The Strongest Woman In Teyvat Is Visionless

Chapter 4.1

Chapter 4 got too long, decided to cut it in half. Also, will publish a 100 hearts special when we reach it, thanks for all the hearts and comments!

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The day at Angel's Share had started like any other. Slow, quiet, and filled with the kind of background noise that was almost soothing. You leaned against the bar, arms crossed, staring out the window as the early evening sun filtered through the glass. The tavern wasn't crowded yet—it never really was at this time of day—but you knew it would pick up later, as it always did.

Mora was on your mind, as usual. The steady paycheck from working here as the bouncer had been nice, but now that Razor was staying with you, your savings weren't growing as fast as you wanted. Not that you'd admit it out loud, but taking care of the wolf-boy had become... a priority.

"I need more Mora." You sighed internally, watching as a pair of regulars walked into the tavern and made their way to a table. "With Razor staying with me now, I've got another mouth to feed. And he eats like... well, like a wolf."

You leaned further against the bar, feeling the weight of it all. "I thought saving up for repairs was hard enough when it was just me. Now I've got to fix that decrepit house and feed a bottomless pit."

The thought of your run-down house crossed your mind. The place looked more haunted than anything, but it had always been enough for just you. Now, though? With Razor running around and getting dirt everywhere, it was becoming obvious that it needed more work. "The roof's gonna cave in one of these days if I don't do something about it." You sighed again, pinching the bridge of your nose.

Still... having Razor around wasn't all bad. You wouldn't admit it out loud, but the kid was growing on you.

Your mind wandered back to a few days ago, when Razor had shown up at your door after one of his "hunts." He'd been particularly proud of himself that day.

You were minding your own business, trying to patch up a broken window with some cheap materials, when you heard the door creak open. Instantly on guard, you grabbed a nearby broomstick, only to see Razor walk in—his silver hair wilder than usual. But that wasn't the first thing you noticed.

It was the dead pig slung over his shoulder.

"I bring food," Razor said proudly, his voice as earnest as ever.

You blinked. "Is that... a pig?"

Razor nodded enthusiastically, as if bringing home a whole wild pig was a completely normal thing to do. "Good meat. For pack."

You stared at him, broomstick still in hand. "Razor, we can't keep... wild pigs in the house."

He looked confused, frowning at the pig over his shoulder. "But... it food."

"Yeah, I know it's food, but we don't exactly have a place to... prepare that." You gestured vaguely at the mess of a kitchen behind you. "We're not... in the wilderness. This is a house. A... barely functional house, but still."

Razor, clearly unfazed, placed the pig down on the floor with a heavy thud. "I clean. Good meat. You see."

You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. "It's not that I don't appreciate the... effort. But next time, maybe stick to, I don't know, bringing back vegetables or... Mora."

Razor blinked, tilting his head. "Mora... not food."

You shook your head, muttering to yourself as you grabbed a cloth to clean up the mess. "One of these days, I'm going to teach that kid about grocery stores."

But the pig incident wasn't the end of it. Not even close.

A few days later, you'd been in the middle of sweeping the floor (which was nearly impossible now, thanks to Razor tracking mud everywhere) when he came barreling in through the door again. This time, he wasn't carrying a pig—but a cluster of small, fluffy rabbits, all dangling by their ears.

"Food!" Razor declared triumphantly, his eyes gleaming.

You dropped the broom in shock. "Rabbits? Razor, why are you bringing rabbits into the house?"

He frowned, as if confused by the question. "For eat. You said... smaller."

You groaned. "I meant vegetables, not... not this!" You waved a hand at the limp rabbits hanging from his grip.

And then there was the chicken incident. You had barely recovered from the rabbit episode when Razor came running in, holding not one, not two, but three live chickens, flapping and squawking in his arms.

Feathers exploded into the air, the chickens panicking as Razor tried to hold them still. "These! More food!"

You blinked, watching the chaos unfold as one chicken managed to wriggle free and take off around the kitchen, knocking over a stack of plates in the process.

"Razor!" you shouted, chasing after the rogue chicken with your broom. "Stop bringing live animals into the house!"

After the dust settled, you'd begrudgingly decided to keep a few of the chickens.

"Free eggs," you muttered to yourself, justifying the decision. But the truth was, you were now stuck with more mouths to feed—and the chickens had made themselves at home in your backyard, which was slowly turning into a makeshift farm.

These days, Razor still brings back animals from time to time—rabbits, birds, once even a squirrel. You'd long since given up trying to stop him. At this point, you were too tired to fight it, and maybe, deep down, you didn't really want to. Not that you'd ever admit it. Razor's "gifts" were his way of helping, after all.

"Now I have a small farm," you thought dryly, mentally tallying up the growing number of chickens, rabbits, and whatever else Razor decided to bring home. "And more mouths to feed."

You sighed, your thoughts briefly drifting to the Mora you'd need to keep up with the ever-growing collection of animals. "More expenses. Great."

But as usual, you didn't dwell on it. You'd handle it, one way or another. You always did.

"It's not so bad, though, having Razor around." You sighed at the memory, folding your arms across your chest. "He's kind of like a little brother or... I guess, maybe a son?" You quickly shut that thought down, shaking your head. "Either way, it's not so bad having him around."

As you mulled over your thoughts, Charles, the tavern's bartender, came up from behind the counter with a tray of freshly cleaned glasses. Diluc stood nearby, quietly counting the Mora earned from the day, his focus sharp as he tallied up the numbers.

"Master Diluc doesn't usually come to the tavern every night," Charles said casually, cleaning off one of the glasses with a cloth. "But since you've started working here, he's been here... every night."

You blinked, not quite sure how to respond. You glanced at Diluc, who didn't react, his eyes still fixed on the stack of Mora in front of him, as if pretending he hadn't heard anything.

"What, is he afraid I'll blow the place up?" you said dryly.

Charles chuckled softly. "Maybe. Or maybe he just likes watching you handle things."

You gave him a look, not entirely following what he was hinting at. "Sure, let's go with that." You pushed yourself off the bar and adjusted your stance, ready to break up whatever scuffle might pop up next. "Probably just likes seeing me toss out the drunks."

Diluc's eyes flickered toward you for the briefest moment, but he quickly went back to counting coins.

Charles only smiled knowingly as he continued wiping down the glasses. "Maybe."

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