Chapter Text
Most people are aware of Tartaglia for his infamous fighting spirit and lust for battle amongst the Fatui. Although most of the other Harbingers either see him as reckless or amusing, he didn’t really care what they thought. The Tsaritsa on the other hand, commends him for his tenacity and energy, or rather, his usefulness in combat. Not that it matters to him since his loyalty was already ensnared by said Archon, and he could live his life like he wished: challenging himself by fighting others and becoming stronger.
So obviously the most logical thing to do is to send him to Liyue as a peaceful diplomat in order to snatch up the Geo Archon’s Gnosis. To say he is irritated was an understatement, he feels frustrated beyond belief. He isn’t someone who dresses up and plays Mr. Nice Guy in order to please others, but it is the Tsaritsa’s will, and he would carry out what she ordered of him. However, that isn’t to say that he didn’t not take out his emotions on the surrounding shrubbery or inhabitants in and on the way to Liyue.
“Sir, you’ve knocked down a total of thirty-two trees ever since we left for Liyue,” Ekaterina reports in a deadpan voice, tucking away the clipboard in her hands. “You must be restraining yourself.”
“I’m practicing diplomacy, or so you could say,” Tartaglia tells her, flicking his hands which cause his blades to disappear into a few specks of water. “Although I think it’s a waste of time, if it’s the will of the Tsaritsa, I will follow it.” He pauses, contemplating for a moment. “But… that’s not to say that I can’t do something… interesting.”
Ekaterina sighs exasperatedly. “At least try to keep up formalities, sir. We don’t want to—”
“Yes, yes I got it,” he tells her dismissively, returning back to mauling the remaining trees that stand before him. He hears her sigh exasperatedly and turn to leave.
The consultant from the Wangsheng Funeral Parlor, Zhongli, is as prim and knowledgeable as he is Mora-less and lacking a sense of income. Playing peacemaker wasn’t hard, but Tartaglia would be lying if he said he wasn’t getting restless from all the thick amiable cheer that he tries to emulate from other diplomats that are sent all over Teyvat. He will admit that he feels more at ease with Zhongli’s patience and guidance throughout his time there, but the serenity felt in the situation makes him feel more discomfort than anything as his hands itch to battle.
And the chopsticks. He still didn’t know how to use those spindly things.
Tartaglia often finds himself wandering around the wilderness either picking fights with Treasure Hoarders or destroying small Hilichurl camps lined up along the bases of mountains. Although he likes the rush of picking up a weapon and unleashing his unbridled emotions to the fullest, he’s unable to relish any of that euphoria with such weak opponents. So one day, he decides to walk around and explore instead. He finds himself in Mingyun Village, where Treasure Hoarders frequent the mountains to scrounge around for little bits of trinkets scattered in the terrain or ambushing naive passersby. It emanates death in the area, the air seems more quelled, and the wildlife is gently muted.
Today, he walks into a clearing, leading up tall mountains. There’s someone there, eliminating a few Hilichurls at the bottom about a few meters away where Tartaglia can see them. They have good form, he notes while squinting at the figure. Their body language and overall demeanor in posture exude elegance and technicality, something that gets his adrenaline jumpstarted when fighting most opponents—he prefers to see such people riled up and fallen from grace. He observes the number of strikes and which direction they go. Tartaglia’s mouth opens just a bit as a sign of recognition and he nods. Mondstat. The swordstyle the person is using is definitely Mondstatian.
Question is: what was someone from Mondstat doing all the way out here in Liyue? In Mingyun Village. Tartaglia didn’t even have time to consider the possible answers to this question, for the person had placed a flower on the ground, stepped onto the flat surface, and rose into the air—like an elevator. They hopped off and climbed to another ledge, making another elevator and rose to the top of the summit, walking out of sight. He’s about to set off after this mysterious wanderer out of pure curiosity, but stops.
“Here you are, sir,” a voice calls out to him and Tartaglia turns to see a Fatui Agent bowing their head at him slightly. “Your next meeting with Mr. Zhongli begins soon. It is recommended that you return at once.”
Tartaglia opens his mouth to speak, but remembers his role, his place.
“Right. I’m on my way.”