The Weapon Master Shall Never Die Bare-Handed in Genshin Impact [314]

Note: This chapter provides context crucial to understanding the lore of Teyvat.

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In an era when Mondstadt was still blanketed in eternal snow, the Lonely King of the High Tower ruled over most of old Mondstadt’s people. While he provided shelter for many, there were still those who chose to survive on the icy plains.

Among these pioneers was a man named Falush, who led his people to a new land, seeking refuge from Mondstadt’s endless frost and warfare.

The land they found was lush and fertile, a true paradise nestled within the mountains. There, they established their capital city and named it Sal Vindagnyr.

Their survival and prosperity relied on a single, sacred tree—a source of life and energy.

They called it the Pale Tree, the Wintertree, or the Ley Line Tree.

Falush, under its guidance, became the high priest of the new kingdom. Some time later, his daughter was born beneath the tree’s protective boughs, blessed by its power.

When the priest’s daughter was born, the land of Sal Vindagnyr erupted in celebration. She was as radiant as moonlight.

The historians of Sal Vindagnyr believed the kingdom’s joy and prosperity would endure forever, just as the Pale Tree, rooted deeply in the earth, would never wither.

The princess’s beauty and wisdom shone like moonlight, but over time, foreboding dreams began to plague her.

She dreamed of a pitch-black dragon that blotted out the sun. That same year, a foreigner named Emonlokha arrived at the royal city.

As in all tales of yore, feelings blossomed between the princess and the stranger. She entrusted him with a greatsword forged from starsilver. Standing amid howling winds and snow, she spoke words the foreigner could not fully hear:

“This fourth mural is for you. Your image will forever remain on this wall.”
“For this mural, for everyone… I will stay here, praying for your return…”

But when the Nails of the Frostsky descended, breaking the heavens, snow and ice engulfed the land. The heavenly pillar shattered into three.

The Pale Tree was splintered and frozen. Verdant lands turned into desolate frostfields. The former high priest climbed to the skyward altar, seeking divine guidance, but he neither heard the voice of the heavens nor returned to the kingdom.

Desperate, the princess took the tree’s most intact branch to graft life back into its core. But in the end, the transplanted life failed to take root. The blade-like winds and relentless frost eclipsed the moonlight she embodied.

Far away, the foreigner who had been fated to wield the starsilver blade wandered in search of answers. The moonlit princess’s final thoughts, her last prayers, never reached him.

The scribe of Sal Vindagnyr bore witness to everything.

In the end, he was the last to remain. Yet, even he succumbed to a distorted form, transformed into a monster that wandered the ruined land for centuries.

The murals left in the ruins tell the story:

• The first mural depicts the founding of the kingdom, guided by the heavens.

• The second shows the people of Sal Vindagnyr building their city.

• The third mural… was never completed.

Time made it impossible for the princess to paint the scene she longed for—one of the ice and snow melting away. She waited for the foreigner’s return, hoping to restore what was lost.

But in the end, the frost buried the moonlight.

“Emonlokha, if only I could see you one last time…”

The princess left behind these words for the man she admired:

“If fear and despair overwhelm you, preventing you from returning…”
“…Then live. Do not perish with us. Do not fade into the cold embrace of oblivion.”

When the foreign warrior’s futile journey came to an end, blackened blood dripped from his starsilver blade. His weary footsteps led him back to the snow-covered ruins.

But the royal halls he once sought to protect were empty, save for the cold echoes of death.

The moonlight he cherished was now hidden beneath endless frost.

He realized the truth:

The gods above had strangled their throats, allowing humanity’s prosperity to bloom only under the condition that they remained ignorant. Knowledge, born of prosperity, was never meant to flourish.

The gods of the heavens, in their desire to preserve a false peace, suppressed humanity’s wisdom. They forbade mortals from questioning the eternal, from attempting to breach the celestial garden.

Those who dared to climb to the divine realm… were utterly unforgivable.

The foreign warrior left the starsilver blade—meant to carve through ice and snow—embedded in an unfinished mural.

Then, he descended from the mountains, seeking places filled with conflict, where his blade could spill blood.

“Is there truly nothing left worth protecting here…?”
“You in the heavens… you merely wish to witness slaughter and ruin, don’t you?”
“If that’s the case, then let steel and blood be your entertainment.”

Emonlokha raised his sword, vowing to pass on the truths he had uncovered.

Thus was born the fierce yet short-lived Emonlokha clan.

To them, battle was not for defense, glory, or conquest, but to entertain the gods above who demanded amusement.

Whether they faced monsters or thieves, whether they returned to their loved ones or not, their duty was fulfilled by shedding blood and roaring in the heat of battle.

They were warriors stained black with blood, locked in endless fights without hope for victory or end.

Afterward, none remained to remember Sal Vindagnyr, except the wandering monster and the dying tree in the ruins.

The story of the ancient kingdom ended there.

In the camp, silence reigned.

The tale was heavy with sorrow, offering no joy or redemption. It left an ache that lingered, a deep unease in the hearts of its listeners.

Jia Changjiang understood now: Wuku truly was the last scribe, twisted into his current form to wander through the ages.

And the gods of the heavens…

If the gods once guided humanity, why had they destroyed Sal Vindagnyr in the end?

A torrent of questions surged through Jia Changjiang’s mind, only to remain trapped in his throat.

But one thing was clear to him now.

If he and Lumine continued their journey, one day, they would inevitably encounter the gods above.

The Sustainer of Heavenly Principles that Lumine had faced was no mere Archon. The threads tied to Celestia ran far deeper.

Jia Changjiang recalled the choices the system had presented to him at the start.

"Strong opponents indeed…"

A faint spark ignited in his chest, intertwining with his thoughts.

"So, there are powers even greater than the Seven Archons?"

"Then this isn’t just…"

"…exciting beyond words?"

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T/N: IDK IF THIS IS ACCURATE AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

This is a fan translation of 武器大师在原神绝不死于徒手 by 徐人双 All rights to the original work belong to the creator. Please support them by exploring their original work or sharing it with others if you can. Thank you for reading and supporting my efforts to bring this story to a wider audience!