Cox placed a small bundle at Ganyu’s feet and took a step back.

  “You’ve gotten better at talking now,” he muttered, stretching his back. “At first, you were no different than the morning wind—no one could tell what you were thinking.”

  Ganyu said nothing. In his hand, he held a book in an unfamiliar language—its origin unknown. His black, faded eyes did not turn its pages; they merely lingered on its surface, unmoving.

  Cox stared at him for a moment longer before speaking, slowly.

  “There are mountains that way. More beasts than people. But if that’s where you’re headed... maybe that’s where you belong.”

  Though his words stopped, a sense of something unsaid hung in the air. After a long pause, Cox lifted his head and added, almost reluctantly,

  “I don’t understand you—but I do know you’re not meant to stay here.”

  To that, Ganyu gave a slight nod. Not quite agreement—more a quiet response to being understood. Only then did Cox turn and walk away. He descended the hill without a backward glance, his footsteps leaving no sound.

  Ganyu stood alone for a while longer. Alone, amid the quiet field soaked in fog. His cloak was worn, yet untouched by wear; the hem brushed the dirt but bore no dust.

  He picked up the bundle and walked toward the ridge. But there was no hesitation in his steps. It was as if he had always known the road.

  From that day forward, Ganyu was alone again.

  And beneath his silent steps, something began to stir—an old, unfamiliar memory, like dust clinging to his heels.

  ---

  The forest was still—but not with natural peace. It was too quiet, unnaturally neat.

  Ganyu moved slowly, passing beneath low-hanging branches. A crisp leaf brushed his toe. At that moment, he stepped on something brittle beneath the leaves. There was no sound, but the sensation was unmistakably alien. All around, signs of a disturbed ground—fur torn in clumps, soil upturned as if clawed at—hinted at something recent.

  He raised his head—and felt it.

  Behind him, between the trees, the air had thickened. A soft but deep breath melted into the forest’s silence. The underbrush rustled—and from its depths, a beast emerged.

  Larger than a horse, it moved with a protector’s caution rather than a predator’s hunger. Thick shoulders carried a ridge of stony protrusions along its spine. Its dark fur was coarse and matted; its eyes, yellow and cracked like fractured glass. Dried blood was crusted at the corners of its mouth.

  Ganyu stopped. So did the beast. Their eyes locked in quiet tension.

  It did not intend to strike— It was a warning.

  This was its domain. And the stranger who now stood in its heart had already crossed the threshold of battle. Ganyu neither stepped back nor advanced. But even that stillness may have shattered the delicate balance.

  Brass charged. Its speed betrayed its size—low and sudden, a blur of mass and muscle.

  Ganyu twisted instinctively. At that same instant, a strange heat surged from his forearm.

  It wasn’t just surprise.

  It was fear—or something deeper, something buried and primal. A reflex honed not in this life, but long ago.

  With it, strength burst through his arm, and he swung—not with aim, but with momentum—grazing the creature’s flank. No blood sprayed, but the beast stumbled, staggering sideways under the impact.

  There was no time to think. His body had already moved to the next motion.

  He spun, using the ground for leverage, and leapt atop the beast’s back. The moment he landed, something stirred beneath his skin—near his shoulder.

  Something rose, ink-like, from his flesh. A mark—neither wound nor tattoo—surfaced briefly, then faded.

  It had not come from will. It was a response, buried deep within—an ancient answer to danger, awakened.

  With a sweep of his arm, Ganyu reached for the hand axe Cox had given him. He brought it down, clean and precise, beneath the beast’s neck.

  The wound was already deep. The axe was only the final blow.

  The creature convulsed once, then collapsed—its spine twisting, folding in on itself.

  It was not a warrior’s motion. It was the movement of a man using what was in his hand—not a weapon, but a tool.

  And the deciding factor was not the blade, but the power that lit up his skin—those old symbols pulsing from within.

  The forest fell silent.

  Ganyu stood upon the beast a moment longer before stepping to the ground. The heat in his arm faded. The marks on his skin were gone.

  He had never seen such a creature before. Yet the way he moved—the reflex, the rhythm, the outcome—was all too familiar.

  In the scent of fresh blood and fading breath, a vision surfaced.

