Chapter Text
Tartaglia felt his thoughts clouding the air.
"You're filthy," his monstrous self whispered. "Not even Zhongli wants you. He used you."
Tartaglia gritted his teeth. He needed to vent his anger on something, or else he would go mad.
He went to the receptionist at the adventurers' guild.
"I want a commission," the bionic puppet demanded. He was usually more polite, but he was trying hard not to kill everyone in his vicinity.
The puppet bowed its head. "Yes, Master Childe."
A few adventurers' mouths dropped open in surprise. Surprisingly, none of them said anything, nor did it anger him further. Tartaglia supposed an angry Harbinger had that effect on people.
The commission was simple. Kill some monsters to the south. Fortunately, there were no records of Fatui deserters. This kind of monster provoked Childe's wrath for their cowardice, and he enjoyed torturing them slowly, deliciously.
But who was he to call someone a monster?
When he reached the outskirts of the marked area, he heard a voice that, of all the voices he could have heard, surprised him.
La Signora was there. "Now that that brat has discovered His Majesty's plan, perhaps I can demand his dishonor and demote his position," she said with a cruel smile.
"He is the Tsaritsa's favorite," Pantalone said, completely cold and indifferent.
So they discovered he knew. The question is: how?
Morax was probably the one. This hurt Childe more than it should have.
The urge to emerge from his hiding place and face them almost killed Tartaglia's anxiety.
In the end, he quietly fled.
What he didn't see was the Fair Lady's amused smile. "He heard everything."