mother, I wish to go to a land of lovely songs,"

"I will tell them about you, Mother, and about everyone else."

"I shall tell them that the place where I was born is beautiful."

Legends have it that this ceremonial sword once belonged to a musician, whose name has long been forgotten.

Layer upon layer of ostentatious decorations and shining gems prove this was no pedestrian instrumentalist.

According to the legends, that musician was immensely proud of an ancient, grand symphony, but never played it in front of anybody else.

For that music would no longer inspire applause or lamentation in this chaotic world, nor would any trouble themselves to transcribe such a complex composition...

There is an opera in Fontaine that portrays his life — Though none know his origins, all understand his tragedy.

Just like so many of humble origin, he decided his fate in the city to which all waterways lead.

"Students! We are the weavers of music, the harmonizers of authority, and the music will advance at our command!"

"Our music is as the waves and the ripples, the rhythm of the truncheon and the caress of a lover, conquering all who hearken!"

In the towering theater academy, the lecturers explained that magnificent music, imparting civilization and art to their ignorant pupils.

The notes on the scores and melodies were arranged in flawless order, and were played perfectly with absolute reason and wisdom...

"But, how can the will of order rely upon adherence to rigid convention? Musicians must be as those who transcend. They must become the voice of the sublime."

"The sublime must be powerful, like the cry of birds on a mountain summit, the frothing wrath of the stormy sea. Order must have boundless passion."

"And after, glory shall proceed from passion, passion shall create unity, and unity shall stabilize order — this must be the essential role of music and musicians."

"The passion from vanquishing one's foes, from loving one's comrades — these are the sublime emotions that separate humanity into masters and slaves."

Later, just as the opera sang, this unique understanding and interpretation of the music elevated the musician to the loftiest of halls...

In that age, under the direction and sole authority of the musician, music became the scepter and shield of authority, conquering countless listeners.

In the golden era, the listeners were intoxicated with this sublime beauty, and shared joy and sorrow in pursuit of the same passion.

But when the people's sight is blocked by a mountainous wave, the wailing of those devoured will be silenced...

And when that towering theater academy was finally destroyed amidst the tsunami, the people were terrified to discover—

The skeletal corpses of those burned away by the musician's passion, exposed at last, sticking up from beneath the foundations.

Discarded components washed into the gutters can be used as a weapon in a dire emergency.

This one's first opponent was just a monster nourished by "richly nutritious water."

But in any case, it broke the knees and jaws of countless "livestock."

Because it sent so many who threatened his countrymen into the grey river which embraces all,

In Eduardo's hands, it was affectionately called the "Ferryman."

The endpoint of improving the city of Fontaine was for the sewers to become an undercity beneath the city.

Naturally, it was not the bureaucracy of the Court of Fontaine which could maintain order in the Fleuve Cendre.

So in the days that followed, the outlaw leader began his rise by picking up a bronze pipe to beat back the crocodiles,

And then to protect the merchants from being extorted, harassed, and blackmailed by the gangs,

Resolving the disputes between Fleuve Cendre "compatriots," and blessing the newly wedded.

Till at last, it was said, "Let all that the sun shines upon belong to them, and let the Fleuve Cendre belong to us."

But there is no end to improvement.

The positions of the people cannot be changed, but the coordinates of those positions can be changed for that purpose.

And from a certain perspective, there is no difference between "them " and "us,"

Merely places which may be developed, and trash which should be disposed of or "moved."

Eduardo was among those arrested resisting the purge of the Fleuve Cendre, and while being escorted to exile in the desert,

He was rescued by his henchmen. Banding together with comrades active near Mont Automnequi, they occupied Poisson,

And seizing the members of the Maison Gardiennage charged with transporting them as hostages, they made a series of unreasonable demands.

This incident was finally resolved by the active intervention of the Marechaussee Hunters.

The reporter who volunteered to deliver the negotiation demands, Karl Ingold, took this photo in Poisson before the situation deteriorated:

In the middle of the picture stands Eduardo Baker, leaning on his famous — or infamous — bronze pipe like a cane.

Eduardo's other hand is on his son Jakob's shoulder, who is nervously clutching the sleeve of Rene de Petrichor.

To their left is the Great Magician Parsifal, casually leaning on the railing, flashing her signature stage smile.

To Eduardo's right is the current mayor of Poisson, Renault de Petrichor. He dressed up quite formally for the occasion, though his collar is askew.

His son Rene stands in front of him, attracted by a marvel such as this new Kamera, with eyes wide and somewhat at a loss.

The woman to Parsifal's left holding an infant is Rosa Reed, with her husband Thompson, and on the far right of the picture is Tom Alter.

They are looking ahead, their faces washed pale by the Kamera's bulb. They seem to be focused not on Ingold, nor on the Kamera.

But on the future.

The whole world flocks to the commercial port of Liyue, much to the city's pride.

With the tides of people also come exotic treasures.

This needle-like sword, with a point but no edges, sacrifices the ability to slash for increased piercing damage.

A level of skill is required to realize its full potential.

However, it still serves as a fine sword even for those who wield it without particular skill.

A weapon from a distant shore that once hung from the waist of its seafaring bearer.

A slender and elegant blade, it stood out amidst the roughness and chaos of the sea.

When curious folk inquired, the boat captain deflected their questions. Rumors abounded concerning the blade's origins.

Some said it was won in battle against pirates, others that it was loot from a raid.

But when the red evening clouds set in and after the sails had been dropped for the night, the Chief Mate would gently polish the blade,

Reminiscing about his old life in the Wind Kingdom, the time he spent roaming as a martial nomad.

Reminiscing about a girl from his hometown, a love that ended too soon, and a promise to meet again.

A long blade of the color of blood, upon which has been bestowed the name Isshin. It is remarkably sharp and vividly ominous.

It is said that this blade can easily cleave through a porous bamboo basket and the water within it before the latter can even leak out.

People often say that within the body of every blade rests a blade-spirit.

Then it is natural to assume that a blade forged by the Tatarigami is dwelled by a demon of malice.

The renowned blade Kagotsurube Isshin is forged by the swordsmith Akame Kanenaga, who failed to become the head blacksmith.

Though forged by the hand of an Inazuman swordsmith, this blade was not made in the nation of thunder and Jade Steel, but in a snow-covered land in the far north.

If beheld in the moonlight, the blade's hamon would look as if it were flowing, like the blood and tears of a wayfaring wanderer.

"The 'Tatarigami' is pure malice by nature. It bears resentment against mortal desire."

"Swords are merely instruments of misfortune. Without wickedness, they will not birth slaughter. Without hate, they would never know the taste of blood."

"'Isshin' is the stillness of the mind, free of distractions. This purity of desire empowers the swordsmith to forge tirelessly."

"But by this token, resentment against living beings is the metal from which a blade that kills shall be forged."

In their frenzied passion to practice "Isshin," the Akame School had always pursued the forging of a killer blade that could reach the extremes of lethality.

As such, the body and mind of the members of the Akame School were often withdrawn and short-spanned, their hearts venomously graven.

The blades made by the Akame School were keen indeed, but many of them had some evil within that ultimately led to the school itself being regarded by the authorities as "undesirable."

