Liyue's karma is not confined to a few Yaksha alone.
It has soaked deep into Liyue's soil—Bosacius realized the fact when he reached this place.
His mind was already chaotic, thinking only to get as far from Liyue as possible, wandering aimlessly… yet so-called aimlessness was itself guided by hidden intent.
Bosacius had to admit: the baleful force in him had followed an instinctive summons and led him here—
The Chasm.
The Chasm overflowing with karmic miasma.
If this were Inazuma, such taint would be called "filth." Filth is resentment of the dead lingering, burrowing into national land, rooting deeper than the Ley Lines, staining them, turning into never-ending disaster.
Existing in an individual, it is karma; residing in a country, it is filth.
Liyue, ravaged by the Archon War and the Immortal-God War, had accumulated filth far beyond Inazuma's.
When body and soul were wholly polluted, Bosacius—now a vessel of filth—could feel the millennia-old pain and malice knotted in Liyue's earth.
Bones decayed, flesh eroded, yet grievances rooted deeper than Ley Lines, weeping for help—but layers of rock and mountains muffled the cries.
The war-dead could not pass on; souls were bound by Ley Lines with nowhere to go and forever lurked beneath Liyue.
Endless screams and shrieks welled from the depths; dense resentments had gained substance, building strength.
Bosacius understood what that signified:
Plague.
Perhaps an epidemic engulfing all Liyue—perhaps an even more terrible calamity.
Liyue was slowly dying.
He stared blankly at the scene ahead:
Thick smoke and roaming wild-fire spewed from the abyss, staining half the sky; like countless crows swirling at the world's edge, their black feathers blotted the leaden firmament, leaving no light.
The Chasm—said to link to Liyue's deepest place. No one knew to where; but Bosacius understood now: the abyss beneath joined directly to Liyue's Ley Line!
Filth was sealed below the Chasm, balanced with the outside. Yet the Chasm was also Liyue's greatest mine: constant over-mining finally struck that balance. Filth erupted upward from Ley Line depths.
Today the balance broke.
Azhdaha—Bosacius first thought of him. That prime Geo dragon, earliest follower of Morax, progenitor of all terrestrial Geo—surely already eroded by karma, stepping into madness before Bosacius, and Rex Lapis was busy quelling Azhdaha's calamity.
But Bosacius himself… could endure no more.
Huff—huff…
His pupils quivered; he felt his soul tearing apart, heart pounding madly. Gritting his teeth he fought the invasion, but could no longer hold—whispers chanting his name, calling him again and again. Lost, he collapsed; the world blurred with after-images; smoke filled the sky.
He closed his eyes—consciousness faded.
Boyang was an ordinary Millelith soldier, stationed in the Chasm.
Young, proud to wear the Millelith armor.
As a child, when asked his dream, he answered: become a soldier—he thought soldiers looked so heroic.
"I'll be a great general!" little Boyang used to say.
He grew up on tales of generals; his favorite were the Yaksha legends. Marshal Vritras was his idol; he'd picture himself charging into battle beside the Marshal.
Hearing that Marshal Vritras had commanded the Millelith, he vowed to join.
Funny enough, by the time he enlisted, Bosacius had long retired.
This fisherman's son, now merely a guard who'd never met the Marshal, naively dreamed of fighting under him.
Naïveté always asks a price.
When the miasma surged from the abyss, monsters of filth were born. First to be devoured—besides the miners—were the soldiers. It happened too quickly: Boyang watched abyss creatures swallow his comrades. Blood, severed limbs splattered the air.
Dead comrades' souls turned to new filth; endless foulness advanced.
He panicked; he wanted to flee; legs shook—and he ran. Flesh-ripping sounds echoed behind. Trembling eyes, he burst from the tunnel… still he would run—but abruptly halted.
Pupils shrank, chest heaving, shoulders trembling.
He had seen something.
There lay a wounded old man, feeble commoner, huge bloody cavity in the shoulder, clothes ragged, soaked crimson, slumped against rock, breath faint, lips purple-white.
Left alone he'd be eaten in moments.
Boyang was terrified; he wanted to leave—but stopped.
He bowed his head, gazed at the Millelith armor. In that moment, dying commoner behind, iron stench in his nose, sky corroded by filth—he realized: he was the only soldier who'd escaped, or rather, the only one who had chosen to run.
His comrades still fought within; Millelith had not left because miners remained trapped.
Boyang turned back; looked at the frail old man—his heart pounded.
Civilians behind him, he was a soldier.
Monsters of karma charged out, red fur like flames, snarling, foul breath steaming through fangs, greedy eyes fixed on the old man.
