Genshin Impact: Pool Character, Nirvana of the Demon God

"Since your dissatisfaction has been buried deep in your heart for so long... why wait until now to truly reveal your blade?" Dixia's eyes narrowed slightly, her voice low and sharp, like a cold blade slicing through the silent sandstorm.

“Because—this is the perfect opportunity where the right time, place, and people come together!” A burst of intense light flashed in Rahman’s eyes, then his gaze, calm and resolute, swept over the three men’s shoulders and into the shadowy depths of the dark dunes.

Rahman chuckled lightly: "However, before we delve deeper into this game, how about we invite the three friends behind us to show themselves for a chat?"

—Sino has been exposed.

This thought struck Ying and Paimon almost instantly.

Ying's eyes narrowed slightly, her eyelashes trembled, her fingertips tightened quietly, and a fierce fighting spirit surged within her.

However, she ultimately restrained herself, suppressing her breath to be even deeper and more steady, like an ancient sword that was not yet drawn but already exuded a chilling aura.

In contrast, Paimon stood stiffly with no attempt to hide his condition, his face drained of color, his eyes wide open, and his body trembling slightly, looking exactly like a firefly being watched by an owl.

Upon hearing this, Dixia raised her eyebrows slightly. At first, a look of surprise did appear on her face, but in the blink of an eye, that surprise quietly sank like quicksand, turning into a faint but sharp curve at the corner of her lips: "As expected... I couldn't hide it from you after all."

Before the words were finished, a soft rustling of sand filled the air, and a tall, slender figure slowly emerged from the shadows—

His black robe swept across the rugged rock face, the moonlight outlining his cold profile. His steps were steady and unhurried, yet he exuded the solemn aura unique to a disciplinary officer.

Rahman's smile deepened, and he nodded to him: "Welcome, former Grand Disciplinary Officer of the Church."

Sino frowned slightly, his gaze sharp as a blade: "You recognize me?"

“I don’t recognize you.” Rahman shook his head calmly, his tone composed. “I don’t even know your name.”

“But I know your identity—the former Grand Disciplinary Officer; and I know your whereabouts—you are now setting foot on this scorching and silent desert.”

His gaze slowly swept over Ying and Paimon, his voice low and rhythmic: "The desert is vast and desolate, and outsiders are already scarce; yet, within just a few days, two unfamiliar faces have appeared—"

"What's even more coincidental is that the timing of your arrival here coincides perfectly with the rumors of the Grand Disciplinarian's departure from the Order of the Church."

"So, following the clues and deducing step by step... the answer became obvious." He spoke calmly, yet his words were sharp and clear: "There is a high probability that you are fellow travelers."

Sino's pupils contracted slightly, and his voice suddenly turned cold: "So... you didn't actually discover where I was hiding?"

Rahman smiled frankly and nodded without hesitation: "Indeed, I didn't notice. The Grand Disciplinarian's ability to conceal himself is unparalleled—even the wind forgot to leave a trace for you."

—I've been scammed.

The thought flashed through the minds of all four simultaneously, like a sudden sandstorm, catching them completely off guard.

His confident and composed demeanor just now was so real that it subconsciously convinced people—no one suspected that behind that calm gaze was a carefully orchestrated psychological game.

Rahman met Seno's scrutinizing gaze, his smile fading, but his tone grew increasingly solemn: "One of the reasons I've decided to launch an attack on the Council of the Church at this moment is because of you."

"Because of me?" Seno's eyes darkened slightly, and a hint of doubt was revealed in his voice.

“Indeed.” Rahman nodded, his expression solemn. “A few days ago, I received a secret letter—it stated that the Church’s strongest warrior, ‘Sage Caesar,’ and the supreme deity, ‘Little Lucky Grass King,’ have both gone missing.”

"The power struggle between the reformist and royalist factions intensified, and the central government was on the verge of collapse."

"Immediately afterwards, the Grand Disciplinary Officer left his seat, rendering the Disciplinary Agency a mere shell... The Command Council's combat power was in jeopardy, and its authority was shaken. This moment is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for the people of the desert to break free from their shackles and take back control of their destiny."

Dixia's eyes narrowed: "You believe it?"

“Believe? No.” Rahman’s lips curled slightly, with a hint of wise sarcasm and caution. “I only believe in evidence—that’s why I ordered my trusted confidants, who were infiltrated into the group of thirty, to gather intelligence on the movements of Sumeru City day and night.”

"Although no concrete information has been released, the clues are clear enough: the secret letter is at least 80% true."

He turned to Seno again, his gaze sharp: "Now, the Grand Disciplinary is personally present in the desert—this final piece of the puzzle assures me that the rest is 90% true, beyond doubt."

Sino gazed at him silently, his eyes calm yet turbulent: "Are you gambling? If that 'one percent' is false, then you'll lose everything."

Rahman looked up and laughed, his laughter ringing out like a sudden gust of wind sweeping across the desert: "Is there ever anything in this world that is perfect? ​​A ninety percent chance of victory is enough for me to give it my all, to stake my entire life on it—to join my brothers in this raging fire."

Rahman's gaze was intense, his voice low and firm: "As far as the public is concerned, five hundred years ago, the Great Tree King betrayed the oath of the Red King, causing our former supreme ruler of the desert to perish in the sands—"

"That betrayal not only severed the civilization that belonged to the desert, but also buried deep in history a rift that has been difficult to heal for generations."