For this reason, the Akame School's position as the leader of the Isshin Art, passed down from Mitsunaga, did not last three generations before being rescinded by the authorities.

After that, Akame Kanenaga was involved in the Case of the Eccentric and committed treason.

This led him to change his name and leave for a snow-covered nation in the far north, to make a humble living in the land ruled by imperious ice.

The only wish of the deceased Kaedehara was to see the Isshin Art celebrated by those who understood a sword's beauty.

But the swordsmith, the blade, and the Tatarigami were all tools and titles for people to wield...

"I spent half of my life in pursuit of the vanity that is the Isshin Art, it only turned out that I became another 'Kaedehara'!"

"Ah, what's done is done. My only hope is that the sword born in the ice and frost will not be as weak as its useless title..."

The Kaedehara Clan were master swordsmiths whose works best symbolized Masagomaru's style; whilst the Niwa Clan were humble and diligent, skilled in clay tempering.

In their frenzied passion to practice "Isshin," the Akame School had always pursued the forging of a killer blade that could reach the extremes of lethality.

As he passed away amidst the vast snow, the man only wished to forge a renowned blade with which to restore the name of Kaedehara and win back the recognition of the people...

Rumored to be a legendary sword of Liyue.

It was said its sheath was made with eaglewood, decorated with mica, and engraved with the imagery of war.

This priceless sheath, however, was lost.

To the blade, the sheath was its prison, keeping it from its true purpose.

The blade is so sharp that its victims would only realize they had been struck an hour later.

It is said that Kunwu forged this prized sharp sword in just one day, though he worked all day and all night to do so.

But when Kunwu's aged master saw his apprentice's work, he clenched his fists, sighed in anguish, and beat the ground with his staff.

"O, pitiful is this thing merciless in all the world."

The master let out a final, long sigh, and hobbled away.

Kunwu pondered his master's word for three days, and did not touch a single blade in that time.

Then, he spent a whole year painstakingly carving an eaglewood sheath.

Kunwu thought that an elegant and opulent scabbard would surely suffice to subdue the wildness and violence of the blade.

But then the prized sword was lost among the common folk. The sharp blade survived, and all that remained of the scabbard was its story.

For the sharp blade seeks only to bathe in the blood of its victims, and no sheath can be made that will curb this desire.

An ancient prototype sword from Liyue's arsenal. The batch number has faded and no records exist to confirm the date of production.

A swirling cloud motif is etched into the body of the blade, which gives it a faint golden glow in the sunlight as it swings through the air.

It is said that the bladesmiths behind this weapon reached the extent of their abilities and were forced to innovate.

Yun Hui, head of the house of Yun's family forge, approached renowned craftsman Han Wu. With the combined expertise from both sides, Han Wu drew up designs for a new series of weapons, simply named "the prototypes."

The very first sword made following this design already had the feel of a formidable weapon.

While trying out the sword at Mt. Tianheng, Han Wu accidentally dropped it on the ground.

The sword responded by unleashing a swirling tornado of energy that cut a twelve-inch-deep hole into the solid mountain rock. Han Wu took it as a sign from the heavens. He declared, "This sword shall be named Rancour, destroyer of rocks."

This sword shakes mountains at their foundations and possesses the power of a thousand peaks in its tip.

This sword that cuts through rocks like butter became the basis for all subsequent swords made in Liyue.

A longsword used by a noble who ruled over Mondstadt. It was crafted with premium materials and master craftsmanship.

For that reason, even after being passed down for generations, it is still as sharp as ever.

Swordsmanship was once a mandatory skill for the nobles.

However, it was for the purpose of refining wisdom and elegance, not for use in combat.

Unfortunately, wisdom and elegance were eventually all but forgotten. Swordsmanship became a mere formality.

Twenty-six hundred years ago was the era of Mondstadt's most ancient inhabitants.

They swore a solemn oath, after the new Anemo Archon descended and reformed the world:

"For Mondstadt, as always. For the verdant plains, for the hills, and for the forests of Mondstadt. May they continue to flourish, as always."

"For Mondstadt, as always. For the everlasting freedom of Mondstadt from the blizzard and the tyrant, whose coldness and oppression are one and the same."

No matter what future woes might befall Mondstadt, whether human tyranny or monster infestation, and even if that tablet is destroyed on which the oath of protection is written,

The oath itself will forever be borne by the winds, gently caressing Mondstadt like a doting lover, firmly defending Mondstadt like a loving father.

On the cliff facing the eastern sea, the ancestors worshipped the masters of Time and Anemo together.

The two are intimately related, as expressed in the saying, "Anemo brings stories while Time nurtures them."

This sword tells the story of protection to show the courage to protect.

Originally just a prop, its blade was sharpened by the passage of time.

This sword once belonged to the kindly Gunnhildr clan. In sacrificial ceremonies, they would enact the defense of Mondstadt.

There were three acts in the ceremony dedicated to the winds of time.

The final act told a tale of the protection of Mondstadt, of life, and of freedom.

The ceremony and its history have now been lost.

But the Gunnhildr clan continues to act as guardians of Mondstadt to this day.

"This is a story from Valuka..."

This is a story from many moons ago, when the jungle was still a shining desert of gold, and we had not yet been born from the pomegranates.

There were once three friends. They were as good a group of friends as Araji, Aramaha, and Arayama.

But one of the friends returned to the earth, while the remaining two went their separate ways.

One was determined to create a kingdom on earth and cause all sorrow to disappear,

While the other decided to spread vegetation and greenery and fill the land with wisdom and happiness.

But eventually, kingdoms will fall, wisdom will be distorted, and the definition of happiness will change.

You will forget your dreams, while we will recoil back to ours, forgetting the sun and moon.

Even so, in the depths of the desert, just as the kings of the forest leave footprints behind, and you and I leave stories behind,

The traces of our past friendship are said to slumber quietly, like an Aranara that has transformed into a seed.

This is a proof that you came to this world via special means.

Only one who has challenged the "world" may wield such a sword.

When this sword was last drawn, humankind was trying to preserve a doomed world.

That world was their last and only home.

This sword was drawn to defy that fate of destruction.

—But to draw steel against the law of universe that "all who exist must one day perish..."

Surely it must have seemed the height of folly.

But really, when one is faced with such a final fate, when up against the star-devouring darkness,

What weapon would be fitting for one to wield? It can only be a sword. If nothing else, it shall bear the memory of those who faced their ends without fear...

When you wield this sword, you search for the answers hidden within this world.

In this world, such a weapon may be used without any problem.

Not for the fact that the universe casts no shadows here, and certainly not simply because it suits this world's aesthetics...

But because this search is perhaps why you descended to this realm in the first place.

When the past is dust, and the future arrives,

As the present fades away, you can trust to this blade's edge.

Having a weapon for self-defense is, of course, a good idea. After all, this one was forged for one such as yourself.

Someone who challenges and pursues.

Take it, walk this earth,

And cut open all the challenges and mysteries that it has to offer you.

Travels are full of meetings and partings.

Perhaps the only trusty and inseparable companions of a Traveler,

Are the sword in their hand and the dream in their heart.

Before growing old, the eternal Traveler shall pass through many worlds.

