Not far off, Lumine and Paimon were nearly knocked off their feet by the surge of power. Clutching each other tightly, they barely managed to stay upright.
Shao Yun, however, remained calm and composed. He downed a bottle of Snake Oil, tuning his Deadeye values to optimal levels, his eyes glinting with razor-sharp focus.
He lifted his head, gazing at Tartaglia in the distance, a faint smile curling at his lips. He knew—the final showdown was here.
"Tartaglia. One shot to decide it all."
Tartaglia growled with rising fury at the words. Taking up an offensive stance, his spear aimed squarely at Shao Yun. He inhaled sharply and roared, "Just what I wanted!"
In the grand, echoing hall of the Golden House, Shao Yun once again took on the iconic stance of a Western gunslinger, as if time had rewound to the lawless days of the Wild West.
The Vision at his waist now glowed a dark crimson, like a storm ready to erupt.
The skull-adorned ornament beside the Vision seemed to come alive, bleeding two trails of crimson like tears of blood—adding a chilling, foreboding aura to the standoff.
Across from him stood Tartaglia, gripping a long spear streaked with flickering Electro energy.
He dashed forward, his silhouette flashing purple under the hall's light, like a bolt of lightning tearing through the night—aimed straight at Shao Yun's heart.
Facing this thunderous strike, Shao Yun activated Deadeye once more. A crack of thunder roared in his ears, followed by the ticking of a clock—counting down Tartaglia's life.
Each tick was like a death knell.
This time, Shao Yun entered an unparalleled state of concentration. The world around him slowed to a crawl, every frame stretched, every motion deliberate.
To his eyes, Tartaglia's assault now moved at the pace of a crawling snail.
In that instant, Shao Yun found the opening—and pulled the trigger.
A single, devastating bullet exploded from the barrel. Its force rivaled—no, surpassed—that of the shot he had fired in his duel with Venti.
Tartaglia saw the bullet flying toward him, and an inexplicable fear surged in his chest.
For a brief moment, he hallucinated a demonic figure: a humanoid beast with a goat's head, bat wings sprouting from its back, its maw wide open as it charged at him.
The vision was terrifying, twisted beyond logic. As the bullet sped toward him, Tartaglia's mind spun like a carousel, his life flashing before his eyes.
A deafening BOOM ripped through the air.
The massive impact hurled Tartaglia backward. His Foul Legacy armor burst apart under the explosion.
Like a kite cut from its string, he crashed to the floor and rolled to a stop.
…
The golden grandeur of the Golden House now lay shrouded in chaos.
Smoke choked the air. Dust whirled in every direction. The pungent stench of battle clung to every breath—it was hard even to breathe.
At the heart of the chaos, Tartaglia lay sprawled across the cold marble, chest heaving, each breath a pained struggle.
He forced his eyes open, staring into the swirling haze, his gaze flickering with emotion.
Shock. Resentment. Helplessness… A collage of conflicting feelings blurred across his battered expression.
Suddenly, he coughed violently, a dry itch clawing up his throat.
Cough, cough… The sound echoed, jarring and raw in the emptiness of the hall.
As the coughing subsided, blood dripped from the corner of his mouth.
Using his arm, he tried to prop himself up—but his body was too heavy, too broken.
Shao Yun slowly walked over, revolver still drawn, barrel aimed squarely at Tartaglia. His eyes held a flicker of regret, but more than anything—resolve, and a cold edge.
He looked down at him, his voice low and steely.
"You could've just run, you know? I wouldn't have caught you. You didn't have to push it this far. Why'd you test my bottom line?"
Tartaglia looked up at the gun pointed at him, a flicker of defiance passing through his eyes. He closed them, took a deep breath, and opened them again—his voice faint but firm.
"I had no choice. I'm a Harbinger. The Tsaritsa's will… is absolute. And fighting—that's my calling. Even if I die in battle… I've no regrets."
Shao Yun's gaze wavered slightly. There was something tragic in Tartaglia's fallen form—his power and pride stripped, just a dying soldier left behind.
He cocked the hammer, preparing to end it.
"Any last words?"
From the side, Paimon could take no more. Her eyes red with tears, her voice trembled. "Shao Yun… are you really going to… kill him?"
Shao Yun turned to meet her tearful gaze. He hesitated—then said firmly, "Paimon, sometimes… there are things you don't understand. I don't expect you to."
Paimon looked at Tartaglia on the ground, heart aching with pity.
"But he was so kind to us… he helped us find information about the Geo Archon. He even shared a meal with us…"
Shao Yun averted his eyes, taking a deep breath. His voice faltered.
"I know. But… I swore I'd protect you. And this time—this time, let me be the devil."
Then, he looked at Lumine, determination flaring behind his eyes.
