The Lawrence estate's courtyard lay still, the echoes of the Blue-Eyes Ultimate Dragon's triple roar fading into the twilight as Eula Lawrence lowered her Duel Disk, its hum softening to a faint whir. She stood amid the cracked marble, her Cryo Vision glinting at her hip, her breaths steadying as the silver titan dissolved into a shimmer of light, leaving the sky empty once more. The air settled, carrying the faint scent of frost and old stone, but her pulse still raced with the thrill of what she'd unleashed—a fusion so grand it had shaken Mondstadt to its core. "I didn't expect it to be that overwhelming," she murmured, her voice a mix of awe and disbelief as she tucked the Fusion card back into her deck, its edges warm from use.
In her mind's eye, the three-headed beast loomed anew—its scales a fortress of silver, its wings a canopy that blotted out the sun, its roars a symphony of power that dwarfed anything in Yu-Gi-Oh's pages. "The comic didn't do it justice—this felt… real," she thought, a spark of wonder igniting as she imagined pushing further. "If the Ultimate Dragon's this intense, what would the God Cards be like—Obelisk, Slifer, Ra? They'd be mistaken for Archons descending!" Her lips curved into a rare, eager smile—she'd have to revisit Galehaven Comics, scour Yu-Gi-Oh again, chase that slim chance of drawing a divine card to rival her dragons.
Behind her, Schubert Lawrence hauled himself to his feet, brushing dust from his velvet doublet, his cane trembling in his grip as he steadied his shaky legs. The oppressive weight of the dragon's aura had pinned him moments ago, a force so visceral he'd feared it might crush his noble bones—yet now, as it vanished, relief warred with a burning excitement in his chest. He shuffled toward Eula, his mustache quivering with emotion, his voice low but fervent. "Eula, my dear niece—you've borne such burdens, endured the Knights' scorn, and it's all paid off! With this dragon, we'll cast the Favonius rabble from Mondstadt—our glory's dawn is near!"
Eula froze mid-step, her head tilting as she processed his words, her icy blue eyes narrowing in confusion. "What in the world…?" she muttered, turning to face him, her braid swinging like a pendulum. Schubert's sudden warmth—praise from a man who'd spent years sneering at her Knightly path—was as jarring as a hilichurl in a ballroom. Then it clicked: he'd fixated on the Ultimate Dragon, saw it as a weapon, a noble banner to rally behind. "He thinks I'm some mastermind plotting a coup," she realized, a wry smirk tugging at her lips as she caught the glint of pride in his gaze.
"It's not what you think, Uncle," she said, her tone patient but firm as she adjusted the Duel Disk on her arm. "That dragon's a projection—no claws, no fire, just a showpiece from a card game. I got it at Galehaven Comics, not some secret Knight vault." She gestured vaguely toward the city, hoping to douse his fantasy with cold reality—Schubert's delusions were his own, but she'd not let them drag her into a feud she didn't intend to fight.
Schubert's face stiffened, his brows knitting as he waved a dismissive hand, his voice rising with incredulity. "Virtual? Preposterous—utterly impossible! That beast floored me with its mere presence—how could it be a sham?" He'd felt its might, a pressure that had buckled his knees and rattled his soul; no mere illusion could wield such force. Eula's explanation—cards, comics, a shop—sounded like a child's tale, a flimsy lie to mask her true gambit. "She's playing coy, guarding her strategy," he decided, nodding to himself with a sage air, his noble pride weaving a tapestry of conspiracy where none existed.
Eula sighed, her patience thinning as she watched him cling to his fiction—she knew that look, the stubborn gleam of a man who'd rather die than admit error. "Believe what you want—it's not my battle to fight," she said, shaking her head as she turned away, her boots crunching on the gravel path back to the estate's shadowed halls. Explaining further was pointless; Schubert's world was one of titles and triumphs, not card games and comic shops. "He'll tire himself out plotting over nothing," she thought, her mind already drifting back to her deck—maybe she'd test it again later, somewhere quieter.
Schubert watched her go, his chest swelling with approval. "Clever girl—keeping her cover even now," he murmured, convinced her dismissal was a ruse to shield her plans from prying ears. "I'll ready the family for what's coming—our resurgence demands it!" His mind buzzed with schemes—letters to old allies, whispers of a Lawrence renaissance—all fueled by a dragon he'd never truly grasp. With a determined huff, he retrieved his cane and limped off, plotting a future Eula had no part in dreaming.
Meanwhile, in the dim glow of Galehaven Comics, the air thrummed with anticipation as Luke and Daryl set their copies of Cardcaptor Sakura's Magic aside, their Fatui masks glinting under the shop's lantern light. The narrow space buzzed with life—shelves groaning under comics, a tea kettle whistling softly at Harlan Flint's counter, the murmur of new customers from Wendy's buzz mingling with the Lady's rustling pages in her corner. Two radiant beams pierced the ceiling, enveloping the Fatui pair in a cascade of light, and the room stilled as all eyes turned to witness their rewards.
