Undercover in Snezhnaya, My Teyvat Spy Life [50]

The Lawrence family estate.

Nearly every member of the Lawrence clan had gathered outside the gates of their ancestral castle, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with Fatui soldiers and enduring a long-winded, excruciating pre-battle speech.

Artem Vetrovski stood off to the side, struggling to keep his eyes open—yawning so much he could hardly stop himself.

He had no idea where the Lawrence clan leader got his lung power. The man had been rambling on for two or three hours without so much as a dry throat.

That morning, when Artem brought his people to inform the Lawrences that the time for action had come, their fanatical excitement was immediate. Each one was itching to storm Mondstadt City and seize the Knights of Favonius headquarters for themselves.

If Artem hadn’t insisted that the time wasn’t right and warned them about a possible counterattack, he probably wouldn’t have been able to hold them back.

Truth be told, the Lawrence clan weren’t weak fighters—certainly stronger than the average Knight.

After all, these people spent every day either boasting or practicing swordplay, with little else to do.

Now, armed to the teeth with ancestral swords and armor, they looked as ready as any army.

And beyond Eula, there were four more members who possessed [Visions]—all Pyro.

If the Doctor’s theory was correct, most [Pyro Vision] holders shared a wish to inherit their ancestors’ will and legacy.

In that sense, it was a perfect fit for the Lawrences, who had nursed their obsession with retaking Mondstadt for a thousand years—passing it down, generation after generation.

Artem couldn’t help but snark to himself,

“A pile of [Pyro Visions]… As if the [Glacial Seal] would do them any good.”

At this point, the Lawrence family was all-in on rebellion. Aside from the few who refused to participate—and Eula, locked away—the whole clan was committed.

Once Varka arrived, it would be an easy sweep.

As for the Fatui troops accompanying Artem, they weren’t his personal men, but Krupp’s loyalists. That way, if things went south, he wouldn’t lose any sleep over casualties.

Counting the spies hiding in the city, he’d mobilized about a thousand people. For a city the size of Mondstadt, it wasn’t nearly enough.

But Artem, with utter confidence, told the anxious Lawrences that the Fatui had stationed over ten thousand troops just outside the city—ready to move the instant the attack began.

This imaginary force was all it took to settle the Lawrences’ nerves.

After some waiting, Artem checked the time, and while the family was distracted, slipped into the depths of the castle.

…

The Lawrence family castle had been built a thousand years ago.

The outside was falling apart, but inside, every corridor was bright with light.

The deeper he went, the heavier the damp, rotting smell became.

In stark contrast, the furnishings and wall decorations grew ever more lavish.

The Lawrence clan’s so-called “glorious history” was immortalized in endless portraits, lining the halls for all to see.

“Songs of praise from the common people.”
“Festival of Windblume champions, generation after generation.”
“Mondstadt’s strongest family.”

Every achievement, even those wrung from the people through force, was hung up and trumpeted as family pride.

Frowning, Artem covered his nose and pressed on until he reached a room sealed with iron chains and heavy planks.

The only opening was a small slot for food and water—otherwise, not even a sliver of light could penetrate.

According to Schubert, this was where Eula was being held.

Seeing the cell, a surge of anger flashed through Artem’s eyes.

He suddenly, deeply regretted sending Eula back to her family—let alone telling her not to resist.

Who would have guessed these idiots would treat their most talented heir like this?

Furious, Artem seized the chains and wrenched—iron snapped like twigs in his grip.

He tore down the planks in quick succession, then shoved open the door.

Light flooded the room.

Eula sat huddled in the corner, arms wrapped around her knees.

She was pale from her long days in darkness. As soon as the door opened, she instinctively raised her hands to shield her eyes, squeezing them shut.

“Artem? Is that you?”

Hearing her hoarse voice, Artem felt a sharp pang. He rushed over and embraced her.

“It’s me.”

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry I came late.”

With her eyes still closed, Eula reached up to touch his face, fingers gently tracing his cheeks. She managed a faint smile.

