Honkai Star Rail: Summoning the Chrysos Heirs — Chapter 75

Chapter 75: I’ve Been Delivering Packages For So Many Years, I’m Actually Quite Good At Running

What in the world is this thing?

Staring at the floating, mechanical entity hovering before them, that exact thought slammed into the minds of Mo Chenfeng and Tang Yuan at the exact same time.

Before either of them could fully process the bizarre, almost horrifying sight of the puppet, a voice drifted out from within its hollow frame. It was a woman’s voice—elegant, melodious, and completely at odds with the bloodstained, ruined building they were hiding in.

“Nice to meet you. Allow me to introduce myself.”

The golden hem of the entity’s skirt dipped in a fluid, eerie display of grace, executing a flawless, aristocratic curtsy.

“My name is Aglaea. I come from the Flamechasers, and I am a Cloth Weaver.”

At the mention of that name, Tang Yuan’s finger, which had been resting heavily on the trigger of her pistol, twitched. Her tense muscles, however, did not relax in the slightest. She narrowed her eyes, her sharp gaze sweeping back and forth over the bizarre, carefully crafted Weaver puppet hovering in the shadows.

“The Flamechasers…”

Tang Yuan took a slow, deep breath, forcing her voice to remain steady as she probed, “Are you in the same organization as someone named Phainon?”

The Cloth Weaver leaned forward a fraction of an inch, mimicking a polite nod. “Yes. We both hail from the Flamechasers.”

Hearing Aglaea’s open admission, the rigid line of Tang Yuan’s shoulders dropped a fraction. She let out a shallow, shaky exhale. If this newcomer belonged to the same faction as that overwhelmingly powerful, eccentric man, they likely weren’t enemies.

Still, the apocalypse had taught her never to rule out deception. The burning vigilance in her eyes refused to fade completely. She kept her gaze locked on the floating puppet. “Then, may I ask, Your Excellency Aglaea, what is your purpose in seeking us out? If this is regarding the source of the disaster outside, Phainon has already gone to handle it.”

“It is not enough.”

The Cloth Weaver shook its head, the movement smooth and deliberate. “Although Phainon is more than capable of resolving the source of the disaster alone, the immediate aftermath of its death will be extremely severe.”

Aglaea’s voice retained its rational, unhurried cadence, devoid of any panic. “If the situation is not managed in time, the ensuing casualties across this sector will be immeasurable.”

“The aftermath?” Tang Yuan’s brow furrowed into a tight knot. She subconsciously cast a protective glance toward Di Ting, who lay motionless on the nearby bench. “Can you explain that in detail?”

“The source acts as a control hub.” The Cloth Weaver raised a jointed arm, pointing a slender finger toward the dead, silent ruins visible through the shattered window. “Once it dies, all the creatures currently under its control will lose their command constraints. They will fall into a state of complete, unbridled madness. They will indiscriminately attack every living thing in sight, tearing anything with a pulse to pieces.”

The puppet paused, letting the weight of that reality settle over the room.

“To avoid a massacre, someone must act as a lure. These soon-to-be maddened beasts must be led to a specific area before the source is executed—an area where I have already laid traps.”

A heavy, suffocating silence descended upon the room.

Tang Yuan lowered her head. She stared blankly at the faint traces of purple mist swirling around her combat boots, her thumb unconsciously rubbing the frayed edge of her tactical vest.

Seconds ticked by like hours. Finally, she lifted her head, her throat working against a sudden dryness. “So… the reason you sought us out and told us all this. Is it because you want us to act as that bait?”

The Cloth Weaver nodded. There was no hesitation, no attempt to sugarcoat the request. “I am aware of your Supernatural Ability, Vector.”

“You possess the power to deflect incoming attacks, effectively forming an absolute defensive force field around yourself.” Aglaea’s tone carried the chilling, pragmatic indifference of a commander moving pieces on a board. “With such an ability, even if you are pursued by dozens or hundreds of Puppet Soldiers, their bullets and claws cannot touch you. You are the most optimal candidate for this task.”

Tang Yuan bit her lower lip so hard she tasted the sharp, metallic tang of blood.

She turned her head, her eyes locking onto Di Ting. The young girl lay curled on the cold bench, her eyes tightly shut. Thick wads of hemostatic cotton were stuffed into her bleeding ears, and her face was as pale and fragile as cracked porcelain.

If I go out there to play bait… and leave Di Ting here alone…

What if a stray Abomination wandered into the building? What if the structural damage finally caused the ceiling to cave in? Di Ting was currently deaf, blind, and bleeding out. She couldn’t even perform a basic evasive roll to save her own life.

But if I don’t go…

Once Phainon killed the source, the streets would flood with frenzied soldiers and Abominations. The survivors hiding in the ruins, the wounded soldiers holding the perimeter—they would all be slaughtered. It wouldn’t just be one or two deaths; it would be a bloodbath.

Tang Yuan’s heart felt as though it were being roasted over an open flame. The sheer agony of the choice threatened to tear her in half.

“However, it ultimately does not matter if you refuse.”

Seemingly seeing right through Tang Yuan’s agonizing internal war, Aglaea’s voice drifted through the air again, laced with a terrifyingly calm tolerance. “I will simply have Phainon act as the bait instead.”