  A stone floor, searing hot. A beast thrashing beneath ritual. His own hand, carving a mark atop its skin.

  It was brief—but certain.

  He had fought this way before. Long ago. In a time no one remembered. Ganyu Part 2-3 – English Literary Translation (Segment 2) The world of that time was radiant—a time ruled by magic, woven with the presence of gods.

  It was a world of magi, and Ganyu had once stood among the greatest of them. In that age, his name—whether by fate or coincidence—was spoken the same: Ganyu, the Mage of Circuits. Once a legend. Now, forgotten by all.

  He had belonged to a grand magical institute—founded with the noble dream of balancing nature and arcana. But over time, that ideal had twisted.

  The ancient sorcerers sought to sculpt gods. Not just to commune with divine powers, but to shape them with magic— to recreate divinity in form, to claim that power for themselves, to become gods.

  Ganyu had stood at the center of this research. And yet, he had always known one thing:

  “This experiment is doomed to fail.”

  Their work took place atop a great tower—one so tall it scraped the sky. Ancient glyphs hovered in the air above, aglow with power. There, he and his colleagues etched their spellwork across luminous circles and woven runes. But as the days passed, their eyes began to change.

  They no longer sought balance. Their hearts grew ravenous. The experiment, once sacred, had turned grotesque. It was no longer about harmony, but domination. Not just over magic. Over gods themselves.

  Ganyu saw it clearly. This path would collapse—ethically, physically, utterly. But even so, he could not stop it.

  The others were no longer his comrades. They had become zealots—driven by a vision far beyond reason.

  “Ganyu,” said Lowrne, one of the chief researchers, “if we succeed, we will transcend. We will take the place of gods.”

  His eyes burned with madness. Every motion of his hand drew new glyphs in firelight across the ritual circle.

  Ganyu turned his gaze away. Inside him, a siren blared—a deep, silent warning. This wasn’t the end of their experiment. It was only the beginning.

  “You think you can carve gods into being?” His voice was slow, deliberate. But even as he spoke, he knew— No one was listening anymore. His words no longer reached them.

  Lowrne laughed.

  “The gods you speak of—who needs them anymore?”

  And at that moment, the sigils flared. The ritual erupted with violent power.

  Ganyu saw the truth. Their desire to complete a god’s image— was the beginning of civilization’s undoing.

  From their hands, divine fragments surged like storms. And at the end of it all— only a single malformed deity remained. An abomination of their collective ambition.

  And it bound them.

  Not as creators. But as prisoners of their own blasphemy.

  That was when Ganyu realized—

  He had been part of it all. A cog in a machine that should never have been built. And by the time he chose to resist...

  …it was already far too late.

  They had passed the point of no return. Ganyu Part 2-3 – English Literary Translation (Segment 3) Suddenly, the vision faded—and Ganyu was back.

  The beast’s body lay at his feet, twisted and still. His hands trembled, not from fear, but from something older. A pain that wasn’t pain. As if the memory itself still lived within his flesh.

  He stood motionless, catching his breath. The warmth on his arm had vanished. The markings were gone.

  Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

  “The power I remember…”

  He closed his eyes.

  “…is still only a part of what I’ve yet to reclaim.”

  Though he had felled the beast, he wasn’t sure if the strength truly remained within him. Inside, a thirst still lingered. A void not yet filled.

  He turned once more to the quiet forest. His steps were steady, but an uncanny hollowness clung to him.

  He needed time—time to collect himself, to breathe, to center his mind. Slowly, he walked. Behind him, the great beast lay crumpled on the blood-darkened earth, its neck torn wide and stiff. The blood had soaked into the cold soil, rising in thin steam.

  Then—voices.

  Faint, from a distance. Ganyu followed the sound, emerging from the brush to the edge of a dirt path.

  There stood three wagons, burdened with goods. Two mercenaries on horseback had already raised their weapons.

  It was the horses that had noticed him first.

  “Stop! Someone’s there!”

  Ganyu froze.

  His cloak was dusted with soil. At his waist, the axe still hung, wrapped in cloth, its edge stained with dried blood. A small trophy—Brass’s fang—was tied beneath it, swinging slightly.

  Beneath the bushes, a trail of crimson still marked where the beast had bled.

