At Wangshu Inn, when Li Mo spoke the name Barbatos and the projections above showed a small, weak wisp of wind, the audience was baffled.
Barbatos—
If memory served, that was the name of Mondstadt's Anemo Archon, wasn't it?
What was the storyteller implying?
Was he saying that this newly born wisp of wind—the weakest, most common kind of weak god—was the legendary one of the Seven Archons, Barbatos?
What kind of Liyue joke was this?
While the Lord of the Tower and the Wolf of the North were vying for the position of Anemo Archon, he was saying Barbatos was only just born?
How was that possible?
To the audience, this story was simply too far-fetched.
The people of Liyue were unwilling to believe it.
A newly born wisp of wind, barely strong enough to stir up dust, without even a physical form—
How could it possibly defeat two powerful gods like Andrius, the Wolf of the North, and Decarabian, the God of Storms?
How could it possibly defeat all the gods of Mondstadt and become the Anemo Archon?
"Storyteller, can't you keep it real? Like the story of Qiqi yesterday—tell us real history—"
"We're from Liyue, but we're not fools."
"Just because we haven't heard many legends about Mondstadt doesn't mean you can make things up."
"Even if the Anemo Archon was weak back then, there's no way he was barely strong enough to stir up dust. I could do better with a single breath."
"Could this Barbatos be a different Barbatos?"
"Is it possible the storyteller is saying 'Barbatos' but meaning something else? Like Barbatos, Barbatos, Barbatos—it just sounds similar. It's not actually the Anemo Archon, right?"
(T/N: Barbatos is written differently but with similar sounds in chinese, but I can't do that in english, so you all get Barbatos 3 times.)
The audience buzzed with discussion.
In their eyes, even if Mondstadt lacked Liyue's resources and prosperity, Barbatos was still one of the Seven Archons.
No matter how weak, he could not possibly be as feeble as the wind spirit in the story, barely able to stir dust.
The gap between this and their imagined Archon was simply too vast.
Facing the audience's doubts, Li Mo sat calmly on stage and let out a deep sigh.
To be honest, not only the listeners from Liyue Harbor but even he himself in that lifetime had never imagined that after his death, that fragile wind spirit—who loved listening to him recite poetry and play the harp—would defeat all the gods and become the Anemo Archon.
It was nothing short of a miracle.
Just as the audience was getting restless, Keqing, seated in the corner, immediately grasped her sword and stood up with a sharp scrape.
She gave a cold laugh.
"The storyteller can tell whatever story he wants."
"If any of you have a problem with it, you're welcome to challenge me."
"If not, then shut up."
Though her sword remained sheathed, everyone could feel the chill radiating from her.
The nearby listeners immediately fell silent.
Seeing this, the Raiden Shogun maintained her cold expression. "Morax, I didn't expect you to have such excellent subordinates."
Zhongli continued playing with his bird, speaking calmly. "What can I say? My subordinates work too hard."
The Raiden Shogun said coldly, "And that's your excuse for lazing around?"
Zhongli continued playing with his bird, as if silently confirming her words, ignoring her completely.
Yae Miko: "…"
Seeing this, she found herself wanting to laugh.
But as the chief editor of Yae Publishing House, she forced herself to hold it in before two ruling archons.
She wondered—if Barbatos also came and the three archons gathered, would that be even more interesting?
Such a plot would make for a wonderful light novel.
...
Meanwhile, after Keqing's sharp presence had silenced all the dissenters, she gave another cold snort and sat back down.
On stage, Li Mo took a sip of tea and returned to his storytelling, continuing the tale of his third life.
As he spoke, the projections above the inn, driven by Li Mo's power, continued to play like a film.
2,700 years ago, in this chaotic era, Decarabian, the Lord of the Tower, was the sole ruler beneath the high tower.
But even under his shadow, there were many weak gods who, like humans, were oppressed by the Lord of the Tower and forced to submit.
So when young Venti discovered that this was just an ordinary wind spirit—so weak it could barely stir dust—he was not afraid. Instead, he was curious.
Both used the power of wind.
Why was Decarabian, the Lord of the Tower, so powerful that a single breath could summon storms to imprison his people, while this wind spirit before him was so weak?
"Barbatos—"
"Well? Are you satisfied with this name?"
After speaking, young Venti looked ahead expectantly.
He was not a god and could not see the formless wind spirit.
He could only gauge its presence by the trail of dust it stirred in the air.
Though he appeared confident, young Venti was actually quite nervous.
Within the tower, he had not read many books, nor had he studied singing. The few words he knew had been taught to him by an old poet who had since passed away.
This was his first time giving someone a name, and to a god, at that. What if the wind spirit was dissatisfied? Would it retaliate?
After all, no matter how weak, it was still a god.
But the next moment, hearing the name Barbatos, the wind spirit was overjoyed.
"Barbatos—"
"Barbatos—it's beautiful! So powerful!"
"I have a name now! My name is Barbatos!"
The gentle wisp of wind joyfully swirled around young Venti.
It was so happy.
When it passed over the boy's shoulders, it would rattle his small braids back and forth and stir his green cape.
"By the way, Venti—"
"Can you tell me what 'Barbatos' means in the language of the city?"
Barbatos had learned to speak. In the time before it could speak, it had already come to understand most human words.
But this was the first time it had heard the word "Barbatos" from the lips of the tower's inhabitants.
Young Venti smiled, a look of longing in his eyes.
"'Barbatos'—it's not a word from the tower's language. I made it up myself."
"In my vocabulary, it means freedom."
Facing the towering walls and the raging storms, young Venti wished more than anything that his gaze could pierce through the clouds, through the storms, to see the world beyond.