Wendy stood puzzled, the drunkard's question about a Wind Mystery Treasure ringing in his ears.
Could it be the Skyward Harp, locked deep in the cathedral's sanctum?
No, that didn't fit—the man's ramble veered far from sacred relics.
The tavern buzzed as patrons, flushed with wine, leapt into the fray.
Voices overlapped, some shouting, others blushing with fervent debate.
It felt like a marketplace, chaotic and alive with speculation.
Wendy's head spun, bewildered by their talk of a dual-wielded wind treasure.
A knight born of Barbatos' power, switching forms to soar or strike?
Flight, speed, tornados, sandstorms—versatile enough to crush any foe.
Qiuqiu mobs fell like chaff, while demon-god users met a righteous end.
He stifled a laugh, charmed by Mondstadt's knack for wild tales.
These folks were adorable, swallowing such fanciful rumors whole.
No such treasure existed—he'd know, being the wind god himself.
Shaking his head, he grinned, ready to douse their fevered dreams.
"No Wind Mystery Treasure exists—Barbatos left few relics behind," he declared.
"The Skyward Harp's the big one; that's all you'll find," he added lightly.
Their chatter clarified the source—a novel, Detective Windhaven, sweeping Mondstadt.
Windhaven screamed Mondstadt, its streets and winds a dead giveaway.
Two youths wielded a wind treasure, battling a sinister Museum faction.
The Museum forged props from demon god remains, peddling chaos for profit.
Wendy pieced it together, impressed by the story's clever weave.
Detectives hunted clues, outsmarted foes, and clashed in thrilling duels.
Wind god power trumped demon god relics—a plot to stir Mondstadt's pride.
Resourcefulness, gadgets, battles—it packed a punch no bard could resist.
Even he couldn't dream up such a flashy wind treasure's inspiration.
No surprise it blazed through the city, a hit with the wind-worshipping crowd.
Beating demon god pawns with Barbatos' might? Instant gratification.
The author, the Wind Knight of the Favonius Knights, sealed its fame.
Wendy's curiosity piqued—such a talent thrived in today's order?
Ye Ruo's renown lent weight, turning fiction into half-believed truth.
The Museum's evil props mirrored the Fatui's Delusions, a chilling parallel.
As Barbatos, Wendy knew Delusions well—vile mimics of Visions.
The novel's vivid dread—the demon god's oppressive aura—felt too real.
Ye Ruo had faced Delusions, maybe even their wielders, to write this.
No wonder the wind treasure felt plausible; the villain's tools were grounded in fact.
Drunk on wine and story, the crowd blurred lines between page and reality.
Wendy missed a beat—their faith in him outstripped his denial.
A scholarly man, prim despite the liquor, rose to challenge him.
"You're just a bard—what do you know of Barbatos' power?" he snapped.
"Youngster, you're green—I've studied the wind god's history deeply," he boasted.
Wendy gaped, then laughed, "Hold on, bards know a thing or two."
"I might understand Barbatos better than you think," he teased.
The scholar's face reddened, voice rising, "Who knows him better—you or me?"
"I say that treasure could exist—Barbatos' might is boundless!" he insisted.
He pressed on, "Mondstadt's freedom owes everything to his divine strength."
"Even without that exact treasure, he could've left others behind," he argued.
"As Mondstadt folk, we must trust our wind god—don't you?" he demanded.
The crowd roared, "Right!" their voices a thunderous wave.
Wendy scratched his head, sheepish under their zealous tide.
"Okay, maybe you've got a point—could be true," he conceded.
The scholar softened, smiling, "See? We're all Barbatos' children."
He muttered on, sipping his drink, the debate dissolving into cheers.
Wendy grinned—Mondstadt's spirit never failed to amuse him.
Their fervor might spark a treasure hunt, chasing his fictional legacy.
He'd linger, strumming tales, savoring this lively slice of his city.
Ye Ruo watched from the sidelines, Noelle at his side, a smirk playing on his lips.
Wendy's fluster at his own myth was gold—Barbatos stumped by a book.
His quill had woven a tale so potent it baffled the wind god himself.
The system thrummed, fame swelling with every tavern cheer.
He'd spun Windhaven from air, yet it echoed truths he'd lived.
Delusions, Fatui, battles—his pen bled experience into fiction.
Now, Barbatos faced the fallout, a deity outdone by a knight's words.
Noelle nudged him, "Senior, why's that bard so flustered?"
"He's meeting his own legend, twisted by my hand," Ye Ruo replied.
His third tale loomed, old Mondstadt's winds calling him back.
The Lonely King's ruin, Barbatos' rise—a story to stir the ages.
Mondstadt pulsed around him, its people shaping his myth anew.
He'd fled one fate, now he crafted another, quill against the wind.
***
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