  One merchant raised a hand, calming the guards.

  He remained atop his horse and called out, “Travelers are rare on this road. Where are you coming from?”

  Ganyu answered without turning.

  “Just passing through.”

  His voice was low and clear—strange in accent, but unwavering. The merchant scanned him, head to toe. No baggage. No horse. No companion. But something in Ganyu’s eyes made him pause.

  “That… is that a Brass fang?”

  One of the mercenaries spoke in a hushed tone.

  “It is. Just one of those beasts could fill half a wagon. And he walks like it’s nothing?”

  “His clothes aren’t even torn. Doesn’t look injured either…”

  Before the muttering finished, one merchant whispered cautiously,

  “…He’s dangerous.”

  Still gripping the reins, he called again.

  “I don’t know who you are, but there was blood in the air nearby. We should be careful.”

  The lead guard nodded and leaned forward in his saddle.

  “You said you're a passerby?”

  Ganyu gave a silent nod.

  “…I only followed the path.”

  The accent was strange, the phrasing clipped and simple, but unmistakably human.

  The mercenary narrowed his eyes.

  “…Did you take down that beast alone?”

  Ganyu didn’t respond. Instead, he glanced down at the axe on his belt. Then back to the caravan.

  That silence… spoke louder than words.

  The caravan leader sighed and gestured behind him.

  “No foul air about you. We could use someone like you on this road.”

  He nodded toward the rear of the wagons.

  “We’re headed south. Rough trail, but the city at the end is lively enough. If you’re going that way, walk with us.”

  Ganyu nodded. He moved quietly to the edge of the trail. The wagons followed behind.

  The road twisted and narrowed. Wagon wheels pressed deep into the mud. Though the sun rarely pierced the leaves above, the caravan never slowed.

  The lead merchant turned and asked, “You said you came from where, again?”

  Ganyu didn’t hesitate.

  “The western outskirts. A village called Leorant.”

  A name small enough to vanish on most maps.

  It was the first place he’d settled after awakening.

  The merchant nodded, lips curving faintly.

  “Odd. You don’t speak like a Leorant native.”

  Ganyu glanced toward him, but said nothing.

  The merchant didn’t press. Instead, he spoke evenly.

  “Well, no one really has a true hometown anymore. Frontlines are deadlocked. New rules every day near the borders.”

  He tugged his reins and added, “Sometimes it’s bandits who cross first. Not soldiers. The southern corridor’s dry on supplies. Even the merchants can’t form alliances anymore. The Empire won’t risk a direct confrontation, so all the pressure pushes this way.”

  Silence followed.

  Then, Ganyu spoke.

  “In the city… I need information.”

  The merchant didn’t answer at once. He glanced back, then nodded slowly.

  “I won’t ask what kind. Information can be more dangerous than goods.”

  Ganyu dipped his head slightly.

  “Is there someone who deals in it—within the city?”

  “There is,” the merchant replied.

  “Piorne Brewery. Looks like a tavern, but that’s not what they’re pouring downstairs.”

  He paused, then lowered his voice.

  “Below ground—it’s not ale they deal in. It’s whispers. If you’ve coin… or if your voice earns trust, there’s little they won’t know.”

  Ganyu listened quietly. Not a flicker of emotion passed over him. But not a word slipped past him either.

  “They prefer the silent kind. Not the loud ones. Quiet mouths make for trusted hands in that world.”

  The merchant glanced at him again.

  “Thought about settling in?”

  He adjusted the reins and added,

  “We’re headed to the southern border. Dangerous ground. If you find nothing in the city, you could work—scout, escort. We could use a blade like yours.”

  Ganyu’s answer was brief.

  “I’ll decide once I arrive.”

  It wasn’t a refusal. Nor was it acceptance. The merchant nodded.

  “Expected as much. Your kind always answers that way.”

  Karben came into view just as the sun dipped behind the hills. Jagged rooftops and crooked walls jutted from beyond the ridge, painted in the amber glow of dusk.

  The gates were quieter than expected. A few guards watched the road, but the caravan’s papers smoothed their path. People waited in line, wordlessly. Ganyu moved among them without sound.

  “We’re parting ways here,” the merchant said from atop his horse.