Leaving behind naught but stories beyond count and a slightly brighter future.

A mighty and noble longsword that bursts forth like a flash of light from the depths of the night.

To the end, not even once was the sword's edge marred by blood.

It is said that over the generations, many swords crafted for the noblest of knights have been based on this design.

The darkened blade blended into the nights of yore with ease,

For in those days, people feared to light fires in the nighttime.

According the songs of some bards, it was stained black during the age of the aristocracy.

Reading the tales and songs of his upright ancestors sowed seeds of rebellion in the young noble's heart.

When the time came, he forsook his venerable house, stole this sword, and hid himself in the streets.

There he roamed the dark alleys and taverns like the common folk, and put his noble swordsmanship to use by robbing the rich to give to the poor.

Under cover of night, the sword from an opulent arsenal leaped across roofs and streets in the hands of one with equally noble blood.

The blade's pristine edge remained unblemished, as did the heart of the gentleman thief who had forsaken his corrupt lineage.

But wine and song and youth would fade, and many things would happen.

In the end, when under moonlight he buried his beloved blade and fled across the sea,

He remembered that night when he had stolen it from his family's vault,

And he remembered his vow to his family, to past and present, to his land, and to his sworn brother Eberhart:

"Even if only by a little, I want to use my strength to turn this dark world around."

A blade that thirsts after fresh blood will be awakened by its scent.

Those who possess, wield and nourish it will keep killing. Till even a pure soul is blackened by bloodshed...

There once was a bright white knight, who longed ever for the path of justice.

Clad in burnished armor, a mirror-sheen sword hung from his hip.

Wherever there was injustice, man-eating beast, or fire in the distance,

The Knight would ride up in haste to cut, slash, and pierce.

Following the teachings of the Wolf Pup, who taught him chivalry, justice and swordsmanship,

He cut, slashed and pierced them from head to toe...

Till justice had run its course, and the monster moved no more.

"I began to lose myself in cutting, slashing and piercing."

"When my blade's edge met my foe's flesh, it sent a tingle up my spine."

"Ah, I thought. That must be the feeling of justice getting its due."

"As long as I cut, slash and pierce the evil in this twisted world,"

"Someday, someday, it shall all be cleansed."

"O, foolish knight, slaughter in the name of justice is slaughter still."

"Nay. Slaughter in the name of justice is justice."

Cut. Slash. Pierce. Thus will you see justice done!

Though the white flowers the maidens offer you should be bloodied black, though your sword should no longer gleam bright,

Though your fair countenance should turn hideous, and you should be forced to don an iron mask,

Though those you defend cannot understand you, cease never!

And so, the black-stained knight persisted on his path, pursuing monsters in the name of justice,

Until he came upon an ancient, ruined realm, where he discovered the ultimate injustice...

A once-popular tool during the days when Fontaine was more dependent on manual labor.

The blade might not have been strong enough for prolonged, intense use,

But it made up for this by allowing the blunt section to be broken off at the user's convenience.

Dock workers often used it to cut through thin materials and untie knotted cables.

Although the use of this type of weapon was always heavily regulated and no blade never truly belonged to the user,

It was widely circulated under the tables, and was once hailed as the blade of the people.

It was perfect for self-preservation in less friendly natural environments, as well as for cutting paths through aquatic plants.

Legend has it that many people also discovered new uses for it during the purge.

As society advanced and more regulations were put into place, this type of blade gradually ceased to appear in public.

Although such blades were not owned by their wielders,

Those who depended on them saw them as extensions of their limbs,

And so they often inscribed their names onto the hilts and blades to avoid losing them.

The name inscribed on this blade belongs to one of Poisson's former mayors.

A nimble sword with holes and delicate engravings on the blade. The sword once made the sound of a flute when wielded by one with the requisite skill. The pitch and tone were determined by the swinging angle.

This sword was buried when the Wanderer's Troupe disbanded. Unearthed years later, it has long since lost its ability to sing. Even so, it still makes for a lethal weapon.

Among the members of the Wanderer's Troupe was a valiant sword-wielding dancer.

After the Troupe's attempt to tear down the ruling class failed, she was enslaved as a gladiator.

Though all her hope and all her companions were lost, still she fought bravely.

Her sword sang with the radiance of the morn's light, and she was dubbed the "Dawnlight Swordswoman."

In his youth, the Dawn Knight Ragnvindr was in the retinue of a knight.

He went with his master to watch a gladiator match, and was moved by the Dawnlight Swordswoman's splendid finale.

He named himself the Dawn Knight in her honor, and knew in his heart what he must do next.

"Umbrellas from Inazuma are more like unique pieces of artistry than something to shield oneself from the rain. Whether it be the design of the bamboo handle, the patterns on its surface, or the colors of the oil paper beneath beads of water, the umbrella looks in every way exquisite and delicate. Each time I pass through an alley and see such an umbrella outside a store, I often find my thoughts drifting back to a certain event. Rumor has it that there once was an umbrella that sent the whole town aflutter with activity. Here's how the story goes:"

"Hundreds of years ago, during the season of a grand festival, the flowers were in bloom, the foxes were at play, and even the typically stoic Tengu mingled amongst the people. Yet, the most eye-catching oddity was a girl bearing an intricate umbrella while sipping the fine wine of the Oni Clan. As she grew inspired, the young maiden danced like billowing flowers amidst the snow as the moonlight poured down on her. All who beheld her found themselves cheering her on, be they human or youkai. But with the passage of time, the girl went to war with the army and met a most untimely fate. With her passing, her cherished umbrella was offered to a shrine by her loyal subordinates."

"A daughter to a prominent martial family encountered the umbrella when offering her prayers at a shrine. Hence, she decided to purchase it at full price. The next day, with the skies wet with rain, the girl wanted to seize the opportunity and venture out with her umbrella. However, before she could even get changed, a message was delivered from afar, informing her of her husband's death in battle. Consumed by grief, the girl fell ill and left this mortal plane to seek her lover within the stretch of days. After her funeral, her parents regarded the umbrella she bought as something of a cursed object and returned it to the shrine to be sealed away."

"Yet, after a few months, new rumors spread. People would claim that, on rainy nights, a previously unknown youkai would stalk the streets. The way the youkai was illustrated made it sound akin to an umbrella, except taller than a man, bearing a single eye, a single leg, and also a long tongue. Should someone walk alone at night, the youkai may just suddenly appear, using its long tongue to lick those that dare pass by. From the perspective of those who live in Fontaine, the youkai presented little threat with its main acts seeming like pranks. That said, few people actually knew what the youkai's true intentions were. This engendered a sense of worry amongst the people who walked the streets. Young maidens dared not to leave home. The elderly sighed, saying if the wise and powerful were not absent, dealing with this youkai would be a trifling thing. At that moment, however, few even knew how to exorcise such a simple being."

"Later, when a young Shrine Maiden caught wind of what happened, she took the umbrella out from the shrine, and washed it from the tip down using a wooden spoon. As she used a silk cloth to wipe its surface, she said this:"

"'Even should the rains of yesterday cease, tomorrow and the day after remain. If that noble were still alive, your present state would surely be held unacceptable!'"