“No need to apologize. I’m just glad you came.”

Artem’s heart twisted tighter. He held her close, murmuring,

“I’m sorry. I promise—I’ll never leave you alone like this again.”

“That’s good.” Eula pressed close to him, finally allowing herself a real smile.

All the sorrow in her heart melted away in that moment.

She wasn’t sure why.
They hadn’t known each other long, but somehow she trusted this man completely.
She was willing to believe anything he said.

Maybe this is what my teacher meant by “a sense of security.”

After a while, Eula adjusted to the light. She opened her eyes, studied Artem’s face carefully, and then asked softly,

“What do you need me to do?”

“Wait.”

Artem’s answer was blunt: “There’s a good show about to start. Hide by the door and watch. When it’s over, the Lawrences and Mondstadt will never be able to shackle you again.”

“…Will they die?” Eula looked down, bracing herself.

“No,” Artem shook his head. “But they’ll never be free again.”

“That’s fine. Better than death.” Eula bit her lip and sighed.

He kissed her forehead gently, then helped her to her feet. “Come on—the show’s about to start.”

…

Back at the front gates, there was half an hour to go before eight.

The Lawrences were frantic, searching everywhere for Artem.

Some muttered darkly, “What if that barbarian tricked us? Doesn’t he know what happens to those who deceive nobles?”

Others quickly echoed the sentiment.

Schubert, sweating buckets, was nearly in a panic. With the attack about to start, the Fatui commander had vanished—and without him, the Fatui soldiers wouldn’t follow any Lawrence orders.

How could they possibly launch the assault on Mondstadt like this?

Worse, they’d already sent clan members into the city as insiders.
The moment the attack began, those plants would set fires and sow chaos to aid the assault.

Everything was already set in motion—there was no turning back.

“Damn foreigner, playing games with us. After all our trust!” Schubert fumed.

Just then, a cold, mocking voice sounded behind him.

“Who are you cursing?”

Schubert jumped.

But seeing it was Artem, he didn’t show an ounce of fear—instead, he jabbed a finger at him and snapped,

“Punctuality is the most basic noble virtue. In the old days, someone as rude as you would have been whipped at the city gates!”

“Tch.” Artem scoffed. “I went to the bathroom. You want to supervise that too?”

He walked off, leaving Schubert stomping his feet and grumbling, “Barbarian! Barbarian!”

But word quickly spread: the Fatui commander was back.

The Lawrences’ muttering died instantly.

In full view of the two assembled groups, Artem strode to the front, eyes cold as he surveyed the crowd.

He didn’t waste time on speeches like the Lawrence patriarch. Instead, he outlined his battle plan: splitting up Krupp’s soldiers and Lawrence fighters into squads, assigning them to support their inside agents, prioritizing targets, controlling the gates, coordinating with the supposed “main army” outside.

Every step was organized, clear, and precise—unimpeachable.

And why wouldn’t it be? This was a real plan for conquering a city, the kind Artem had studied in Snezhnaya’s military academy. He was every bit the professional Fatui commander.

If these had been actual Snezhnayan troops, not a ragtag mob, and if someone could distract Varka and Albedo, Artem had the confidence he could seize all of Mondstadt in a single night.

As soon as he finished issuing orders, the crowd broke into squads and marched on Mondstadt.

Only a handful of powerless Lawrences, like Schubert, stayed behind.

As tension rose, Artem found a lounge chair and sprawled out, drawing more disapproval.

Schubert barked, “Sit up straight! Stand up straight! Even at a time like this, a noble must remain dignified—not lounge around like a commoner!”

Artem gave him a sidelong glance—cold and cutting, as if looking at a corpse.

He was about to reply, when a voice, ringing with murderous intent, echoed from the distance.

“Well, well—look at the Lawrence family!”

“A pack of traitors, the lot of you! Collaborating with outsiders to overthrow Mondstadt—this is treason!”

Everyone froze at the familiar voice—everyone except Artem.

Grand Master Varka of the Knights of Favonius.

What is he doing here?!

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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!