  “You’ll want to head east—toward the old warehouse district. There’s a faded sign that reads Piorne Brewery. Don’t expect it to be open during the day. They only open at night. And don’t say much when you get there. They prefer listeners to talkers.”

  Ganyu nodded.

  No goodbyes. But both knew this might be the last time they saw each other.

  The wagons veered off toward another route. Ganyu walked alone into the city.

  The last traces of market lingered at the edges of the streets. Windows flickered with the first signs of evening.

  He was too worn to go straight to the contact. Instead, he entered a small inn tucked at the end of a quiet alley, beneath a crooked sign.

  He took the key without speaking. Climbed the narrow stairs. Found a small room—bed, desk, one window.

  He removed his cloak and lowered his pack. Then, he opened the bundle Cox had given him.

  Inside—a faded pouch. He unfolded it with care.

  A few silver coins spilled onto the floor.

  He arranged them in a neat line. Then folded the pouch again, placing it gently on the desk.

  His gaze lingered on it for a moment.

  “Enough to last a few days. No more.”

  It wasn’t just information that he needed.

  It was survival.

  To stay on the road, he needed money. Food. Shelter. Even a coin to keep certain mouths closed.

  “From now on… even movement must be measured.” Ganyu Part 2-3 – English Literary Translation (Segment 4) Light filtered through the window. Ganyu rose quietly.

  Nothing inside the room had changed—same bed, same wooden desk, same faint scent of dust. But the air beyond the glass was different now. The city had awakened.

  As he stepped into the street, the weight of it pressed in—the pulse of people moving, the murmur of a thousand purposes interwoven.

  From one side of the market, a peddler shouted, waving dented trinkets of brass and copper. Across from him, young men in uniform stood atop crates, shouting into the crowd.

  “Protect the freedom of the Republic!” “Remember the promises of Councilman Cuero! He is the only one who can purge the corruption of the Empire’s remnants!”

  Posters had been plastered across the walls—some new, some layered over the old. The name "Cuero" appeared again and again. Their voices were laced with fury. Their coats were worn thin from long service. And beneath their cries, a deeper fatigue—a quiet doubt—simmered like ash under flame.

  Ganyu walked past without slowing.

  At a small corner stall, two elders sat exchanging quiet words.

  “More empty speeches,” one muttered. “They take the votes, but the war stays the same.”

  “The war’s an opportunity to them. Why would they ever end it?”

  The name Cuero. The word election.

  Ganyu let it all pass through him like wind.

  And yet, somewhere in the back of his mind, a word rose again:

  Information.

  He turned his thoughts toward the warehouse alleys in the east. The merchant’s words echoed from the day before.

  He would wait. Until evening. Ganyu Part 2-3 – English Literary Translation (Segment 5 - Final) Evening fell.

  Ganyu walked quietly along the eastern edge of the city, where old warehouses stood in crooked rows. Piorne Brewery—the place the merchant had mentioned—was hard to notice.

  Its sign, half-broken, hung loosely within a wooden frame. Dust clung thickly to the windows, concealing the inside. The door was closed, but a faint glow flickered behind the glass—just as he’d been told it would at night.

  When he pushed the door, it creaked on old iron hinges. Inside, the scent of aged wood filled the air. Barrels lined the walls, stacked high—but the place was empty.

  “What are you looking for?”

  The man behind the counter didn’t look like a brewer. He resembled a scribe, ink-stained and hollow-eyed. His voice was soft and flat, lacking any warmth.

  Ganyu paused, then replied,

  “I heard there’s more liquor downstairs.”

  The man tapped the counter lightly. A small silence passed.

  “…Only those with heavy tongues go below.”

  “I speak little enough to qualify.”

  That answer drew the faintest curve from the man’s lips. Not a smile—but close. He rang a small bell.

  A second man, who had been leaning against the wall, looked up. Without a word, he nodded at Ganyu.

  He moved to one side and pushed at the wall. Behind the stacked barrels, a section of gray stone slid open to reveal a narrow stairwell.

  “Keep quiet,” the man said simply.

  Ganyu descended.

  Dim lamps lined the walls. At the bottom of the stairs stood a single door.

  Beyond it, the space was larger than expected—stone walls enclosing a round table strewn with papers and maps. In the back, a strange iron stove gave off faint warmth.