"Hence, she had the umbrella enshrined in an annex of the temple. Since then, none have heard either hint or whisper regarding this umbrella again."

"Now, I heard this story from a friend of mine in Inazuma, although I did go around investigating the shrines around Narukami and found no mention of the umbrella being enshrined. When I told this to my friend, she just laughed:"

"'Truly, Mademoiselle Leucade, do you take these kaidan to be the truth?'"

The knights of Mondstadt, whether it be by coincidence or fate,

Have as most their distinguished titles and corresponding animal insignia the following two:

The first is the title and repute of the Lion, passed down from the first Grand Master of the Knights of Favonius,

And the second, from almost the same period, is that of the Wolf Knight, Boreas.

There is, in truth, no record at all of the Knight of Boreas.

The name's origin instead comes from stories that circulated through the streets at that time.

At the end of the tale, the merchant (or farmer) whose daughter was saved asked:

"How can we ever thank you, O Honored Knight?"

The Knight replied: "When thine precious daughter is married, raise a glass in toast from afar."

"Ah! I am very sorry... if I am to toast you, might I humbly ask your distinguished name, O Knight?"

The Knight thought for a moment, and replied thusly:

"Then thou should toast my companion instead. 'Boreas' is his name."

The end of the story often goes something like this:

At the same time, in the forest (or on a mountainside, or someplace out of sight),

A sudden gust of wind blows. The merchant (or farmer) gazed in that direction,

But saw only a pair of bestial eyes in the darkness, cold as ice.

These two lights quickly disappeared. After the merchant (or farmer) came to, the Knight was gone as well.

There are many versions of the story, though the daughter is always saved, and the Knight is always nameless.

But before the story was a story, he was merely a strange traveler clad in a dust-stained and tattered cloak. Some noticed the exquisitely crafted yet battle-worn armor beneath the cape. But that didn't mean anything. Perhaps the armor's bearer was just another lost soul who had lost their prestigious position with the changes wrought by revolution.

The tavern's owner noticed that the man paid with real gold and silver coins, though none recognized the symbols on them. Still, that too meant nothing, for gold and silver have no master and are always changing hands. Nor would anyone speak ill of a customer who paid their tab on the spot and was not prone to rowdy drunkenness.

For its part, the story came from a snake demon who arrived on Mondstadt's shores from the sea beyond the horizon, following the current of warmth and peace. In the early days of the Knights of Favonius, when they were still weak, the nameless knight left the city to hunt demons, for the price of a single silver coin. The scent of blood and carrion rotting on the beach attracted thousands of falcons, who circled for days. Thus, the true origin of the name of Falcon Coast comes not from the romantic legend of the Falcon of the West.

In the years afterwards, the Knights of Favonius did their utmost to convince the nameless knight to join them, but he never agreed. In reality, the events that corresponded to the story of "Boreas" likely happened between the Grand Master of the early days of the founding of the Knights and the nameless knight. The events unfolded such that the Grand Master, having lost patience after being rejected countless times, had the nameless knight surrounded in the street. The two famous lines in the story were likely spoken when the nameless knight "Boreas" left, and though the meaning was similar, the tone of both sides was far less civil.

But such a story would be exceedingly dull if committed to poetry, and thus talented bards took that dialogue, combined it with a few events surrounding the Knight while he was in Mondstadt, and from that wove a multitude of stories.

Though he stayed in Mondstadt for but a few years, in leaving, his shadow has ever remained.

This story takes place thousands of years ago, in an era after the foolish God-King was buried by the sandstorms.

Mortal cities scattered across the land, amongst which Tulaytullah, where men and women of wisdom gathered and resided, was the most outstanding.

The city was dotted with buildings roofed with sapphire domes and adorned with emerald gardens of blooming trees and flowing fountains.

In the times following the God-King's departure, this fortunate city still glowed with wisdom and prosperity.

People say that a warrior named Xiphos once lived in this city of sapphire and emerald.

Xiphos was adept at wielding his double-edged sword, and he saved many a maiden from monster attacks, snatching many treasures from them in the process.

In an ancient Tighnarian lore, his sword was indwelt by a twisted, cruel Jinni,

Which was why the blade was not dulled but rather sharpened by slaughters, not smudged but instead brightened by blood.

"My dearest Master, let me feast on that rosy juice, indulge me with the crimson brew."

"My affection gushes forth only for you, like the daughter of grapevines entertains the tipplers with her bloody sacrifice."

"So long as you own my affection, and the moon shines on your ever-youthful face,"

"So long as your foes hold affection for this world, and have not forgotten their mothers' names, you shall be a warrior unmatched."

Later on, the swordsman adored by the Jinni of moonlight would encounter an exiled foreign wanderer.

The wanderer had accepted silver coins, blood money from kings opposed to Tulaytullah, and he shouldered their grudges and hatred against the hero.

Thus they who should have become friends at some bar became foes in battle, fighting each other to the death with the moonlight as their witness.

In the fight, their blades were bathed in ruby wine while the overripe pomegranate burst, vital, vivid red pouring from the rupture...

The deadly duel finally settled. The pale moon cast its cold light upon the winner and the defeated alike.

"Whichever direction the wind blows, there is never a single ripple in the cup of life."

"The three departed goddesses had long determined the heroes' fate, even if they could never fathom it themselves."

The wanderer took the moonlit sword, picked up the bloodstained silver coins, and trod in silence toward the distant rainforest.

Thus deprived of Xiphos' protection, the city lost its luster and withered away in the following years.

Its buildings and gardens were ground down into the dirt along with its destiny, and then the howling desert gales consigned them to oblivion.

Ultimately, the black key and the young prince's quest to rejuvenate his kingdom both sank into the sand's embrace...

"Sincerity and diligence will surely be rewarded. That's what you always taught us, Mother."

"But those who favor sincerity are often liars, and the diligent will be exploited by others."

"Mother, it turns out you were a liar too. Why else would you be buried here?"

"And so, I must thank you. I now finally understand your true teachings..."

Before a piece of wood becomes an axe's haft, it can neither be picky about methods nor too fastidious about dignity.

Whether cumbersome formal attire or rags stained with grease and blood, all are costumes required to move upwards.

In those times — nay, perhaps even were a thousand, or ten thousand years to pass since then—

There will always be young people who grow up all too soon, who rise up in society under the banner of the so-called "survival of the fittest,"

Who will feed upon sincerity, gorge upon hope, and devour dreams, metamorphosing into a magnificent monster of the city above ground,

For whom the two cities, whether touched or untouched by sunlight, were both bountiful hunting grounds.

"Oh my. Whose daughter might you be, gentle lady, and what brings you to our Fleuve Cendre?"

As for the noble girl who had stumbled into the Fleuve Cendre, she was, naturally, quarry most worthy of being hung upon the mantlepiece...

How the fear dims her beautiful visage, like clouds choking the moon, thought the monster.

She recognized the face of a monster, but what slipped out instead was a question as to how her disguise had been discovered.

"Well, you're a terrible liar, for one. You've as much as admitted to being an outsider now, haven't you?"

"...And my dear lady, your clothes lack either soot or machine oil, nor have they ever been stained by blood..."

