“And why would this concern me, Sir Kaeya?” Diluc asked, hands busy with closing the bar that had already emptied out… save for Kaeya. “Sounds like a problem for the Knights to handle.”
Kaeya shrugged, the fur on his shoulder rising and falling. “Of course. I simply thought it might interest you.”
Despite his brushing Kaeya off, Kaeya had given him an important bit of intel. He’d been intending to slip into Jean’s office at headquarters to read her notes about the meeting with the Fatui, but Kaeya had saved him the trouble. What they were up to was beyond despicable, but… not unprecedented. A particular Harbinger came to mind. Evidently, they were looking to force themselves into Mondstadt’s good graces and take control, trusting that the so-called “Darknight Hero” would never reveal himself and risk arrest.
Finding the Fatui was no problem at all. While some of them could be quite skilled in stealth, these ones were not trying to go unnoticed, Diluc assumed, so that people would see them leaving the city at night and their reveal would be all the more convincing. He had no doubt that, whether Jean made them an offer or not, they would still go through with their reveal.
He tracked the Fatui for a few miles past the city gates until he came upon a small camp they’d set up. One of them, armed with a Pyro delusion, donned a black cloak not too different from his own and set off alone, cutting through the woods in the direction of Springvale. Diluc crept silently through the trees, staying out of sight, until he watched the false Darknight Hero slip into the sleeping town, withdrawing a vial from his pocket.
A throwing knife whistled through the air and sank into the side of a house with a soft thunk, pinning the man’s sleeve in place. Before he could tear himself free, Diluc leapt to the ground and was on him, forearm pressed to his windpipe and eyes nearly glowing with Pyro energy just waiting to be released.
“As I thought…” Diluc scoffed, tearing the familiar substance from the Fatui’s pinned hand. “Creating your own problems to solve? Only the Fatui would come up with something so foul. The Knights may not be able to openly oppose you scum, but I have no such reservations.”
The Fatui’s eyes were wide behind his mask, and his face was quickly turning blue, but Diluc didn’t let up. Not yet.
“You tell your comrades that the real Darknight Hero is watching. Next time, I won’t be so merciful.”
He finally let go and pulled his knife from the wall. The Fatui dropped to the ground on their knees, gasping for air and holding their burning throat.
The night breeze is ever so crispy this time of the year. Stars twinkle in clusters far above her head, shining down onto the lands with the moon overseeing the path they draw across the semidark welkin. Unlike them, Jean's opted out of working with a flock, leaving her peers to rest in their homes unaware of her little escape into the city's outskirts.
Her steps barely make a sound, the crushing of grass beneath her feet is but a rustle no louder than the wind urging the leaves to dance in their branches. Springvale seldom bustles with activity during daytime, and, at night, it's no different — for someone who's already on the prowl, any minor disturbance rings with the volume of a sudden war.
Jean's pace quickens at the slightest hint of scuffle, following in its direction with a hand waiting by the hilt of her sword. Energy flows along the sheath in quiet preparation for the wake of any fights, but she stops before the shadows cast by the treetops can fully reveal her presence. Haste is put aside in favor of lurking to witness the final moments of an ambush that's more of a treasure trove to the one who seeks it.
ʻ Darknight Hero—?! ʼ An echo of gears turning inside the Acting Grandmaster's head. The duo is kept at a distance, her cautious steps guide her onward, shortening the gap separating them just enough so they can see who's joined the scene. Her gaze travels from the imposing figure of one to the defeated of another, both clad in similar attire and motifs. In such a short span of time, appointing either as the real vigilante is an act of arrogance Jean can't afford despite how glaring the roles are.
To expect such character to linger before an audience, despite how minor it may be to anyone else's eyes, might as well be the same as to plant cecilia seeds in the Dragonspine's soil: counterproductive, time spent unwisely. For each second Jean lies observant, she takes in as much visual information as humanly possible. Not once does she abandon the weapon waiting by her hip, and neither does she bring offensive determination to her stance.
ʻ Our goals are not dissimilar. ʼ The twinkle of light reflected off the Fatui badge in the corner of her peripheral coaxes her to cut part of the statement. Her gaze is lifted from the political threat whose breath remains short, it meets the mystery shaping the hero's mask as if trying to see past it. ʻ Mondstadt will be vulnerable for as long as we operate on different sides and 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙮 know. Think about it. ʼ On opposite sides, she claims. At the same time, this encounter confirms that the aforementioned sides are connected by a bridge.
The movement of her head is subtle, points in the direction of the dense path back into the woods. Their continued interaction is a call for her duty of attempting his capture, and she’d rather offer room for negotiation before resorting to that extreme. For now, this poor Fatuus will serve as enough liability against the Snezhnayan’s diplomats.
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