Undercover in Snezhnaya, My Teyvat Spy Life [62]

The Next Morning.

News of Bishop Seamus Pegg’s assassination jolted the people of Mondstadt from their sleep.

A pall of grief settled over the city.

The Knights of Favonius mobilized at once, sealing off every exit and entrance.

The Dark Division’s assassins and agents were deployed as well, keeping close watch on the Goth Grand Hotel—temporary home to the Fatui—and the formidable Adventurers’ Guild.

Inside Seamus’s room, Barbara was inconsolable, her sobs wracking her whole frame.

Her sister, Jean, managed to keep herself marginally composed, but she couldn’t bear to look directly at Seamus’s body. Her tears shimmered on the brink of falling.

Even Seamus’s ex-wife, Frederica—so often at odds with him in life—had set aside their old quarrels. The hardened woman knight now knelt before her husband, gently stroking his face, murmuring softly under her breath.

Varka, face grim, listened to a captain’s report on the preliminary autopsy.

When he heard about the marks on Seamus’s body—bruises that looked like chain bindings—Varka already knew who the killer was.

It didn’t surprise him.

There were precious few in Mondstadt who could kill Seamus Pegg without a sound.

Artem was one of them.

And of all those in Mondstadt, none had more reason to hate Seamus than he did.

Besides, Varka knew Artem had visited Ginsborough Port these past two days to pay his respects at Coulson’s grave.

If Seamus’s deeds from years ago were about to come to light, it was only a matter of time.

So the moment he heard the news, Varka guessed the culprit immediately.

“Come on. We’re going to see the Fatui.”

“In this city, only they have both the motive and the strength to kill Seamus Pegg.”

Varka scanned the room, taking in the different faces, his tone grave as he issued the order.

Of course, he knew that even if he confronted Albert, the boy would never admit it. Not that there was much he could do about it, either.

Still, appearances had to be maintained. The proper questioning and procedures had to be followed, or neither the Church nor the Knights would be satisfied.

The thought of facing Artem again gave Varka a headache.

If he could, he’d run him through right here and now.

Worshipping a foreign god, turning on Mondstadt, killing the Cardinal—Alice’s prophecy was playing out step by step.

Unfortunately, until the safety of the Anemo Archon and the Dragon of the East was assured, he couldn’t kill Artem.

---

The Goth Grand Hotel.

Lately, Leonid had been in a foul mood.

A truly foul mood.

When they’d first entered the city, their superior had forbidden them from using their [Delusions]. The Knights of Favonius took full advantage, beating them up several times over.

Then their superior left, and Deputy Envoy Krupp started running them ragged, working them day and night.

Finally, the boss returned, and Leonid and the others got to let off some steam and crack a few heads.

He’d thought that at last, he’d get a few days of peace.

But at the crack of dawn, those damned knights were back again.

Leonid, dragged out of sleep and grumpy, lumbered to the door, his bear-like frame blocking the entrance. He snapped at them, barely awake:

“You Mondstadt folks got nothing better to do?”

“It’s barely sunrise.”

“Didn’t get beat up enough last time, huh?”

“Get lost, all of you, or I’ll strip you down and hang you from the city gates.”

The Knights, already on edge, bristled at Leonid’s taunts, drawing their weapons and ready to teach this loudmouthed Fatui officer a lesson.

Varka raised a hand to stop them.

He barked, “I’m Varka, Grand Master of the Knights of Favonius! Where is Artem Vetrovski? Get him out here!”

“I know you,” Leonid replied, nostrils flared, utterly unbothered.

He said, “Boss isn’t here. You can get lost now.”

Varka’s eyes narrowed, his glare hardening. “I said, bring out Artem Vetrovski.”

He made no effort to hide his displeasure.

“Are you deaf?” Leonid waved him off as if shooing a fly, “I told you, the boss isn’t here. Move along.”

CLANG.

But it wasn’t Varka, simmering with rage, who moved first.

It was Frederica.

Her face was cold, her figure a blur as her longsword slashed straight for Leonid’s throat.

Leonid recognized her strength immediately—on par with Diluc, who’d come looking for trouble days before.

He barely managed to block with his Electrohammer.

He let out a whistle, summoning every Fatui soldier within earshot.

The boss had always said: if you can gang up, don’t fight fair.

Leonid lived by those words.

Frederica pressed the attack, her blade moving even faster.

Compared to the younger Diluc, Frederica had far more experience. Grief and fury over Seamus’s death drove her now, giving her nowhere to vent but here.

She made full use of her speed and relentless aggression, every strike aimed at Leonid’s vitals.

Her onslaught left the hammer-wielding Leonid nearly helpless. In just a few breaths, he was covered in bloody sword marks.

Fatui soldiers rushed out in response to Leonid’s call, [Delusions] already crackling to life as they prepared to join the fray.

Frederica’s eyes grew colder. She attacked with even more urgency, intent on killing Leonid before the others could intervene.

To cut down a Fatui officer in the street—normally, that would be a diplomatic nightmare.

But this time, Varka didn’t even pretend to care. He stood aside, arms folded, watching the fight with icy detachment.

Even as Frederica’s sword bit into Leonid’s throat, he didn’t lift a finger.

Suddenly—

A streak of light shot from the hotel, knocking Frederica’s sword from her hand.

“Who’s there?” she gasped.

Leonid, emboldened, seized the moment. He kicked Frederica in the gut and swung his hammer at her head.

This time, Varka didn’t stand idle.

He moved, crossing the distance in a blink. In one motion, he punched the Electrohammer away, then slapped Leonid, sending him flying several meters.

“Knights of Favonius, huh?”

“So impressive.”

A mocking voice rang out as a figure in white strode from the hotel.

Wherever he passed, Fatui soldiers knelt on one knee, heads bowed.

He looked young, a black-and-white Fatui mask covering his face, dressed in an immaculate white suit, hands in his pockets, walking with unmistakable arrogance.

Several icicles floated behind him, their cold, sharp presence forcing everyone to step back.

He scanned the crowd, a smirk on his lips, and addressed Varka with unrestrained contempt:

“Grand Master of the Knights? Who gave you the nerve to interrupt my experiments?”

“And you are?” Varka asked, an uneasy feeling prickling at the back of his neck.

The young man shot him a glance and uttered a name that made Varka’s heart skip a beat.

“Hmph. I’m a Fatui Harbinger.”

“The Doctor.”

He glared at Varka. “I hear you Knights killed one of my servants.”

“And now you’ve ruined my experiment. Twice in one day—how do you plan to repay me?”

The name “Doctor” made Varka’s blood run cold. The Harbinger’s words made his headache return with a vengeance.

When did this troublesome Harbinger arrive in Mondstadt?

Why did I hear nothing about it?

---

T/N: CUZ U DONTG HAVE A SPY ANYMOREEEEE

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!