The Cloth Weaver slowly rotated, facing the dark corridor it had emerged from. “But if we take that route, this mist will have to shroud the area for much longer. Phainon is currently underground dealing with the source and cannot spare a hand to round up the strays immediately. The civilian casualty count will likely increase by a significant margin.”

“Then… I am very sorry, Your Excellency Aglaea.”

Tang Yuan squeezed her eyes shut, shouting the words as if expelling the last ounce of strength in her body. “Forgive me, but I cannot agree to your request.”

She snapped her eyes open, marching over to the bench. She reached out, grasping Di Ting’s freezing, limp hand, her gaze hardening into steel.

“Di Ting was already blind. In order to gather intelligence and assist Your Excellency Phainon, she shattered her own eardrums and is now deaf.” Tang Yuan lifted her chin, glaring defiantly at the Weaver puppet. “If I leave her side now… I’m sorry, but I would never be able to live with myself. She is my teammate. I am staying right here to protect her.”

The Cloth Weaver did not depart immediately.

Its featureless head tilted slightly, its unseen gaze drifting past Tang Yuan’s defensive posture to settle on the pathetic figure huddled in the far corner of the room.

“But even if you leave,” Aglaea mused, her tone carrying a subtle, piercing implication, “is there not someone else here who can watch over your companion?”

Tang Yuan froze. She followed the puppet’s direction, her eyes landing on Mo Chenfeng.

To her, he was just a random courier she had bumped into during the chaos. In a life-or-death crisis, a trained agent naturally trusted no one but themselves. Leave a critically injured, helpless girl in the care of a terrified civilian?

Tang Yuan opened her mouth to argue, but the words died in her throat. She said nothing.

She knew she was being selfish. She just couldn’t bring herself to care.

Mo Chenfeng didn’t speak either. He kept his head buried firmly between his knees, his arms wrapped tightly around his legs, trying to make himself as small and invisible as possible.

Taking in the silent tableau, Aglaea seemed to reach a conclusion. “I understand.”

The Cloth Weaver lingered no longer. Its golden skirt traced an elegant, glowing arc through the dusty air as it turned, floating soundlessly toward the exit.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

The puppet had no feet, yet Mo Chenfeng swore he could hear the rhythmic, phantom sound of its departure hammering directly against his ribcage. He listened as the imaginary footsteps grew fainter.

As long as I hide here, I won’t have to face those terrifying monsters.

As long as I hide here, this nightmare will eventually end.

As long as I hide here, who cares if the mist lasts a little longer? A few extra minutes won’t make a difference to me.

As long as I hide here…

This was how he had survived his entire life. Keep your head down. Don’t play the hero. Run away.

But then, the image of Di Ting’s blood-soaked, broken body flashed behind his tightly shut eyelids. He remembered the raw, devastating grief on Tang Yuan’s face when she saw her partner’s ruined ears. He remembered how that little girl had willingly embraced agonizing pain, sacrificing her own hearing just to secure a sliver of intelligence for the rest of them.

What if… it really does come down to those few extra minutes?

Because of his cowardice, more innocent people hiding in the rubble would be ripped apart. Because he wanted to stay safe, wounded survivors bleeding out in the streets wouldn’t get medical help in time. Because he refused to move, the soldiers who had been fighting tooth and nail to protect the evacuation zones would be slaughtered by their own mutated comrades.

Because of him…

But he was just a courier! He didn’t have superpowers! He didn’t have a gun!

“Wait… Your Excellency Aglaea.”

A pathetic, trembling voice cracked through the silence of the room.

The Cloth Weaver paused mid-air. Slowly, the golden puppet rotated back around.

In the corner, Mo Chenfeng was using the cracked plaster wall to drag himself upright. His legs shook so violently they threatened to give out at any second. His face was completely drained of color, resembling a sheet of wet paper, and thick beads of cold sweat rolled down his cheeks, dripping onto the dusty floorboards.

Seeing the terrifying, magical puppet actually turn its attention back to him, Mo Chenfeng shrank his neck like a frightened turtle. He swallowed a hard lump in his throat, his voice thick with unshed tears.

“If… if I act as the bait… do I just need to keep running forward?”

The Cloth Weaver dipped its head in a slow, affirmative nod. “You merely need to follow me, and do not stop running.”

Hearing that, Mo Chenfeng squeezed his eyes shut. He sucked in a massive breath of air, the scent of concrete dust and dried blood filling his lungs.

He was desperately trying to build up his courage. Or rather, he was forcefully shoving himself off the edge of the cliff before his survival instincts could drag him back to the corner.

A few seconds later, his eyes snapped open. His pupils were still blown wide with terror, but beneath the panic, a fragile, desperate determination had taken root.

“As long as I follow you and keep running… leading those freaks to the traps… that’s all it takes, right?”

Mo Chenfeng finally let go of the wall. He clenched his hands into tight fists, his fingernails biting so deeply into his palms that the sharp sting of pain helped ground his spiraling panic.

“Then… I think I can do that.”

He forced the corners of his mouth up into a rigid, miserable smile, his voice trembling violently as he spoke.

“After all… I’ve been delivering packages for so many years. I’m actually quite good at running.”