Too many coincidences make a conspiracy!
This young Guard wasn't being'stupid' at all.
He did it on purpose!
Deliberately, on the very first day of King's return, amidst the carnival of the Fontaine people and the moment the Liyue envoys stepped into the Opera Epiclese, he threw the dirty water of 'assassinating the Hydro Archon' onto Liyue.
Moreover, he did it in the crudest, most absurd, and most flimsy way possible.
So crude it could be seen through at a glance.
So absurd it was practically a joke.
But unexpectedly, the effect was excellent.
Because the more ridiculous the framing, the faster it spreads.
The more outrageous the rumor, the more people believe it.
Once today's events spread to the streets of Fontaine, to Liyue, and to the various nations of Teyvat—
What would the story become?
"Did you hear? Liyue just allied with Fontaine, and the next moment they sent assassins to kill the Hydro Archon!"
"Ten trillion Mora? That's blood money to buy a life!"
"Fortunately, a heroic Guard saw through it on the spot!"
No one would care about the truth.
They only care if it's exciting enough.
Neuvillette instantly understood the inner workings.
King had killed a batch of aristocratic parasites in Inazuma, and another batch of corrupt officials in Liyue.
Heads rolled, and blood flowed like a river.
Consequently, the nobles of Fontaine were terrified.
After all, news about King traveled faster than the wind.
Before the special edition of The Steambird could even be printed, the bloody purge in Inazuma had already reached the desks of every Fontaine power player through the eyes and ears of merchants, travelers, and Adventurers.
The Kujou Clan, the Mifune Clan, the Hiiragi Clan... those families that had entrenched themselves in Inazuma for a millennium were, overnight, killed, crippled, or had their assets seized.
That man had uprooted the Inazuman aristocratic circle, leaving not even a leaf behind... fear began to spread.
Like rats hearing the footsteps of a cat, or ants sensing the spread of fire.
The nobles of Fontaine could no longer sleep.
They looked at the stacks of ledgers, land deeds, and slave contracts on their desks... cold sweat soaked through their silk nightgowns.
They knew that when it came to the art of blood-sucking, Fontaine's nobility wasn't a bit more noble than their Inazuman counterparts.
Manipulating exchange rates, monopolizing shipping lanes, embezzling disaster relief funds, trafficking people—
Any one of these, if brought to light, would be enough to die eight times over in the tribunal.
Neuvillette knew about these things, and he wanted to deal with them.
But Neuvillette is a Chief Justice; he follows the rules.
For five hundred years, Neuvillette has used the law as his weapon, collecting evidence piece by piece and holding trials one by one, a process as slow as trying to chop down a giant tree with a blade made of feathers.
The nobles had plenty of time to destroy ledgers, bribe witnesses, and push forward scapegoats.
Because no matter how powerful Neuvillette was, he would only act within the limits allowed by the law.
But what about King?
Would he talk to you about the law?
Would he wait to finish collecting evidence before taking action?
The purged nobles of Inazuma and Liyue were proof enough.
The nobles of Fontaine finally realized, belatedly—
The blade was about to fall.
They were panicked, they were afraid.
However, they weren't yet desperate enough to do something reckless.
Having been entrenched in Fontaine for hundreds of years, they were truly wicked, but not necessarily stupid.
They knew very well: taking action against King was just asking for a short life.
That man could punch even a God into flying ash.
Did you want to send assassins, or an army?
Sending anything was just throwing lives away!!
But waiting for death wasn't the style of the nobility either.
So, they thought of destroying ledgers, dealing with servants who knew too much, and smoothing over those untraceable financial flows... however, these things required time.
Unfortunately, King had returned too quickly.
What was to be done?
"We just need to find something for Lord King to do."
In the west of Fontaine, within the Cromwell Manor—the most sprawling and heavily guarded estate—a solemn secret meeting was being held.
The fire in the fireplace burned brightly, but it couldn't dispel the chill filling the room.
