Undercover in Snezhnaya, My Teyvat Spy Life [59]

“You—what did you just say?!”

The revelation hit Eula like a bolt of lightning, making her cry out in shock.

Passersby stopped in their tracks, glancing over.

But Eula didn’t care about their stares—she was fixed on Artem, her lips trembling.

“I—I’m really a descendant of Kreuzlied?” she stammered.

“You mean, that is—?”

Seeing how rattled she was, Artem shook his head. “It’s not what you think.”

“Kreuzlied wasn’t betrayed.”

“He chose this path himself.”

“...” Eula was more confused than ever.

The founder of Mondstadt’s covert division, someone with such prestige—and the Lawrence clan, reviled ever since their fall. Why would Kreuzlied return to the Lawrences?

But Artem’s next words left her utterly speechless.

“Kreuzlied did it to fulfill the will of the Great Knight Vennessa.”

“To make the Lawrence family atone for their crimes for generations, he chose to return his bloodline to them.”

“How else do you think you made it safely to adulthood?”

“How else did Varka agree to let you join the Knights?”

“And in the recent rebellion, didn’t you notice that most of the dissenters in the Lawrence family were your direct relatives?”

“Do you understand now?”

Eula slumped onto a bench.

This revelation was even more overwhelming than the day she’d learned it was the Knights who had fostered Mondstadt’s hatred for the Lawrence clan.

“That’s why I said—”

“You and your ancestor chose the same path.”

Artem sighed, putting the harshest truth into the simplest words.

Eula stared silently up at the sky.

For something like this, she really didn’t know what to say.

And as for her ancestor, she had no idea how to judge him.

But one thing was clear:
After learning all this, her guilt about leaving Mondstadt was almost gone.

In fact, there was even a sense of relief.

It’s lucky I left Mondstadt when I did. Otherwise, I’d have spent my whole life caught in webs of schemes and betrayal, blindly sacrificing myself for the Knights.

“How do you feel?” Artem’s voice drew her out of her reverie.

Seeing his gentle, smiling face, she felt warmth blossom in her chest. She nodded. “Yeah. I do feel a bit better.”

Artem had told her all this on purpose.

For a thousand years, the Lawrence clan had lived under the Knights’ shadow.

Eula, the family’s most infamous rebel, had worked herself to the bone trying to fit into Mondstadt.

With her family’s teachings and Amber’s Grandpa guidance, she’d remained steadfastly loyal.

So loyal that, even knowing the truth, she still felt guilty for leaving.

She even found herself uncomfortable when Artem spoke ill of Mondstadt.

Seeing how down she’d been lately, Artem felt she deserved to know the whole truth.

She had a right to know, that every step of her growth had, in fact, been orchestrated by the Knights of Favonius.

The more she knew, the easier it would be for her to finally shed that burden of guilt.

And from the looks of it, it worked.

“Come on—let’s visit my old man.”

“He was so proud in his letter—let’s see for ourselves.”

Artem stood, smiling, and took Eula’s hand, leading her toward the little village where Coulson was buried.

...

Coulson’s hometown was a tiny fishing village not far from Ginsborough Port.

It didn’t take long for them to arrive.

They quickly found the dandelion field Coulson had described.

It was a wild sea of dandelions, pure and untouched.

A gentle breeze sent white seeds swirling through the night, moon and starlight painting the scene with magic.

At the heart of the field stood a beautifully carved gravestone.

Chiseled into it were the words:

Grave of Coulson Sebastian, Cardinal of Dawn.

And below, a line of small script served as epitaph:

Your name is known to none, but your deeds will never be forgotten.

Stepping through the dandelions, Artem stood before the grave.

He’d done his best to hide his feelings, but now, seeing with his own eyes that Coulson was truly gone, he couldn’t help but let silent tears slip down his cheeks.

“Dad, I came to see you.”

“See? I listened—you told me to bring the girl I like, so here she is.”

Sitting beside the grave, Artem spoke in a low voice, just as Coulson had told him stories when he was small, quietly recounting everything that had happened over the years.

Eula sat by his side, quietly listening as Artem spoke of his life in Snezhnaya, the loneliness when he first arrived and watched friends die one by one, until he was the only one left.

His first mission—ambushed by an abyssal venom-dragon, escaping alone while his whole squad perished.

Then happier memories: making friends in the Fatui, like Ajax, the buddy he fished and drank and sparred with.

He even griped about the Harbingers, always scheming and making his life difficult.

...

So the night passed, Artem talking on and on without rest.

Only at dawn did he stroke Coulson’s name on the tombstone and say, reluctant to leave,

“Dad, I have to go now.”

“This time, I might not make it back for a long while.”

“Don’t be mad at me, okay?”

He finished by kneeling in the dandelions and bowing three times, as he’d learned in his previous life to honor his elders.

Eula had never seen this kind of ritual before.

But she didn’t hesitate—she followed Artem’s every move.

With his respects paid, Artem finally felt at peace.

He stood and laughed, “Come on, let’s find an inn in the village and get some sleep before we head back to Mondstadt.”

Since arriving at Ginsborough, they’d gone a full day and night without rest.

Artem, long used to rough travel, felt fine; Eula, though, was visibly exhausted.

They searched the village and at last found a tiny inn.

The owner was plump, cheerful, and, upon seeing them, set aside his birdcage and hurried over with a broad smile.

But before the innkeeper could speak, Artem frowned.

He couldn’t say why—he just felt an odd sense of familiarity, something he couldn’t put his finger on.

“We’ve only got one room left,” the innkeeper said knowingly, launching into a familiar sales pitch the moment he saw Artem and Eula together.

The words snapped Artem out of his thoughts.

“Sure, we’ll take it,” Artem replied, then chatted casually, “How long have you been running this place?”

He made a show of piling a stack of mora on the table.

The sight of so much gold made the owner’s eyes crinkle with joy.

“Four years,” he said, scooping up the coins.

“Honestly, I never wanted this business. There’s no tourism, no real trade—just fishing, selling to Ginsborough. I opened this place, but I barely get any guests all year.”

“If someone hadn’t asked me, I’d never have done it.”

“Oh?” Artem’s interest piqued. “Who asked you?”

The innkeeper scratched his chin, thinking. “Uh, what did they call him? The Pig-Farming Cardinal?”

“Pig-Farming Cardinal?”

Artem’s heart skipped a beat. He pressed, “What’s that mean?”

“Well, the teacher said Bishop Pegg sent him here for two years to raise boars. So he started calling himself the Pig-Farming Cardinal.”

Suddenly, the innkeeper’s sly, mercenary act fell away—his voice grew lively, even boyish: “Brother Albert, I’ve been waiting for you so long.”

“Teacher told me, in case you ever came back and needed a place to stay, I should open an inn for you.”

“I’ve been waiting here for four whole years. You sure took your time.”

“You—you’re Heinrich?” Artem stared, dumbfounded.

Hearing that unmistakably familiar voice, he finally realized what that odd sense of familiarity was.

This was no simple innkeeper.

It was Coulson’s last disciple, Heinrich—the one who’d been officially dismissed as “killed in action” four years ago.

His appearance and demeanor had changed so much, Artem hadn’t recognized him at first glance.

---

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!