At Wangshu Inn in Liyue, Li Mo had been telling the story of the eleventh life for a long time. His throat was dry, so he picked up his teacup and took a sip.
Below, when the audience learned that Rostam had been poisoned by Durin's venom and died, they could not help but sigh. They had already defeated the monsters. They had already planned for the future. They already had someone they loved. Why did death have to come so suddenly? That damned storyteller—always causing heartbreak.
At this moment, though the audience did not yet know what had happened to La Signora, seeing Rostam's death, they could guess. She must still be unaware of his death, still clutching the water clock, waiting desperately for her knight to come for her.
Among the listeners, some sympathized with La Signora and Rostam, while others criticized Barbatos, blaming him for Rostam's death—for not appearing in time to protect Mondstadt's people.
But in truth, the moment Barbatos learned of Durin's appearance, he had wasted no time. He had immediately ordered Dvalin to return to Mondstadt. He had done everything he could. Unfortunately, he had still been too late. By the time he arrived at the foot of the snowy mountain, Rostam had already fallen.
"Storyteller, are you deliberately trying to break our hearts? How cruel!"
"Even though Rostam is dead, the story of his reincarnation should continue—but we still don't know Rosalyne's ending. We want to know how she became the Crimson Witch of Flames."
"I'm guessing her Pyro power erupted when she heard of Rostam's death."
"Storyteller, tell us what happened to La Signora."
Below, some Liyue listeners had already shed tears at Rostam's death. Others urged Li Mo to continue with Rosalyne's story.
Meanwhile, in another corner of the inn, Barbatos, the three Electro Archons, Zhongli, Tartaglia, and Yae Miko were all listening intently. When they saw Rostam close his eyes in death, they fell silent.
Barbatos sighed. "No wonder I always felt a familiar presence around Rostam—something that drew me to him. I never imagined he was also a reincarnation."
To be honest, at the start of this life, Barbatos had already been resigned. He had been only minutes too late. If he had arrived at the snowy mountain just a little earlier, he might have saved Rostam, and Rosalyne's tragedy might never have happened.
Ei spoke slowly. "There's nothing to be done. This time, you weren't slacking off. You did your best."
Makoto added, "That's right. It's in the past. Don't blame yourself."
Barbatos sighed again. "If only I had kicked Dvalin a little harder—made him fly a little faster—maybe I would have made it in time."
Ei: "That makes sense."
Tartaglia: "So it's Dvalin's fault, then?"
Just then, a dragon's roar from outside the inn shook the entire building. It was Dvalin, perched on the cliff:
"Barbatos—it was you who slacked off, drinking and wasting time—don't pin this on me!"
Even now, Dvalin hadn't forgotten that Barbatos had been drinking while hunting monsters.
Barbatos looked wronged. "Eh, how cruel—I only had a little. It didn't get in the way of anything. Besides, those apple ciders aren't strong enough to get you drunk."
As he spoke, he glanced toward another corner, where La Signora was sitting. Sure enough, she was staring at him with eyes full of resentment.
Ei: "Stop dwelling on the past. How about a drink to relax?"
Barbatos: "Eh, how did you know I was thinking about drinking? Miss Ei, care to join me?"
Ei: "…"
...
Meanwhile, in another corner, when La Signora saw that Rostam had chosen to sacrifice himself, luring the dragon away from Mondstadt and dying to save the city, her resentment remained undiminished.
Barbatos—incompetent Barbatos. He couldn't even protect his own people. He was unworthy of being called a god. Unworthy of the people's faith.
Though she knew that Barbatos had secretly held back most of the monsters and protected Mondstadt from their invasion, and that he had rushed back as fast as he could, five hundred years of hatred could not be erased so easily. She still could not forgive him.
Every time she thought of the name Barbatos, her small fists would clench.
Just as her heart was filled with hatred, a warm hand took her cold, helpless one, offering a sliver of comfort. She turned and saw Shenhe, her eyes full of pity, holding her hand like an older sister.
Shenhe spoke softly, "It's all in the past. Once all the reincarnations are told, your knight will appear before you again. You wouldn't want him to see you like this, would you?"
Feeling the warmth of Shenhe's hand, La Signora's first instinct was to pull away. She was a Harbinger who had lived for five hundred years—she didn't need comfort from some young adeptus disciple. But hearing Shenhe's words, she did not pull away. She sensed sincerity in them.
Gently wiping the tears from her eyes, she said seriously, "Unless Rostam himself forgives him, I will never forgive Barbatos."
Shenhe glanced at Li Mo on stage, then back at La Signora, and sighed. "Don't worry. That day will come soon."
...
Now, on stage, though Rostam had died in his eleventh life, the story of that life was not yet over. In the Sumeru Akademiya, Rosalyne still did not know of Rostam's death. She had not yet become the fearsome Crimson Witch of Flames. She still clutched the water clock, waiting desperately for her knight to come for her.