Undercover in Snezhnaya, My Teyvat Spy Life [66]

(Content warning: the chapter ends with material that may be distressing to some readers.)

With Artem and Eula working in concert, Boreas was grievously wounded by the [Glacial Seal].

Now he lay on the ground, barely breathing, his form growing more and more insubstantial. After being seared by black fire laced with a god’s power and struck by the [Glacial Seal], this body—woven of nothing but ice and wind—was on the verge of collapse.

The trial grounds of the North Wind were in ruins, scoured flat as if bombed from above—more thoroughly destroyed than even the half-demolished remains of Stormterror’s Lair.

“Lawrence, again…”

Boreas, powerless to rise, mocked himself through a rasping breath. “Heh. It’s always you Lawrences, isn’t it? I was Ravenwood’s nemesis, but in the end, it’s your clan that’s the bane of us both.”

“Where’s Ravenwood’s sword?”

Artem didn’t bother responding to the provocation, cutting straight to the point.

“Heh, so that’s your greed laid bare.” Boreas sneered. “Ravenwood’s sword—why would I ever give it to a villain like you?”

“Villain?” Artem’s brow arched. “So any Knight of Favonius who comes for a trial isn’t a villain, but I am?”

“Perfect.”

He tugged Eula to his side, pointed at her, and said, “Look, here’s your Favonius Knight. She uses a greatsword too, and by rights, she’s the one who bested you in this trial.”

“So, handing over Ravenwood’s sword to her is only logical, isn’t it?”

At the mention of her being a Knight of Favonius, Eula’s expression flickered—just for a second. But she cooperated, pulling out the medal unique to the patrol squads.

When Varka had announced her expulsion, she’d still been with Artem. So, the badge had never been confiscated—it had always stayed with her.

Seeing it, Boreas looked momentarily confused. He’d always despised humans, but as Mondstadt’s former North Wind Guardian, he knew a little about the Knights’ internal matters.

After the Lawrence clan was exiled a thousand years ago, their relationship with the Knights had been nothing short of enmity. How could a Knight suddenly spring up from that family?

But confusion or not, Boreas just shook his head.

“Anyone who keeps your company is a villain,” he said coldly. “If she’s with you, she’s betrayed Mondstadt, thrown her lot in with evil. Even if you kill me, you haven’t passed the trial.”

Artem tugged at his mouth, staring at Boreas’s nearly translucent body. Really? Even now, you’re still this stubborn?

“Forget it. I’m done arguing.” Artem waved a hand, sounding almost bored. “I’ll find the sword myself.”

Then, with a sudden turn: “If I can’t find it, I’ll drag every last wolf pup in Wolvendom before you, skin them alive right in front of you.”

“And those kids you took in—especially that wolf boy, what’s his name, oh, Razor. Yes, Razor. I’ll hang him from Mondstadt’s gates for all to see.”

“Let’s see what Mondstadt thinks of its North Wind Guardian after that.”

Artem’s face was blank as he spoke, as if describing the weather.

The words goaded Boreas into a surge of strength. Somehow, the dying wolf staggered upright and lunged, jaws snapping for Artem’s head.

But with his form already fading, Boreas was nowhere near a match for Artem. He was sent flying by a single kick.

Artem wasted no more time. He drew the [Skyward Blade] and began searching through the ruins.

The [Wolf’s Gravestone], so the legend went, was left here by Ravenwood as a grave-offering to Andrius. Yet no one from the Knights had ever actually wielded it—rumors and nothing more. Besides Boreas standing in the way, it was likely that the sword had simply been hidden too well for anyone to find.

Considering Boreas had appeared out of thin air, it wasn’t hard to guess the sword was hidden by Boreas himself.

So Artem needed a way to break the wolf’s resolve.

Eula didn’t join the search. She stayed behind, making sure Boreas couldn’t run or take his own life.

“Lawrence scum—villainy runs in your veins,” Boreas spat. “Ravenwood said he should have wiped you all out at the root. He was right.”

But no matter how much Boreas taunted her, or how he slandered the Lawrence clan, Eula gave no reaction. She acted as if none of it concerned her.

After a while, seeing he couldn’t anger her, Boreas asked, frustrated, “Do you even consider yourself a Lawrence anymore? Don’t you have any pride?”