Yes, yes — this was a wondrous opportunity, not to be missed, he thought, as he reached out his hand to her.

The threads of spider's silk silently hanging down from the clouds above. I shall use this to enter that greatest of houses,

This ladder unto the skies, this key unto the gates of pearl.

I must not let her leave me... I must never leave her...

"Leticia, your noble soul is one I adore."

A peculiar foreboding struck him as he spoke these words, but nevertheless, he continued to speak...

...

All things have their portents, and that was the night before the storm,

And strangely, he was uncharacteristically nattering on about his selfish wishes:

"Leticia, have you ever imagined a world—"

"One with three times the sunshine and boundless fertile lands,"

"One where people are free as birds, free of segregation, free from deception and despoiling,"

"Where we may fly across boundless plains, or rivers and lakes, mountains and valleys,"

"Until we find a tree to call our own, roost there, and build our home,"

"With no one to disturb us, and nothing to trouble us..."

Perhaps by then, he already believed that the once ephemeral hope had now vanished like smoke,

Or had already been buried in silence and blood alongside their comrades.

"Dear Leticia, think of the children, of those newly sprouted trees,"

"Surely they should not be born amidst cannon fire, or grow up amidst the mud and filthy waters."

"Are we to nurture them with wrathful tears and hateful oaths?"

"Shall we leave them to inherit confused dreams or a mission with its outlook yet unknown?"

But no, there is no need to worry, he thought. Everything has already been arranged.

Our future... My future... It is assured.

And again, he felt a bout of that now-familiar, peculiar foreboding.

...

By then, he had not walked amongst nobles for some time already. When asked the reason for his betrayal,

"To be rewarded with a position higher still." "To win peace for her and the children."

He no longer remembered which was the pretext, and which was the truth.

For when a liar tells a lie ten thousand times, even they themselves may believe it.

So when his wife asked him that same question at the last, he still had not figured it out.

But he remembered the promise he had made to her. If nothing else, they two alone could keep their initial contract.

All knew the falcon's protection was a blessing of Favonius,

Few knew the blessing of Favonius was from a distant tribe.

Under the tyranny of the old nobles, Mondstadt cried for freedom.

Enslaved was the exiled foreign fighter in the land of the wind.

Yet she knelt not before injustice and deception, but set a shining example.

For she overthrew the barbaric nobles and established a chivalric order and the Church.

Blessed was she to eventually walk with the gods.

This was the sword that witnessed all her hardships and feats.

A testament to her achievement in spreading justice across Mondstadt.

You can feel her unrelenting spirit when swinging this sword:

Justice for the pressed.

Freedom for the shackled.

Wisdom for the deceived.

Let the wind of justice and freedom lead.

People would once raise a toast to a traveler's song that was thusly sung:

"If someone plucks out your tongue, you can still sing with your eyes."

"If someone blinds you in both eyes, you can still see with your ears."

"If someone conspires to destroy tomorrow, then raise them a glass,"

"For even if tomorrow dies, this song shall live on."

They say that a region's character follows that of its archon, and that this holds true both for the people and the land itself.

But was it the unfettered archon who bestowed a love of freedom and wine upon the land and people amidst conflict?

Or was it the people who nurtured the Anemo Archon's love of freedom as they pined for it amid the howling wind and frost?

This is a question that can no longer be answered.

But that song is often sung in dark times.

Whether in the days when Decarabian reigned from his gale-crowned tower,

Or when the corrupt nobility overturned the archon's likeness,

In cloistered cellars, in dark alleys, and in decrepit taverns,

The song seeped through the gale and the iron fist of tyranny, and became an anthem for resisting heroes.

In the distant past, in a silent city ringed in from all sides,

Cheers erupted to the sound of a lyre and at last pierced the prison of raging winds.

A certain group, comprised of a youth, a spirit, an archer, a knight and a wandering flame-haired warrior,

Came and stood before the tower that loomed like a sky-piercing lance,

That cast a shadow like that of a titan,

And they swore to be free, and vowed to shatter the rule of the tower's lone tyrant.

The weak and infirm who could not scale the tower instead sang the song that, till now, had only ever been whispered in corners where the wind did not reach,

And that drinking song rose up with force enough to shake the city walls, spurring the heroes on as they climbed...

"If someone plucks out your tongue, you can still sing with your eyes."

"If someone blinds you in both eyes, you can still see with your ears."

"But if anyone dares to steal your song, the freedom you yearn for,"

"— That alone, that alone shall never do!"

This blade was recorded in the "Anthology of Inazuman Blades" written by Inspector Mikoshi Nagamasa of Tatarasuna.

There were two swords of the "Geppaku Futsu" series made by the Futsu school by order: "Hasui," the Wavespike, and "Haran," the Rippling Upheaval.

Of these two, the "Haran" is the sole blade forged by the great smith Masagomaru that remains extant.

Many say that blades are indwelt with the souls of those who forge them...

This is how the Anthology begins.

It is said that the Hasui blade was forged by the third-generation master of the school, Master Futsu Minori.

Its blade was a pale blue, and its hamon was as beauteous as rippling water, and so it was oft found at the waist of the Shogun's valet.

Later, the blade would be broken during a mortal duel to decide the fate of the oni people, and was sent back for reforging.

At this time, Minori, who had by now been long tortured by alcohol, old wounds, and the lingering memories of Tatarigami, was a broken woman, not unlike an untempered steel sword.

Nor could the fourth-generation head Futsu Hiroyoshi match his mother's skill.

It was his sworn brother, Futsu Masayoshi, the one they call Masagomaru—

He was the one who would forge this weapon, allowing the Futsu school's masterpiece to re-enter this world.

The two Geppaku Futsu blades look very similar to one another, but their qualities are in fact vastly different.

Masagomaru would only come to name this one work, and the reason why that happened is quite simple, really...

He was an orphan taken in by the third-generation master, illiterate by education and aphasic from birth.

When ordered to revive the beauty of the "Hasui" blade, he inscribed its name just as it had been before.

When Futsu Minori passed on, Masagomaru would help her pass her forging techniques on to Hiroyoshi.

Indeed, it is said that she had wished for him to take up the mastery of their school, but he demurred multiple times.

Indeed, the fame from the forging of the "Haran" very nearly affected Hiroyoshi's succession to be the fourth-generation head.

As such, safe in the knowledge that his sworn brother was now independent, Masagomaru would choose to depart for other lands.

Later, he would approach other forging schools, gleaning gems of wisdom from other famed smiths.

In his latter years, he would have three pupils that he was most proud of: Kaedehara Kagemitsu, Niwa Nagamitsu, and Akame Mitsunaga.

These three would create the "Isshin Sansaku," the three great works of the Isshin Art.

"Then, I was but a born-mute, an ugly, filthy, abandoned child."

"Like a moth, I longed for warmth in the bitter, cold nights, and what I found was the forge-fires of the smithy."

"Standing before me was the third-generation master, she who people called surly and arrogant."

"But she did not bid me to get gone, and even gave me some rice to fill my stomach."

"Seeing that I was covered in metallic sand, she named me 'Masagomaru.'"

Unable to speak but subtle in thought, Masagomaru must have had many stories hidden away in his heart.