  “You’re the first I’ve seen come down dressed like that.”

  A voice—low and blunt—cut through the space. The man behind the table didn’t look up at first, busy sorting documents. But when he did, his eyes were sharp. His face was pale, his fingers stained with ink.

  Three others stood at the back wall—unarmed, but their eyes alone were enough to unsettle. They said nothing. They only watched.

  Ganyu didn’t speak. He looked around the room. The bulletin board on the wall was covered in old newspapers. A fresh one lay tossed on a nearby chair.

  The headline was bold.

  “Border Skirmish—Politically Orchestrated? Opposition Cuero Faction Raises Accusations”

  Ganyu glanced at it for a moment. Then raised his gaze.

  “I need information.”

  The man behind the table arched a brow and gave a half-laugh through his nose.

  “Don’t they all. But you... you’ve got the look of someone who needs something expensive. What is it? Life-and-death stuff?”

  Ganyu didn’t answer. Instead, he glanced down at his waist. Brass’s fang—still tied to his axe—swung slightly as he moved.

  The man followed his eyes and grinned.

  “…You got that yourself? Alone? That’s a joke, right?”

  Still, Ganyu said nothing.

  But silence, in that room, was its own kind of truth.

  “I’ve heard rumors. Some merchant’s been telling tales—someone who took down a Brass on their own. So that was you, huh.”

  He stood, pushing his chair back, and opened a drawer behind him. From it, he pulled out a small, worn notebook.

  “Alright. I won’t dress this up. You want something? I need to know what kind—only then can I name the price.”

  Ganyu didn’t speak right away. He pulled out an old newspaper and set it on the table. His eyes settled on a small, easily missed line tucked near the edge.

  “Eastern Border Region – Controversy Surrounding Missing Archives...”

  He didn’t point to it. But when he spoke, his voice was slow.

  “Forgotten records. Old ones. Names erased from maps. Who buried them. Why they were wiped.”

  The man raised a brow.

  “…That’s a journey. But alright. I’ve dealt in worse.”

  He tossed the notebook on the table and gave Ganyu another measured look.

  “But it won’t be cheap.”

  He placed both hands on the table and leaned forward.

  “Normally, I’d ask for coin. But down here… sometimes something else is worth more. One guy brought a person. Another, rare documents. You… well, you can pay in a different way.”

  He gave a short, sharp laugh.

  “I’ve got a job.”

  He tossed a sealed envelope across the table. One of the silent men stepped forward and placed it before Ganyu, then stepped back.

  “There’s someone on the southern edge—someone in hiding. We believe he’s sitting on level-one classified info. We don’t know the content. But if he talks, it’ll cause problems.”

  The man’s tone sharpened.

  “Eliminate him. That’s all. No words. No trace.”

  He paused, then added,

  “Most jobs like this come with a purse. But you’re not here for money. If you want information… this will be your price.”

  He leaned in slightly, eyes unwavering.

  “If you don’t trust us—don’t start. We’re good at making things disappear. But we don’t work with people who hesitate. Start to finish—you need to be sure.”

  The three guards still hadn’t moved. But the room had grown heavier. Denser.

  “When you’re done, don’t come back. We’ll come to you. If you hear the words ‘Black Flag’, that’s the signal. The place will vary.”

  He held Ganyu’s gaze.

  “I doubt this will trouble you. But if you need to think… now’s your last chance.”

  Ganyu took the envelope. Turned away slowly.

  He didn’t look back. Didn’t speak.

  “Do I have to kill?”

  It wasn’t a question. It was a sentence someone had left behind in his mind—like a knife pressed into the table.

  He repeated it to himself.

  Killing wasn’t unfamiliar. From the moment he’d stepped into this world, it had always been the swiftest, quietest solution.

  But this time was different.

  There was no enemy. No war. No hatred. No purpose.

  Only silence.

  A task to erase someone’s existence. Without knowing who they were. Why they were alive. Who watched them. Just… to make them disappear.

  And perhaps the most unfamiliar thing— was how little that troubled him.

  Ganyu closed his eyes.

  Do I have to kill?

  The question returned.

  But he gave no answer.

  He didn’t need to.

  He was already packing.