“I’m not really a Lawrence anymore,” Eula finally replied. “I’m not a Mondstadt citizen, either.”

“To be honest, I’m just a pitiful wanderer, drifting with Artem.”

That phrase—“drifting”—seemed to stir some memory in Boreas.

He stopped the insults, and instead asked, “Why do you say that?”

Eula glanced at him, but offered no explanation, only kept watching him in silence.

Boreas fell silent.

As the proud North Wind Guardian, he’d even tried lowering himself, hoping to provoke Eula into killing him. None of it worked.

Now, with nowhere to run and no way to end his own suffering, Boreas could only stare at the sky, awaiting his fate.

The stalemate lasted until Artem returned.

He’d spent the better part of the day digging up every inch of ground—but as he’d expected, there was no sign of the [Wolf’s Gravestone] nearby.

He had, however, found something unexpected: a white-haired child, unconscious in his grasp.

The boy’s name was Razor—a parentless orphan raised by wolves, trained by Varka and Lisa, already skilled with a greatsword and Electro. Though human, Boreas cared deeply for this boy—never admitting it, but always showing it.

Sure enough, as soon as Boreas saw Razor dangling in Artem’s grip, he roared in shock and rage.

“Razor! Let him go! He’s innocent!”

Artem only smiled.

“I told you,” he said. “If I can’t find the sword, I’ll hang the kid from Mondstadt’s gates. Looks like I don’t even have to look for him—he just walked right up.”

With that, Artem drew his sword and walked toward Boreas, one hand gripping Razor’s neck, the other pointing the blade at Boreas’s throat.

“You have two choices,” he said coldly. “Hand over Ravenwood’s sword, then die.”

“Or refuse, and watch your pack and wolf children die first, then you.”

“My patience is limited. You have three seconds.”

“Three…”

“Two…”

Before Artem could say “one,” Boreas broke. “In the name of Morax, I agree to a contract: I will give you Ravenwood’s sword, and you’ll spare my children.”

“Fine by me.”

Without hesitation, Artem swore, “Morax bear witness—between Boreas and me, a contract is made. Once I receive Ravenwood’s greatsword, I’ll spare the wolf children.”

“If I break the contract, I accept the wrath of the rock.”

The moment the words left his lips, Artem felt a presence stir in the dark—a voice of authority resounded in his mind.

[The contract is sealed. Those who break it shall face the wrath of the rock.]

At this, Boreas hesitated no more. He coughed up a crimson greatsword.

“Contract sealed. Let them go,” he said, bitterly.

“You could have saved yourself a lot of pain if you’d done this from the start,” Artem muttered, tossing Razor aside.

He stooped, picked up the sword, examining it. Sensing the North Wind’s power, same as Boreas, he confirmed this was the real [Wolf’s Gravestone].

He signaled to Eula.

She understood immediately. Without hesitation, she drove her sword through Razor’s chest.

Artem had told her before: Razor was Varka’s apprentice. With his bond to Boreas, he was all but certain to become the next North Wind Knight.

Before coming here, Artem and Eula had already agreed—if they ran into Razor, they’d kill him first, even if he was only twelve.

Enemies were enemies. Letting him live to seek vengeance later would be foolish.

When Artem reneged, Boreas exploded in fury, his howl echoing in pain.

“Traitor to the contract! Morax will judge you!”

Artem only shrugged. “Did I break it? I didn’t kill him, did I? So how could I be guilty?”

He hefted the [Wolf’s Gravestone], and with Boreas’s burning gaze fixed on him, brought the blade down.

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(Author’s note: I wrote several versions of this chapter and revised it for a long time. In the end, I felt this one best fits the protagonist’s character and the story’s direction. If Razor’s death at the hands of the leads, despite being only twelve, is distressing to some readers, please forgive me.)

T/N: AHHH NOT RAZOR WHAT THE FUCK!?!?!?!? OAFHOASHFAHSFPOOPA MY BABY BOY NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO WHAT THE FUCKKKKKKK OHGOAFOSJOAFJ

This is a fan translation of 提瓦特之我在至冬做臥底 by 曉風殘月聽荷 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!