The glow faded, and Daryl blinked down at a sleek, silver sword in his hands, its blade etched with faint runes that shimmered like moonlight on water. Luke, however, stared in mute shock at a crimson skirt draped over his arm, its fabric soft and adorned with delicate lace—a stark contrast to his hulking, armored frame. Harlan leaned forward, his voice cutting through the silence. "That's Li Syaoran's sword from the comic—sharp as sin, though it lacks his talismans, so it's just a blade. And that skirt's a replica of Sakura's outfit, same style, not her actual clothes."
A gasp rippled through the shop, the trio of Mondstadt newcomers—still clutching Digimon, One Piece, and Yu-Gi-Oh—gaping in unison. "No way—rewards are real! This place is unreal!" the tall Digimon fan exclaimed, his skepticism melting into glee as he clutched his book tighter, visions of Agumon dancing in his head. "But… a skirt? For him?" the One Piece reader sputtered, eyeing Luke with a mix of amusement and bewilderment, while the Yu-Gi-Oh fan snickered, "Maybe he's got a hidden side—women's fashion's his true calling!"
Luke's face flushed beneath his mask, his broad shoulders hunching as he clutched the skirt, his voice a strained croak. "Boss, what's this supposed to mean? I'm a soldier, not a seamstress!" He'd braced for a weapon, a tool of war—anything but this delicate red garment that mocked his grizzled exterior. Harlan's gaze flickered with amusement, his lips twitching as he fought a grin. "First time the system's tossed out women's wear, I'll give you that—it's Sakura's style, a cosmetic nod to the heroine."
Luke's despair flipped in an instant, his eyes lighting up as he clutched the skirt closer. "Wait—Sakura's style? You mean the Sakura?" The shift was comical—disdain to delight in a heartbeat—as he ran a gloved hand over the fabric, a goofy grin breaking through his embarrassment. "Not her exact dress, just the design," Harlan clarified, sensing the need to temper Luke's sudden obsession. "Same difference—close enough for me!" Luke chirped, stepping aside to admire his prize, already picturing himself twirling in it like some secret cosplay dream.
Daryl edged away, his sword gleaming as he gripped it tighter, his voice dry. "Keep that over there—I'm not catching whatever fever you've got." He admired his own reward—a blade worthy of a warrior, simple but lethal—while Luke's glee veered into territory he'd rather not explore. Harlan watched the exchange, a silent laugh bubbling up—this was chaos of his own making, and he relished it. "A women's clothing connoisseur in the making—never saw that coming," he thought, filing the moment away as a shopkeeper's odd trophy.
Across the room, the Lady slammed Chuunibyou Demo Koi ga Shitai! shut, her icy composure cracking as a beam of light descended, bathing her in a glow that promised power—or so she'd hoped. The radiance faded, revealing… an eyepatch, black and unassuming, perched in her palm, a golden contact lens nestled beside it. She stared at it, her lips parting in a silent gasp, her mind reeling as Harlan's earlier words echoed: "Believe in the impossible, gain strength beyond mortals—unseal it with a chant!" She'd expected a torrent of might, a force to rival Barbara's ice or Eula's dragons—not this paltry trinket.
"Where's my True Evil King's Eye—the overwhelming power you promised?" she demanded, her voice a low growl as she rose, her crimson cape swirling like a storm cloud around her. Harlan met her glare, unfazed, his tone even. "That's it—the Evil King's Eye, Rikka's model. Say the chant, and it'll dazzle—'Burst, reality! Crush it, spirit! Vanish, this world!'—but it's all show, no substance." The Lady's hand tightened around the eyepatch, her knuckles whitening as disbelief morphed into fury. "This? A glorified light show? I endured that drivel for a prop?!"
She'd sat through the comic's quirky tale—Rikka's delusions, her tender bond with Yuuta—half-expecting a cosmic force to match Fischl's flair. Instead, she held a costume piece, a mockery of her ambitions. "I'm a Harbinger, not a stage magician!" she snapped, tossing the eyepatch onto the table with a clatter, her voice rising as Luke's snickers drifted from his corner. Harlan shrugged, leaning back. "System's call, not mine—Fischl got the same, loved it. Maybe it's not your flavor."
The Lady's glare could've frozen a Pyro Regisvine, her mind a tumult of frustration and wounded pride—she'd report this shop to the Tsaritsa, yes, but now she questioned its worth. "A waste—a stupid, stupid waste," she muttered, sinking back into her chair, her cape pooling around her like spilled blood. Around her, the shop buzzed on—Luke preening, Daryl testing his blade's balance, the newcomers whispering of their own comic dreams—while her grand vision dimmed, eclipsed by a golden lens she'd never wear.
***
Support me on Patreon to read 50+ advanced chapters: patreon.com/Nocturnal_Breeze