All those unsaid things would finally sink as sediment, disappearing beneath the waves...

"The third-generation master would tell me, one who could not speak, a great many things."

"Like the old wound that afflicted one side of her body, like the wishes of her mother and brother,"

"Like the crimson hakama she could never wear, and the giant wave that would one day devour everything..."

One night, the child would enter the smithy, seeing the famed but capricious smith within.

She hammered at a chunk of iron, not caring as tears streamed down her face...

"You forget what you just saw. We clear about that?"

He nodded, flustered. Then the woman suddenly clapped her hands together and smiled broadly.

"Right, silly me! You're a good friend, a real keeper of secrets!"

"I suppose it is as they say: one who leans into the drink is themselves not to be leaned on too much."

"But now that I think about it, I should still have accepted her offer to drink together..."

The "Anthology" also speaks of the differences in form between the Geppaku Futsu blades.

The one forged by Futsu Minori was as gently beauteous as the ocean at night, and thus was named "Hasui."

The one made by mute Masayoshi was formidable as the driving hurricane, and was thus called "Haran."

This is a story from the days after the Lord of Sand's dreams fell apart and the Grandmaster of Verdure hid the whispers of the demonic skies away.

The ears of decay broke the great divine realm into many kingdoms before grinding them all into sand.

A queen from amongst those kingdoms burnt the little prince's gilded robes and crown, and had him escape garbed in the sackcloth of a servant;

Years passed, and the prince was reduced to being the son of one who ruled over the slave markets, and then to a wanderer who had lost everything.

"When I could still weep over the sunrise above the tower of mirages, I offered advice to my overlord, crushing many cities at his side."

"I once blessed the son of the former king upon his birth: Even after his departure, hymns of praise for him shall continue on..."

"I have misjudged many people and happenings in the past, but no longer — for now I see nothing at all. This is destiny's punishment upon me."

"Become my apprentice. Be my eyes and describe to me the people and things in this gilded desert."

"I hope to one day weave the poems of heroes into the most beautiful tapestry to exist in the divine courts."

Coins are eroded when passed from hand to hand, but noble things become stronger as they change hands.

His last owner was a blind poet. Later, the story changed from a tale of a master and a servant to that of a master and apprentice.

"Before we parted, Mother told me that we would meet again in the eternal oasis..."

"Use this sword as the key to the paradise's gate, and rebuild the kingdom amidst emeralds and pomegranates."

Hearing the story of the wandering princeling, the aged poet caressed the dull blade of the black sword. At length, he replied:

"Thus do our crossed destinies duly end, for I am but a trifle in your epic."

"Master..."

"Xiphos, your fate is above those of us humble poets. You should not stoop so low as to write stories for others—"

"You are the one favored by the Jinni. You, who wield the Key of Khaj-Nisut, are the prince of the once-lost kingdom."

"Embark on your wanderings amongst the failing kingdoms. You shall create new tales and find the eternal oasis..."

"In the times when I wrote hymns for my overlord and love poems for the prince, I fantasized about writing for the hero of destiny."

"Allow me, please, to recount your epic — the epic of your reunion with your mother and the return of the Lord of Sand's glory to this realm."

In the end, their paths would cross — the crown prince who became a slave and then a hero, and the mercenary who fell from the throne.

Many legends mention a certain key. It is said to have commanded the sands to form a flowing river in mid-air and sealed the homeland after the Lord of Sand parted ways with old friends.

They even say that it was used to hide the desert tower and paradise of dreams away under the aegis of illusions when the bubble burst and the nations were scattered.

This key was passed between the hands of mortal tyrants and kings, till at last it, too, returned to the sand's embrace.

As for the aged blind poet, he would follow the trace of stories and blood-tainted footsteps, and finally find his way to the forest...

From the land of gold came a wanderer, his body and mind scarred by the touch of battle. He was once a prince, but now, he was merely someone lost in a winding and deceptive verdant maze. The ancient forest king, tasting the scent of blood that stems from authority, was unable to hold back a deep sigh... Summons were sent, and a huntress bearing a moon-white bow came forth, tasked to hunt the trapped beast that had come from beyond the woods.

The sky was overcast, spreading like ink blots in the clouds. Death whispered through the wooded maze, groping for a path to follow. Following the exile's footsteps, the curse spread across the desert sands to swallow the "living" lands. Through jade hallways and pathways narrow, she discovered the intruder's intent from the strangeness of their scent... Adrift between memory and ambition, however, the exile was lost amidst the discord of running water and birdsong...

"You have been struck with one of my arrows, insolent invader! The next shall find its path into your heart." "No longer shall you loiter in the forest. No longer shall you disturb the dreams of the children. The crown you seek, you shall not find here!"

Thus did the hale huntress warn her prey, that none yet had ever evaded her arrows or her perspicacity. Yet, for reasons unknown, she lowered her bow by a few inches and deliberately missed the addled man. The greenery looked on, bewildered, and the dream-hidden children exhaled as blood went unspilled. The slumbering forest king, blessed with insight that can pierce through all dreams, understood her intent and gave a thunderous murmur that caused even the greatest of trees to tremble:

"That mortal is not alike to you. He comes from a sordid land, and his hands are stained with blood, while his heart festers with delusions and madness." "But the forest only keeps dreams wrought from naivete, and blood is only meant to be shed for the hunt or in sacrifice — in this there can be no deception." "If you believe that he yet has the potential to reclaim his honor in the maze, then guide him to break off the pale branch..." "Only then can the bright moon and the newborn stars grant him pure wisdom and help him shed his bitter memories and desires."

So, she again took hold of her pure-white bow and drove the exile, sending him fleeing into the depths of the maze... The truth of what happened afterward was witnessed by the moon and the stars, and only dwells still in the dreams of children. Some rumors say that the exiled noble finally used the pale branch to forge a blade that belonged to him and him alone, While some children claim in their sleep that he forgot the name of his home, and of his dream to be king. Regardless, Prince Faramarz's name vanished within the rainforest henceforth, returning to the desert on the back of sand carried by the wind.

One of the swords that the Shogun bestowed upon her Hatamoto. It is said that it can call upon the power of lightning itself to slice through the mountain mist and night fog.

It was once shattered into a thousand pieces. After being reforged, a hamon resembling flowing clouds was left on the blade.

As the folk song goes: "Arataki of the Front Gate, Iwakura the Successor, Kitain the Serpent, Takamine the Mistsplitter."

Thus do children who love martial arts list famous historical martial artists, and "Takamine the Mistsplitter" was the very same user of this sword.

This man once accompanied a member of the clergy, using the Mistsplitter to slay countless demons and Tatarigami.

He also learned archery from the Yougou Tengu, and passed that knowledge on to a person he loved.

However, Mistsplitter would have no successors, and now only exists within storybooks, artworks, and fairytales.

At the end of his life, he assumed the position of one of the Shogun's yoriki and fought against a dark army.

If he hadn't left his beloved bow to her as part of their wager, maybe things would've been different.

But real gamblers never regret, never care about "what ifs," and never feel remorse over "if onlys."

The foe flooded over like mist — and so he would just keep slashing away with that secret blade that could disperse the brumous night.