Old Cromwell sat in the head seat, his aged fingers gently swirling the red wine in his glass, his voice raspy:
"Otherwise, given Lord King's style in Inazuma, the first thing he'll do upon his return is make an example of us."
"It just so happens that Fontaine and Liyue have only just allied, and their bond isn't firm yet."
"If some misunderstanding is spread at this time, he'll have to spend a few days explaining and soothing things, won't he?"
"As long as Lord King is temporarily too busy to deal with us, it won't take long—just three days..."
He paused, draining the dark red liquid in his glass in one gulp.
"We can finish burning what needs to be burned and burying what needs to be buried."
The seven or eight nobles present looked at each other; some nervously twisted their fingers, others stared down at the carpet patterns, but no one dared to speak up.
After a long while, a younger Viscount forced himself to speak:
"Lord Cromwell, why don't we... why don't we surrender to Lord King?"
"Fontaine's situation is different from Inazuma's, after all; we haven't caused any loss of life."
"As long as we are willing to atone, willing to reform..."
Old Cromwell set his wine glass down heavily with a thud.
"Atone??"
His voice sounded like it was being hauled up from a deep well, heavy and oppressive.
"What do you plan to use to compensate those victims, Zenath?"
"Your castle? Your wealth? Or perhaps..."
He lifted his eyelids, his cloudy blue eyes fixing steadily on the young Viscount's pale face.
"Your title."
Zenath's Adam's apple bobbed.
"Offer up everything in exchange for a lenient sentence."
"And then, wearing coarse burlap, spend the rest of your life counting Mora in some relief house, telling everyone you meet, 'I used to be a Viscount.'"
"Is that the ending you want to see?"
Zenath said nothing.
A piece of wood in the fireplace popped with a sharp crack.
"...One day."
A raspy voice sounded from the corner; it was Baron Marchand, who controlled the shipping in Fontaine's West Port.
His knuckles turned white as he gripped the armrest.
"I don't need three days. Those ledgers, contracts, and those few people who shouldn't exist—it only takes one day to burn them all clean."
"I need two days."
"I have a few 'guest rooms' in the basement of my manor," someone else spoke up, their voice tight. "I need to properly send the 'guests' away and wash the floors clean. It can only be converted into a wine cellar the day after tomorrow."
"I also need two days; I approved the transit records for that batch of Snezhnayan munitions..."
"Enough."
Old Cromwell raised his hand.
Everyone fell silent at once.
He slowly stood up, his back as straight as an oak tree that hadn't bent in five hundred years.
The candlelight made the furrows on his face appear even deeper. Those eyes, which had once pinned down pirates on the battlefield and crushed opponents at the negotiating table, were now as calm as a frozen lake.
"Then it's settled."
He said.
"Burn what needs to be burned, bury what needs to be buried, and deal with everything that needs to be dealt with."
As the nobles filed out of the study, their footsteps were even more hurried than when they arrived.
No one looked back.
No one saw that Old Cromwell was still standing in the same spot, watching them pass through the corridor, down the steps, and disappear outside the manor.
After a long, long time, Old Cromwell gave a wretched smile.
"You are unwilling to offer up everything to atone."
"But I am."
He tremblingly picked up the red wine and poured himself a glass.
Then, with tears streaming down his face, he drained the glass in one gulp.
It was bitter.
How can this wine be so bitter... I spent fifty years climbing to this position and thirty years of scheming and calculation, finally carving the Cromwell name firmly into the lifeblood of Fontaine.
I outlasted superiors until they became subordinates, turned anger into shrewdness, and boiled down my conscience into scars.
I endured so much, was greedy for so much, and harmed so many.
In the end, it can only be traded for a 'decent' conclusion.
How ridiculous.
Old Cromwell stood for a long time.
Until the wood in the fireplace burned to ash, until the sound of the last carriage's hooves was swallowed by the night wind.
Then he turned around and spoke softly to the empty room.
His voice was very light, as if he were trying to convince himself.
"This is the best outcome..."
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