The system's voice faded in Galehaven Comics, its promise of "Garp's Armament Haki" igniting a thrill in Harlan Flint's chest.
A brilliant light sliced through the dim shop, pouring into him like molten steel, merging with his very being.
The glow vanished as swiftly as it came, leaving Harlan flexing his hands, a surge of raw power thrumming beneath his skin.
"As expected from Garp's top-tier Armament Haki," he murmured, satisfaction curling his lips—he could feel the might to shatter a mountain in one strike.
It fell short of the Seven Archons' divine wrath, but for a mortal like him, it carved a formidable edge.
He summoned the system panel, its glow casting faint shadows: six customers served, twenty-four to go for the exclusive reward, and a fresh task of ten for the next draw.
"Six today—not a bad start, but the road to thirty's still long," he sighed, leaning back in his chair with a flicker of impatience.
Wendy's bardic charm should lure more tomorrow, hastening his grind toward Task 2's mysterious prize.
"What could that exclusive reward be—something grand, surely?" he wondered, curiosity gnawing at him as he pictured the possibilities.
The sun had long set, its last rays swallowed by night, prompting him to glance outside with a rumbling stomach. "Late already—time to eat out."
Rather than cook, he opted to explore Mondstadt, shutting the shop and stepping into the cool evening air.
Days since crossing into Teyvat, he'd barely ventured beyond these walls—now, with Garp's Haki armoring him, he felt untouchable.
The shop's safety didn't faze him—its remote alley deterred prowlers, and the system's magic barred entry without his say-so.
"Where to?" he mused, then settled on the Deer Hunter restaurant, a spot he'd favored in-game for its hearty fare and warm vibe.
Across town at the Goethe Hotel, a lone Fatui knelt in a lavish room, his mask unable to hide the sweat beading on his brow.
Before him stood the Lady, eighth of the Fatui Harbingers, her golden hair framing a purple mask and icy blue eyes that pierced like daggers.
Her aura loomed, mature and unyielding, a storm clad in elegance as she fixed him with a stare. "Explain today's fiasco."
She'd sent Anastasia to pressure Mondstadt's leaders—exploit Stormterror's chaos, maybe even sniff out Barbatos' trail for her mission.
Solstice's might backed her confidence; a godless city should've bent, yielding its defense map to her grasp.
Instead, Anastasia and her squad returned unconscious, carried back like sacks—failure etched in their limp forms.
Her face stayed a mask of calm, but inwardly, irritation flared—who dared defy the Fatui's reach?
Was it Mondstadt's brass, and if so, what emboldened them now after years of meekness?
With Anastasia out cold, she turned to Luke, the sole survivor, his trembling voice spilling the afternoon's tale without omission.
Jean, provoked by Anastasia's taunts, had unleashed an unseen force, felling the Fatui and scarring the alley with cracks.
"A warning shot at me," the Lady deduced, her eyes narrowing as she pieced it together.
Mondstadt had endured her provocations before—buying out the Goethe Hotel hadn't sparked a peep—so why this sudden spine?
"Barbatos pulling strings?" she wondered, then dismissed it with a sneer—five centuries ago, he'd failed worse than this.
Disgust for the wind god flickered in her gaze, a bitter echo of history she shoved aside to focus.
Luke's words replayed: an invisible shockwave, not wind, had shattered stone and stunned her troops—beyond Jean's Anemo Vision.
Her mind snagged on a detail she'd glossed over, her voice sharpening. "You found Jean at a bookstore—Galehaven Comics, you said?"
Luke gulped, nodding fast. "Y-yes, and she treated the young owner with real respect—like he mattered."
"Bookstore, young owner, respect…" the Lady murmured, rolling the words over as suspicion took root.
In a city besieged by dragon and diplomacy, why would Jean linger in a remote shop unless it hid something vital?
She wasn't dull like Anastasia, scoffing at leisure—Jean's deference hinted at a secret worth chasing.
"Galehaven Comics—intriguing," she purred, a sly smile blooming as her interest sharpened into a blade.
***
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