As long as his strikes were swift enough, he would pierce the dark night, and day would come again—

"Asase, our promise... No, say rather our great bet. I will not lose it, not for the world!"

"I shall return, and together with the bow that I'd wagered... I'll claim the future as my prize!"

Like a never-ending chain of lightning, he and Mistsplitter slew countless demons together.

Yet at the last, the sword was not as tenacious as the swordsman, and it gradually broke down.

And he became submerged in that thick dark mist...

In the end, only some of the blade's fragments were retrieved for reforging, such that the resultant weapon might inherit the Mistsplitter name.

As though holding onto a spider's thread hanging down in the dark, the samurai held the handle of his broken sword tightly.

Amidst the dark mist, he kept stubbornly reminding himself:

The result of our wager is still undecided. I must return to Asase's side...

They say that when Liyue first arose, Rex Lapis once walked the land with a sword hewn from jade.

Despite the constant wear and tear of age, the jade edge, so bathed in blood, still retained a polished sheen as if brand-new.

The blood was washed away in the rain of a thousand years, yet the thoughts and grudges that gathered about it could not be so easily eliminated.

"Nephrite has the soul of the Bishui's gentle heart, and will in time cleanse itself of the remnant grudges within."

"But who will ease the agony that the jade itself feels for having becoming an instrument of slaughter?"

These words of a friend long-forgotten were both lament and sigh.

But the inexorable gears of destiny would drown out those compassionate words.

In the passing of many long years, many became mortal foes who once made merry together,

While those who betrayed one another or fought to the death would come to share a drink, their hatred dispelled.

So it was also with this precious sword, carved as it once was to be given as an expensive gift to a certain someone.

This jade too was once cut for love of peace and luxury.

When wine vessels are filled with blood, and when tender feelings are ripped asunder by cold ambition and reduced to dust on the wind,

Gifts ungiven and bonds unspoken will become sharp blades with which to cleave erstwhile friends.

The sky-piercing fang.

It once pierced the black-gold scales of the kingdom of the abyss,

and cut the throats of the sons of ancient sinners.

Mondstadt was once threatened by the shadow dragon Durin.

Its jealousy for Mondstadt's prosperity begot evil, poisoning the land.

In those dark days, Mondstadt was surrounded by monsters and barren lands.

Hearing the people's cry for help, the Anemo Archon descended and awoke Dvalin.

Dvalin rode the wind and soared up to the sky, fighting for all life.

Blessed by the Anemo Archon, Dvalin fought the shadow dragon.

Clouds broke, and the sky burned red as if the end of days was upon Mondstadt.

Eventually, Dvalin's blessed fangs pierced through the throat of Durin.

Durin fell, but Dvalin was poisoned by Durin's tainted blood.

Unable to bear the pain, Dvalin fell unconscious.

Even the most learned bards knew not where he slumbered.

Centuries passed, and Dvalin's sacrifice was all but forgotten by Mondstadt.

When Dvalin finally awoke, gone was his friend and the sound of his comforting lyre.

And the ones he once protected now cowered in fear at the sight of him.

Honor reclaimed, poison cleansed,

Ballads shall give back a people's forgotten memory.

A prayer, this sword is. May Dvalin's name be restored.

Page #1

"Sin tempted the City of Eternity to its fall, with countless slaves and usurpers thrown down in a night of wrath."

"In the name of Egeria, we swear to find the Pure Grail and restore her to her land."

"For only in this way can we atone for the sin we have borne since birth and avoid a similar death."

"No matter the sacrifice, we shall complete this noble mission in the name of the Lochknights."

The great symphony would reach its fated end, and on the ruins of a decaying world, the upholders of righteousness made their oath.

This water-blue scepter once belonged to a knight named Erinnyes who, in the time of the song of harmony, unified those of the high waters who rebelled against the gods.

Legend has it that her home was destroyed early on by the wrathful God King, with an army from the Golden City enslaving or killing her family.

Only two were to escape that fate. One met with the proud Harmost during the war and ultimately rose to inherit his authority.

The other received the grace of the Mistress of Many Waters and was taken in by the Prince of Aremorica, to guard those pure waters not yet seized by the God King.

Two people, survivors of the same home, drifting apart like duckweed on the seas of fate, one toward good, one toward evil.

And so, guided by the sea breeze and the whispers of the maiden in the lake, the noble and determined knights set out on their quest.

They faced unimaginable trials and endured sufferings never before known. But in the end, the heartfelt longing of the people reached the heavens.

Then, thanks to their pure hearts and the Pure Grail obtained through countless sacrifices, the Mistress of Many Waters was freed from imprisonment and restored...

"O Mistress of Many Waters, O gracious Egeria, I yearn for your judgment."

"I have done deeds good and great, but sinned in that doing."

"Your ideals permit no corruption. Only my expulsion can bring me peace."

"O Mistress of Many Waters, O gracious Egeria, grant me this final wish."

On a morning clear as the light reflected on the lake, the Mistress of Many Waters was moved by that pained plea.

And so the kindly goddess granted her wish and gave her blessing to the journey ahead.

For the Mistress of Many Waters knew that a fair judgment was the greatest leniency one could give a selfless soul.

And perhaps that is why that noble verdict dyed fate in its colors.

And thus did a sword as pure as lake-light sink into the lake alongside Egeria's blessings,

And the knight who had wielded that sword left, her head held high, never to be seen again.

Page #2

"Sin tempted the City of Eternity to its fall, with countless slaves and usurpers thrown down in a night of wrath."

"In the name of the Mother Goddess, we swear to retrieve the Pure Grail and shatter the shackles that confine her."

"For only in this way can we wash for the sin we have borne since birth away, and avoid a similar death."

"No matter the sacrifice, we must see this justice done."

The great symphony would reach its fated end, and on the ruins of a decaying world, the avengers enamored of revenge made their oath.

This water-blue scepter once belonged to a singer named Erinnyes who, in the time of the song of harmony, unified those of the high waters who rebelled against the gods.

Legend has it that her tribe was destroyed by the conquering God King, and that an army from the Golden City enslaved or slew her tribespeople.

Only two were to escape that fate. One met with the proud Harmost during the war and ultimately rose to inherit his authority.

The other hid amidst the bones and was taken in by the chieftain of Aremorica, to guard those pure waters not yet seized by the God King.

Two people who had been lulled to sleep by the same lullabies and sea breezes, found themselves now drifting apart, one on each side of the conflict.

And so, guided by the tides and the whispers of the spirit, the sword-singer of destruction set out on her quest.

She faced unimaginable trials and endured sufferings never before known. Yet, she remained unable to find that Pure Grail.

But it was the heavens who chose the Mistress of Many Waters, commanding her to return from her primeval prison to take over from the golden king and rule the sea-ruins.

"O Mistress of Many Waters, glorious primordial mother, I beg for your wisdom."

"For you, I have killed the unrighteous and toppled countless cities."

"Please tell me, this I plead, how the descendants of all seas might avoid disaster."

"O Mistress of Many Waters, glorious primordial mother, please show mercy, just this once."

In the bloodstained dusk, the Queen of All Waters was moved by that plaintive plea.

And so the kindly goddess told the supplicant what she had once told the King of Fortuna.