Bastards! Bastards!!
Boyang drew the Millelith blade; its edge flashed cold. Trembling, terrified—yet he stood, sword toward the horrors he feared.
When Bosacius opened his eyes, his cheek felt damp. He wiped it: near-congealed blood. His mind was haze.
"…You're awake."
The speaker—a young soldier.
His armor almost ruined, sword near broken, covered in foul blood. Head down; around him lay several canine monsters' corpses. He swayed, nearly falling, barely propped by his sword.
Encircling them were rings of beasts, eyes icy.
"…Your name?" the soldier muttered. "Mine… is Boyang."
Name… name.
Bosacius whispered the word—yet could not answer. He had forgotten his own name—forgotten much: whence he came, where bound. Karma was devouring him.
He forgot being an Immortal, forgot being Cloud-Retainer's pupil, forgot he was Yaksha, forgot Ganyu.
He was forgetting the world—Bosacius had become karma.
"If you can move… run," Boyang said hoarsely. "I'll hold them."
The youth told him to flee—though tiny and afraid, proven by trembling eyes and tears.
"My name is Boyang," he choked. "If… if you can remember it… I'll be happy."
My name is Boyang.
"I didn't run."
His consciousness fading, voice a murmur, eyes bright with sad resolve. "Tell me… am I a worthy Millelith?"
He could not flee—because Millelith never flees, with civilians behind.
But words failed; monsters surged like tide, scarlet pupils everywhere. Filth would drown them.
Boyang wiped tears, bit hard, gaze steeled; he raised his blade and roared:
—"While the Millelith stands guard…"
While the Millelith stands guard.
That was the first half of the pledge:
Firm as a millefold lith,
Shall never be moved,
Shall never change,
Shall never flee.
Every recruit swore it—Liyue is the land of contracts; this is Millelith's own contract.
The young soldier stepped into death—but no longer wavered; only courage remained.
While the Millelith stands guard—
"Evil shall never prevail."
Then he froze—eyes widened. The monsters were being torn apart, bursting into bloody mist, which dispersed with the carcasses. In that sea of blood stood an old man.
—"Evil shall never prevail."
Boyang felt a sudden illusion: even if the sky collapsed, this man would not fall.
The man lifted his gaze; that gaze reflected the upside-down world. He straightened; karma billowed behind like mountains, forming his armor.
"While the Millelith stands guard, evil shall never prevail."
That was Bosacius' first vow of this life.
He had forgotten much, but remembered the oath. All identities—Immortal, Yaksha—lost; stripping them away, he found his essence.
And finding it, he remembered his name:
He was a soldier—a Liyue soldier—the very first Millelith.
[Remaining life: One day]
Bosacius raised his head. Before him—endless filth; the Chasm shattered in chaos. He stood upon the final battlefield; iron steeds and icy rivers filled his dream.
How lucky—in the fading end, to die on the field.
So this was the last Nuo Fu.
Not the Yaksha—but… all of Liyue!
Bosacius laughed freely, a laugh piercing the firmament, echoing long.
Two giant arms burst from his back; lightning ripped the sky, lighting his four-armed stature in stark relief.
That was—
Boyang could not mistake it; he'd read it in countless chronicles—his long-cherished dream.
That man's name, that man's name is—
"I shall make of this body an array; in exorcism expunge demons,"
Bosacius intoned, striding forward, eyes blazing.
In vast rain, amid choking smoke, his lone, clear voice rang:
"Of the Yaksha tribe—Marshal Vritras—enters the array."
The Chasm, deepest point.
No one had ever reached such depth; space twisted in overlapping loops—they had circled back again.
"Fantastic Compass," Xiao suddenly said.
Seino Yaku behind him blinked. "What's that?"
"An adeptal treasure," Xiao answered. "Legend says When mortal and adeptal powers combine, one can move the heavens and shake the earth.
"I can sense the Fantastic Compass… this space has been distorted by it."
Yet two millennia ago, when Yaksha and Ganyu left the Chasm, no Compass aura had shown. Only one possibility: someone, after Bosacius' death, after they departed, secretly activated it. More strangeness.
"Fantastic Compass—besides warping space," Seino Yaku halted, staring ahead, "what else can it do?"
"Time…" Xiao reflexively said. "It can project past events… on—"
He fell silent; golden pupils contracted, trembling.
Xiao could hear his own heartbeat—because before them appeared a man's back: four arms, single coat, single blade, drenched in blood, dragging his swords, head bowed, walking deeper into the abyss.
Though million bar the way, I go forth.