Noelle stepped into Ye Ruo's home, her maid armor swapped for soft daily wear.
"Senior, I brewed you some coffee," she said, voice laced with shy admiration.
The heroic knight-maid had softened into a gentle, earnest girl.
She felt odd, baring this side to him, vulnerability prickling her skin.
Her room neighbored his on this floor, a cozy nook she'd claimed.
Each dawn, she tended to his needs—breakfast, sweets, a spotless space.
A cup of coffee now graced his leisure, her hands ever busy.
She'd slipped into the role of his personal maid without a second thought.
Ye Ruo called it spiritual training, a path to refine her soul.
Noelle, trusting and green, nodded and took it to heart.
His towering repute among the Knights bolstered her faith.
Living here felt safe, his guidance a steady anchor.
He lifted the cup, savoring a sip, then flashed a warm grin.
"Caramel pine nut blend? You're outdoing yourself, little Noelle," he praised.
"This'll fuel my writing all day," he added, enthusiasm sparking.
"Come afternoon, we'll spar—swordplay's on the menu," he promised.
Noelle's face lit up, joy bubbling over in a rush.
"Thank you, Senior—I'll keep pushing to make you proud!" she chirped.
Plate in hand, she bustled off, a whirlwind of eager duty.
Lunch scraps awaited her touch, then a market run for dinner's makings.
She'd cook him a feast, her skills sharpening under his eye.
This civilian rhythm—softer, freer—eased her once-tense heart.
The Knights' rigid demands had faded, pressure melting away.
Now, she breathed easier, her world blooming with new hues.
Ye Ruo sipped again, savoring the brew, then checked his legend tally.
Post-draws—common and exquisite—left him with 3,000 points.
Old Mond's wildfire spread kept the numbers climbing fast.
Over six thousand now pulsed on the screen, a gratifying surge.
Thirty to forty thousand Mondstadters had plunged into his tale.
Another ten exquisite draws dangled within reach.
Common chests stocked his life's basics—resources aplenty.
Exquisite ones promised rarer gems, tools to shape his path.
He willed it, and the panel flared—legend points drained in a blink.
Ten ornate chests cascaded down, blue light bathing the room.
A chime rang clear, the system's voice crisp in his mind.
"Sumeru Yak Breeding Manual, otherworldly underwear, ten thousand Mora," it began.
"Fifteen thousand Mora, ten green herbs, first aid spray," it continued.
"Thirty thousand Mora, Favonius Sword, two Momotaro rice balls, fifty thousand Mora," it finished.
Ye Ruo sighed—normal odds had crept back in.
Mora dominated, a familiar tide in the haul.
He scanned each item, curiosity threading his thoughts.
The Yak Manual mocked him—perfect for Jean, too late now.
Noelle could ferry it over, sparing him a second trip.
A useful find, just poorly timed—he'd live with it.
"Otherworldly underwear: a royal sister's scent clings to it," the panel teased.
Ye Ruo froze, a scowl creasing his brow.
"System, really? This is your idea of a prize?" he muttered.
Cross-world loot should dazzle, not embarrass.
Ten green herbs followed—Raccoon City's healing leaves.
They mended wounds fast, a balm from a zombie-ravaged world.
"No virus," the note assured, easing his wary pulse.
Memories of Jill's grit flickered—those mods had been a blast.
First aid spray gleamed next, a potent wound-fixer.
He smirked—Resident Evil's touch lent a nostalgic edge.
A Favonius Sword materialized, cool steel in his grip.
Odd—a blue-tier take on the Knights' standard blade.
Its quality hinted at enchantments beyond the norm.
Then came the star: two Momotaro rice balls.
"Doraemon's taming balls—feed a beast, win its loyalty," the description sang.
Ye Ruo's mind raced—wild boars, wolves, a tamed legion?
What about Dvalin, the wind dragon at elemental heights?
"System, would these sway Dvalin?" he probed aloud.
"Effective on beasts—less so on elemental lords," it replied.
"No taming, but feeding earns slight favor," it clarified.
"You'd need to shove it in his mouth," it added dryly.
Ye Ruo grinned—more rice balls, more sway.
Stack enough, and Dvalin might heed his call.
Twarin, Guardian of the East, a dragon knight's dream.
Soar the skies on his wings—Barbatos-grade swagger.
A twinge of guilt nipped—stealing Wendy's pal?
"Nonsense," he scoffed, brushing it off with a laugh.
"Twarin's Wendy's friend—why not mine too?" he reasoned.
No betrayal—just a shared bond, fair and square.
Stuffing rice balls down a dragon's maw? He'd manage.
The system hummed, fame ticking up, a quiet roar.
His quill would spin more tales, his legend unfurling wide.
Mondstadt buzzed beyond, ripe for his next move.
***
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