Guili Plains stretched wide under the midday sun, a tapestry of ancient scars and forgotten glory.
The land brimmed with ruins, stone pillars and crumbled walls whispering tales of the Archon War.
For treasure thieves, this place was a sacred hunting ground, a check-in spot for their illicit quests.
The Millelith lacked the numbers to patrol every corner of this vast, desolate expanse.
As a result, treasure thieves roamed freely, their greed unchecked by the law's reach.
They plundered relics and ancient tombs, seeking treasures to line their pockets.
Their shovels and picks tore through history, unearthing artifacts of forgotten eras.
Yet their desecration was limited to the tombs of mortals, the resting places of the common folk.
Most treasure thieves were ordinary themselves, lacking the power to challenge greater seals.
A minor enchanted relic could spell their doom, its magic far beyond their grasp.
The tombs sealed by demon gods were untouchable, their barriers a death sentence to the foolish.
Xander shuddered at the thought of what might happen if they crossed that line.
If they dared to disturb the resting place of Morax's old friend, the Dust Goddess, chaos would follow.
The treasure thieves would find themselves facing a wrath beyond mortal ken.
Within a day, they'd be summoned to Sky Island, where Faruzan would judge their souls.
The Sustainer of Heavenly Principles would spin her celestial discs, a grim reaper of their fate.
Such a transgression would not go unpunished, a lesson etched in divine fury.
But the treasure thieves weren't the only ones defiling Guili Plains' sacred grounds.
The Fatui operated here too, their methods far more sophisticated than the thieves' crude digging.
Their agents breached weaker barriers with ease, their technology a match for ancient wards.
They sought more than mere treasure, their ambitions rooted in darker pursuits.
They hunted for artifacts of strange power, tools to fuel their sinister plans.
One such item was the Sigil of Permission, a talisman tied to their upcoming schemes.
Tartaglia, ever the loyal servant, had been cozying up to Morax in Liyue Harbor.
He bought the Geo Archon whatever he desired, hoping to pry secrets from his vast knowledge.
Unbeknownst to Tartaglia, Morax played him like a fiddle, a master of deception.
The Geo Archon knew every move, every plan, and turned the Fatui's game to his advantage.
The combined efforts of treasure thieves and Fatui had unintended consequences.
Their relentless digging unearthed more than gold and relics from the earth.
Relic Guards and Hunters, buried since the Kanria War, stirred from their slumber.
These mechanical sentinels, remnants of a fallen nation, now roamed the plains.
Xander had taken several commissions to clear these threats from Guili Plains.
His blade had felled many a construct, their metal husks littering the landscape.
As a result, every treasure thief in the region knew his face by now.
His distinctive style—clad in sleek gear with a flair for dramatic combat—made him unmistakable.
A group of treasure thieves, hiding in the roadside grass, spotted him approaching.
They had planned an ambush, their knives and shovels ready to rob the lone traveler.
But upon recognizing Xander, they froze, their courage evaporating like morning dew.
Without a word, they turned to flee, scrambling through the underbrush in panic.
Xander's lips curled into a smirk—he had no intention of letting them escape.
"Where do you think you're going, rats?" he called, his voice dripping with menace.
In a series of rapid teleports, he appeared before the fleeing group, blocking their path.
The treasure thieves weren't a monolith; factions divided their ranks.
Some were true thieves, focusing on stealth—robbing ruins and graves without bloodshed.
They slipped through shadows, pilfering relics while avoiding confrontation.
These thieves were mostly harmless, their crimes a nuisance rather than a threat.
But others were far darker, more akin to bandits than mere scavengers.
The group Xander now faced belonged to this latter category, their deeds steeped in violence.
They thrived on road ambushes, preying on travelers with ruthless efficiency.
Kidnapping was their trade, and they didn't shy from harming or killing their victims.
Some whispered of worse atrocities, acts too vile to speak aloud.
Teyvat's reality was no fairy tale, its underbelly as grim as any world's.
These treasure thieves were true villains, their actions beyond redemption.
"Hey, don't push your luck," one of them growled, his voice trembling.
"We saw you and backed off—what more do you want from us?" another pleaded.
"We're all outlaws here—give us some face, won't you?" a third added.
Their bravado was hollow, their legs shaking beneath their defiant words.
They clung to their pride, desperate to salvage some shred of dignity.
Xander's gaze hardened, his eyes cold as the Chasm's depths.
"What face does a pack of gutter rats deserve?" he spat, his tone venomous.
"Wipe your own necks—it's the only way you'll keep a whole corpse," he advised.
He raised his right hand, a phantom blade spinning at his fingertip.
The spectral weapon hummed, its edge a promise of swift retribution.
His words cut deeper than any sword, a mockery that stung their pride.
Few in Teyvat's underworld were as honorable as Captain Beidou.
Most, like these bandits, were vermin, unworthy of mercy or respect.
"Damn it—let's fight him!" one thief roared, his fear turning to rage.
"I'll bite you even if I die, you bastard!" another screamed, brandishing a machete.
"Together—we might have a chance!" a third rallied, shovel in hand.
They charged, their weapons gleaming with desperate intent.
Xander drew his blade in a single, fluid motion, the steel singing as it moved.
The first wave of thieves fell in an instant, their bodies cleaved in two.
Blood sprayed across the grass, a grim testament to his precision.
Two others hesitated, Molotov cocktails trembling in their hands.
Their moment of indecision cost them dearly—Xander struck without mercy.
He unleashed two dimensional slashes, the air warping with their passage.
The attacks sliced through the thieves, their bodies collapsing in a heap.
Xander sheathed his blade, his expression unchanged, as if he'd merely swatted flies.
He stepped over the carnage, returning to the main road without a backward glance.
The sun dipped low, casting long shadows across Guili Plains' haunted expanse.
Night fell as Xander crossed into Dihua Marsh, the air thick with the scent of wetlands.
The Wangshu Inn loomed ahead, perched atop a towering rock pillar.
Its Liyue-style architecture glowed warmly, a beacon in the twilight.
The inn was a landmark, a haven for travelers journeying between Mondstadt and Liyue.
In the game, it was the first taste of Liyue's culture for those coming from the west.
Xander paused, his gaze lingering on the inn's silhouette against the starry sky.
"I wonder if Mandrill is here right now," he murmured, stroking his chin.
The Yaksha, known for his stoic demeanor, held a special place in Xander's plans.
Mandrill's quiet strength and feline grace made him a perfect subject for a spoof.
A second creation featuring the "Meow Meow" Yaksha would surely delight Teyvat's audience.
The Shadowfang Blade pulsed at his side, a silent cheer for the idea.
Dihua Marsh whispered around him, its secrets waiting to be uncovered.
***
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