But the goddess did not yet know that a self-interested plea could lead only to despair.

And perhaps for that reason, the collapsing illusion thus dyed that so-called faith in its colors.

The aqua-shaded sword, long stained with blood, fell away, carrying the last thread of reason with it.

The singer who had wielded that sword stumbled from the valley, and she was never to be seen again.

The chieftain who dreamed of honor and glory did not see the land of her dreams, nor would she ever find absolution, much like the goddess who shared similar hopes.

Many years later, when the musician known as the Golden Hunter remembered this name,

Neither blood nor tears were in his thoughts. Only the sound of a distant flute, a twisting melody under a watery moon.

In the distant past, when the gods and spirits walked the land,

When all the land was in turmoil, people must have asked such questions...

"Please tell me: where have my lover and children gone?"

"When will those who have departed return to us?"

"O great lord, how long will these horrific times persist?"

Even the hearts of people hewn from the hardest bedrock would crack and break from the pain.

Even the eyes of those who remained silent, stoic in their unswerving faith in their gods, would begin to smolder.

Even if they did not ask such questions, their hearts would make the sounds.

The ruler of Geo thus put forth his might and carved a long blade from a pure slab of golden Cor Lapis.

With a single slice, he cut a corner clean off a mountain, and upon it he swore a most solemn oath to the people—

Those scattered, he would gather – and those who broke the contract, he would punish.

Those who had lost their loved ones, those robbed of their possessions, those deprived of justice — they would receive recompense.

Perhaps this is but one of the many tales that shroud the ancient land of Liyue.

But the solemn oath that Rex Lapis swore is nonetheless at work within it.

To break a contract is to make an enemy of this land where gods once ruled,

And sooner or later, the mountain Rex Lapis cut will fall upon those who break contracts—

A legend still circulates, saying that this weapon's true owner will one day return to walk among mortals.

Then, this sword will once again gleam gold, and its light will cut through the greatest of this world's injustices...

Just as it did when Rex Lapis made his solemn oath before the people.

Legends tell of how the Kitsune Urakusai once earned the undying enmity of the bake-danuki by cutting the gold-lacquered screen curtains of the stage within the forest while caught up in a drunken reverie.

This act earned his sword its name, and the Kitsune's drunken dance, blade wild beneath the moon, became a tale told amongst all who saw, save for the bake-danuki.

Later, it is said that Urakusai apologized to the bake-danuki who had held the play, and gave them his precious teaset and other treasures.

And he "of the Front Gate," who had met him but once before the incident, received the blade "Misugiri" as a reward for mediating between the parties.

As for this recipient, he was slightly different from the rumors. Not only was he a strange character who had fought a vicious battle against Lavender Melon trees, but one who had a sense of elegance, enjoying plays, toys, and clothing.

When throwing himself into battle, he would garb himself in golden brocade threaded with autumn grass and clouds, and the garish oil paints on his face would give him a fantastical form.

However, neither ancient texts nor folk stories describe how he carried the great golden blade "Misugiri" in his final battle.

Instead, his weapon is always the same in many anecdotes and stories, a prodigiously-sized blade with a name just as long and difficult to pronounce as his own.

Though there are scrolls depict him wielding a sword in each hand, one large and one small, his majestic form cutting through the onrushing tide of black monsters,

According to the authoritative "Anthology" of the time, "Misugiri" had already been lost by he "of the Front Gate" in the summer of some year before the disaster.

For this reason, the blade that may never have cut an enemy, "Misugiri," has always piqued the imaginations of those who discuss historical tales while deep into their cups.

Among the Oni, who tell their history and legends only through song and chant and never through writing, there is a story that is different from or perhaps complementary to that which is recorded in the "Anthology."

After a wrestling match during a festival, he "of the Front Gate" gifted the renowned blade "Misugiri" to a tailor, who was not from a martial family.

It seems as though a young girl patched and mended a golden flower that had come loose from his haori, and he gifted her the sword at his side by way of reward.

"Whaddaya mean, you don't want a reward? How about this then: I'll trade this here sword of mine for your scissors! It won't count as a reward then, eh?"

"Huh? What're you saying? Of course it can be used cut cloth! Such a young lady, but when you open your mouth, you actually sound like one of them boring tengu!"

"What kind of lame excuse is 'there's a difference between martial families and commoners'!? You use such tiny little scissors to snip cloth! A nice long blade like this oughta work better, don'cha think?"

"No way! I'm giving you this sword because its long-winded old owner just kept rambling on, something about how famous stuff oughta get hung on walls for people to admire."

"...I'm not just giving it to you, it's a transaction, y'know! Better that you cut some clothes with it than me having that old fox popping by to ask me how the sword's doing every few days!"

"Hey, I can hear what you're saying about me! And keep my voice outta this! Whatever, just watch closely—!"

With that, the Oni abruptly stood and drew the sword forth from the scabbard, its cold edge reflecting moonlight and the festival's smoke.

Then, he cut one of his sleeves clean off with no hesitation, before sheathing the sword and sitting upright, offering the brocaded sleeve along with the sword.

This Oni warrior, who usually laughed and shouted in front of all and sundry upon the streets and cared little for minor matters, seemed a little more like a fierce fiend when serious.

"See? Even an oaf like me who doesn't know squat about tailoring can slice through cloth like butter using this here knife, so you'd best give it some credit, y'hear?"

"Alright! Take good care of it, now! I'm figurin' that you're the only one who'll put it to good use! I'll just end up breaking it."

"You want me to keep it as some kinda family heirloom? Haha, I've thought about that! But a famous sword gets sad if it ain't used."

"And if that happens, next time Urakusai shows up, he'll mock me for being a dumb lout, boring, uncultured, y'know, that kinda claptrap."

Face to face with the suddenly solemn Oni's visage, the young tailor girl of common birth was absolutely terrified.

After waiting for the girl, now shaking with fear, to accept the precious thank-you gift, the Oni let loose a few great guffaws, thinking himself quite clever, and left most satisfied.

He "of the Front Gate" thus earned the title of "The Great Idiot" among the villagers, and he did not dislike it.

Though he was quick to laugh and quick to anger, he made many friends and protected many lives in his life, which was itself neither exceptionally long nor overly short.

Afterward, when countless textless embroidered scrolls were woven for those gods, kitsune, youkai, oni, and humans who protected lives beyond counting,

Wracked by guilt for never managing to return the blade to him to help him fell his foes, the tailor designed that awe-inspiring image of his likeness wielding two blades.

But that was later. Before that would come to pass, Urakusai had to first grieve for the scattered, wandering people for years.

Whenever descendants of that Oni who bore his name saw one carrying the magnificent blade who was not the young seamstress, they would recall:

"Uncle often sighed as he cleaned that sword, blaming Urakusai for leaving such an extraordinary treasure to such an oaf like himself."

"'This thing outta enjoy the comfort and beauty of the world. How could I ever stand to taint it with slaughter and fury?'"

But to get back on topic, when the girl discovered the blade's marvelous uses off the battlefield, it was still some time before she would weave that particular scroll.

In those days, the Oni Chiyo danced in her resplendent juunihitoe, sword in hand, dazzling as dainty flowers fluttering in the spring breeze.