“Lord Balladeer,” the lead agent stammered. “We came to assist. Are you… injured?”
Scaramouche, the Balladeer, Sixth of the Fatui Harbingers, held the object up to the sliver of moonlight. It was a Debate Club . A crude, absurdly oversized claymore made of riveted steel, timber, and spite. It looked less like a weapon and more like a carnival mallet designed by an engineer with a grudge. scaramouche x debate club image
The next day, on a remote island in Inazuma, a Fatui recon team found something they could not file in a standard report. “Lord Balladeer,” the lead agent stammered
The weight was stupid. Obscene. It would ruin the drape of his kimono. It would make him look like a common street thug. He imagined himself, the lofty Balladeer, reduced to swinging a glorified fence post at a hilichurl. The indignity should have made him incinerate it on the spot. It was a Debate Club
The air in the Grand Narukami Shrine’s back archive was thick with the scent of ancient vellum, dust, and impending violence.