Genshin Impact's Incense Burner Of Liyue [138]
Kaeya mused, stroking his chin thoughtfully. "So… will you give us a moment to discuss our questions?"
"Discussing how to best extract information from me?" Decarabian replied, his tone faintly mocking. "Don't bother. I won't give you that time. And know this: If you try such tactics again, I'll count that as your question."
"Very well, I'll go first, then."
Kaeya's expression grew serious. "Standing before me now, is this truly Decarabian, the sovereign being in all his power and essence?"
"No. The real Decarabian has long since faded, like the shattered remnants of his once-great tower."
"What you see before you is merely his echo—a manifestation of unyielding defiance and the spirit of an undying dream."
"Alright, I've asked my question. The rest is up to you." Kaeya took a step back.
Diluc crossed his arms and put away his weapon. "Then, what would it take for us to neutralize the effects you've imposed here?"
"If this final trial can bring me clarity and satisfaction, all such effects will vanish on their own." Decarabian's tone was as impassive as ever. "But should it fail to satisfy, it will simply mean that your so-called 'free will' is weak. In that case, you'll just have to contend with my influence through sheer endurance and unshakable resolve."
The people of Mondstadt frowned, realizing that while his answer seemed simple, it was far too open-ended.
How could they truly satisfy Decarabian?
They would never kneel before him. Even if they tried, he'd admitted that his essence was built on defiance and relentless pride; yielding would likely accomplish nothing. Besides, he was an ancient spirit, his nature honed over millennia. To guess at his desires with just a few decades of mortal experience felt absurd.
"Why have you chosen to reappear now?" Jean asked. "A god is eternal, after all. But after all these centuries, why now—and with such command over this domain?"
"'Command'?" Decarabian chuckled. "A small manipulation of leyline energy—hardly true command, I assure you. Mortal arrogance."
He paused briefly. "As for why I've reappeared now…"
Decarabian's tone turned somber. "Once, my kingdom and my dreams shattered, like the sky breaking apart. It took time, even for a god's heart and strength, to gather themselves again."
He looked into the distance, as if beyond them. "For millennia, the people of this land have fought for freedom. But true freedom still eludes them."
"I wanted to see—what would come of their old dreams, pursued now in these quieter, more peaceful times."
"And yet, to truly give shape to freedom… you must have pressure, fear, and calamity!"
"I have no interest in the so-called 'Winds of Freedom.' I am Decarabian, King of the Fierce Winds. But I am intrigued by the flame that burns in mortal hearts."
"The fire that once razed my tower and ended my reign… will it still have strength to consume even a trace of my essence?" His gaze bore into her. "Does this answer satisfy you?"
...
It was a standard, detached reply—cold, unsympathetic. For gods, mortal limitations were just a fact.
Imagine a quiet child playing safely on an empty road, while a hundred reckless ones play on a crowded street where cars barrel by.
You have a lever in your hand. Will you choose to save the one child or the hundred?
For humans, the decision is agonizing; every choice is fraught with reasons that stall your hand on the lever.
But to a god, it is simple.
A few dead mortals? One or a hundred—what difference does it make? Just numbers.
To gods, the real interest lay in observing the intense struggle and willpower in human hearts when making such a choice.
Just as it did now.
"I'll go!"
Tartaglia stepped forward, eyes gleaming with an eagerness that bordered on joy.
"Honored godly incarnation," he declared, voice brimming with excitement, "may I battle you?"
"Certainly."
A straightforward question met with an equally simple answer, but one that left the others stunned.
Was he insane?
In the next five minutes, they all bore witness to a battle that could only be described as… "tedious."
It wasn't even a one-sided massacre; Decarabian granted Tartaglia five minutes, no more.
For that time, the god's full, unyielding pressure bore down upon the Harbinger, stilling the very winds and keeping him from advancing.
In the last seconds, Tartaglia had fully become an embodiment of both Hydro and Electro energy, straining forward only to manage a tiny step under Decarabian's immense force.
"Drawing upon life to gain strength…" Decarabian observed. "For a mortal, you are indeed powerful, with a deep drive for combat."
"But to challenge a god… it is still far too soon."
At that, even Gu Sanqiu looked taken aback.
Far too soon? That implied… there was a way?
The Knights of Favonius silently etched the Harbinger's face into memory. If he ever showed up in Mondstadt again, the best intel agents would have eyes on him around the clock.
"Well then, I'll take the next question."
Eula fixed Decarabian with an unflinching stare. "Did you have a hand in Mondstadt's era of corrupt nobles?"
"I care nothing for mortals' petty power struggles. They are merely chains around the freedom of this land, another restraint mortals' desires impose upon themselves. Such matters have nothing to do with me."
"Hmph." Eula pursed her lips and stepped back, discontented.
"Well, if the Knights are done, how about I ask something?" Gu Sanqiu raised his hand lightly, then turned his gaze to Decarabian.
"My question's simple, but it may catch you off guard. I hope you're ready."
"Oh?" Decarabian looked intrigued. "I was wondering what question someone like you would ask. Go on."
"What does it take to utterly destroy a god?"
"By that, I mean a complete end—down to the last trace."
"What?!"
This time, even Diluc and Albedo, known for their reserved expressions, couldn't hide their shock.
"Mortal, should I take this as a provocation?"
"This is a serious question." Unfazed by the sudden pressure, Gu Sanqiu drew his Dragonscale Shield, its draconic aura pushing back the earth leyline's influence within the wind.
"Please answer seriously. You offered us each a question, after all, as a god."
"Hmph. Mortal or not, if a god were to turn on you… what would you accomplish, ordinary human?"
"You won't," Gu Sanqiu replied, with absolute certainty.
The King of Fierce Winds, the tower's solitary lord, had built his tower to shelter his people from the gales and to bend their heads in submission. He had planted the seed of freedom in their hearts without ever once explaining himself.
Even in legends, he was a rigid, silent figure, as unyielding as a machine set to precise schedules, from daily chores to rest, his people's lives ruled by regimented order. Decarabian had created that life for them, a life unchanged even after his fall. His tower's fragments lay as stubbornly upright as his pride, bowed to no one, god or mortal.
Here lay the difference between gods and humans: gods could remain oblivious to human demands, untouched by their cries and longings.
Decarabian's fall had been inevitable, the product of his people's thirst for freedom—a force that crushed the King of Fierce Winds.
Even as a failed ruler, he remained proud.
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