"Lumine, cover Paimon's eyes. I don't want her to see this."
Lumine nodded, gently pulling Paimon into her arms, shielding her from the world.
Paimon sobbed into Lumine's chest, helpless and grieving.
Shao Yun winced at the sight. But his grip on the revolver didn't loosen. "Paimon… last time in Mondstadt, I listened to you and spared those Fatui. But this time—I hope you'll understand."
Tartaglia, bruised and bleeding, let out a faint chuckle. With great effort, he muttered, "Lumine… don't forget her ears either."
Lumine glanced down at him, a conflicted look flashing across her eyes. She looked up at Shao Yun.
"Shao Yun… just give him a clean death. That's all I ask."
He nodded lightly.
Then he turned back to Tartaglia—eyes lingering on the battered but unyielding glint in the other man's eyes.
"Got any last requests?"
Tartaglia opened his mouth, straining for breath.
From his pocket, he pulled out a blood-stained receipt. Its edge was still damp with red. With a trembling hand, he extended it toward Shao Yun.
"I ordered a toy… from Granny Shan. Please… pick it up… and send it to the Snezhnaya Adventurers' Guild. Recipient: Ajax's little brother… 'Teucer'."
Shao Yun accepted the bloodied slip, staring at the barely legible writing. A strange image flashed through his mind—one warm, familiar, yet distant.
It pierced something inside him, tearing at a hidden part of his soul.
He shook his head quickly to suppress it.
"No."
His voice was flat, almost cold. But his eyes were a whirl of emotion.
Tartaglia's eyes flickered with disappointment. He retracted the slip and let out a bitter laugh. "Cold-blooded as ever."
Shao Yun said nothing. He took a deep breath, aimed the revolver squarely at Tartaglia's chest.
His finger brushed the trigger—but he paused. Watching Tartaglia closely, as if waiting for the very last word.
Tartaglia stared up at the ceiling, eyes serene, accepting. He spoke slowly, every word tinged with emotion.
"If one day you go to Snezhnaya… tell my family—I love them."
…
"Believe me, kid. There aren't many good people in this world. So… be one."
…
The voice crashed through Shao Yun's mind like thunder.
Simple words—but heavy with truth and hope.
They echoed inside him, stirring something he couldn't name. Pain tightened in his chest.
He clutched his head, wincing. The vision of Tartaglia's final plea still fresh in his mind.
His voice shook slightly. "Were you just now… begging for your life?"
Tartaglia raised his head, confused. He paused, then countered with a quiet question.
"If you were the one on the ground… would you beg?"
Shao Yun fell silent.
He recalled all their battles—their fierce clashes, the moments they nearly killed each other.
He knew Tartaglia was not a man who yielded easily. And yet, here he was, lying broken… strangely at peace.
Shao Yun looked back at Lumine and Paimon. Lumine still shielded Paimon, protecting her from this final truth. Their eyes met—hers full of trust.
"Whatever you choose… I'll stand by you."
Warmth swelled in Shao Yun's chest. He wasn't alone. He drew in a long breath, burying his feelings deep.
Then he slowly raised his gun—this time aiming just under Tartaglia's left rib.
The gunshot echoed, shattering the silence.
Paimon flinched at the sound. Then came the flood of sadness—tears spilling like broken pearls.
She sobbed uncontrollably in Lumine's arms.
Shao Yun stared at Tartaglia's unconscious form. Blood spilled from the wound near his ribs.
He inhaled deeply, exhaled slowly—like unloading a heavy weight. He muttered to himself:
"Whether you live or die… that's up to fate now. If someone finds you, you live. If not… I'll visit your grave this time next year."
Then he turned, facing Lumine and the weeping Paimon, a storm of emotion in his eyes.
Pressing his lips together, he finally said, "Let's go."
Paimon, breathless from crying, asked in a trembling voice, "Is it really… over?"
Shao Yun nodded, his gaze deep and steady.
"I did what I believed was right."
Lumine patted Paimon's back gently, her voice soft.
"No more words. Let's go."
As they walked out of the Golden House, only Paimon's cries echoed.
Shao Yun glanced at Lumine beside him.
"Lumine… do you hate me for killing him? He was… good to you."
Lumine tilted her head toward him, then down to the girl in her arms. She stroked Paimon's hair gently, her voice calm and resolute.
"Shao Yun… I told you. No matter what you decide—I'll support you."
Her words lifted some of the burden from his heart. He nodded quietly, then reached out to brush Paimon's head gently.
His touch was warm, steady—a silent gesture of comfort.
"Paimon… I'm really sorry. This time, I didn't listen to you."
Paimon said nothing, only burying her head deeper into Lumine's chest, soaking her clothes with tears.
Lumine sighed softly and looked to Shao Yun.
"Give her time. Childe really did mean something to her."