"That is why the difference between us, the people of the desert, and the scholars of the Church is not a simple political disagreement, but a natural opposition rooted in memory, faith, and dignity."

His tone grew increasingly somber: "Personally speaking, the Council monopolizes knowledge, solidifies social classes, and practices harsh regional discrimination—"

"It built high walls with its scriptures and demarcated its boundaries with laws, firmly locking us desert people outside the oases and inside the sandstorms. Countless bright young people spend their entire lives trapped in the sea of ​​sand, unable even to look up at the walls of Mount Sumeru;"

"Even if one is lucky enough to step into Sumeru City, one is only regarded as a 'stranger' or a 'marginalized person,' bowing one's head under the pillars of the Academy and lingering outside the lecture hall. One is even quietly deprived of the right to ask a question."

He suddenly raised his hand, palm facing upwards, as if supporting the entire parched sky: "Therefore, we must resist—"

"Not out of anger, but out of a desire to survive; not for the purpose of destruction, but to reclaim forgotten dignity."

"This is the only clear-headed and passionate choice made by the people of the desert after five hundred years of silence."

Rahman's words were like gravel scraping against a stone wall, each word resounding and powerful.

Dixia stood still, her fingertips unconsciously stroking the hilt of the curved sword at her waist, her expression complex and indescribable.

As a desert dweller born on sand dunes and raised under the scorching sun, she understood all too well the burning pain and resentment contained in those words—

That wasn't incitement, but rather the heavy echo formed from countless nights without water or food, and countless eyes that gazed at Sumeru City but dared not approach it.

She even understood that the "way out" Rahman referred to might be the most real and tragic way to survive at that moment.

[A broader perspective has emerged.]

Wow, I actually think what he said makes a lot of sense?

[↑This is not just reasonable, it's perfectly justified!]

Those who become leaders are definitely not easy to deal with.

[With this guy's intelligence, you're telling me he's just a lowly, gilded guild leader?]

As a leader, I feel Rahman is very competent.

[The importance of having an outline when writing a plot is perfectly demonstrated here. This short scene effectively establishes Rahman's character.]

At this moment, Ying slowly raised her hand, her voice clear and calm: "I have a question."

Her gaze, sharp as a blade, swept silently over Rahman's shoulder and landed on the slightly swaying dark brown tent behind him. Her tone was calm yet contained a hidden edge: "Even if you can be sure that everything the person who passed on the information to you said is true."

Even if this truly is the best window of opportunity to directly confront the Council of the Church… how can you be so certain that your unorganized and untrained force is sufficient to face the Council's centuries-old, intricate military and legal system?

Upon hearing this, Rahman threw his head back and laughed, his laughter rough like gravel scraping against an iron plate: "How can I be sure? You actually ask me how I can be sure?"

His knuckles tapped heavily against the scabbard at his waist, his eyes burning: "The morbid control logic of the Order of the Instruction—layer upon layer of defense, record everything, even registering the mud stains on the soles of the disciplinary officers' boots—has already dragged itself into a quagmire of rigidity."

"And these brothers behind me, relying not on documents, but on their swords and their trust. I dare say: at their call, a sandstorm will rise;"

"The moment they move, the oasis becomes a battlefield. A war with the Council of the Order? It's not a question of whether it's possible, but when."

Seno nodded, his fingertips lightly stroking the hilt of his sword, his voice low and resolute: "He makes a good point."

“In recent years, the royalists have used the pretext of ‘rectifying discipline’ to repeatedly intensify their investigations, which has almost blocked the promotion channels for discipline officials.”

"The Council of Religion has had to increasingly place the burden of maintaining stability on the shoulders of the Thirty-Man Group and the Gilded Brigade—the former obeys the royalists, while the latter is rooted in the desert, and their loyalty has always hung by a thread."

Her bright eyes narrowed slightly, and she nodded gently: "If a central institution that controls the lifeline of a nation cannot even maintain a directly subordinate, reliable, and readily combat-ready standing force, and instead frequently relies on external forces..."

"So when the real storm comes, its reaction will only be sluggish, fragmented, or even self-destructive."

This is not an exaggeration, but an inevitable consequence of structural decay.

Rahman's confidence did not stem from arrogance, but from his accurate diagnosis of the deep-seated cracks in the structure of the Church.

However, she changed the subject, her tone becoming increasingly sharp: "But I still don't believe you can truly defeat the Council of the Church."

After all, the royalists and the Fools were colluding together. In terms of the Fools' military strength, they were just a scattered, gilded brigade, not worth fearing at all.

Rahman's pupils contracted slightly, his smile faded, and a sharp line appeared at the corner of his eye: "I see... these are the things that were not mentioned in the secret letter."

Ying nodded quietly: "Yes."

Dixia stepped half a step to the side, blocking Ying's path, her arms crossed, her leather armor gleaming coldly in the sunset: "I'm sorry, I cannot disclose this information."

"Is that so?" Rahman sighed softly, his smile returning, but now it had lost some of its arrogance and gained more of amusement. "What a pity."

He suddenly turned to Desia, his gaze sharp and sincere like that of a hawk: "Desia—why not come and help me?"

"You see with your own eyes: my flag is not embroidered with gold patterns, but only painted with the scorching sun melting gold; my ideals are not hidden in the files, but engraved on every inch of the blade polished by wind and sand."

"Such a passionate cause needs someone like you—a strong person who understands both the weight of a grain of sand and the trajectory of a star."

He paused briefly, a slight smile playing on his lips: "As for how to convince you... there's no need to rush. Time will tell—as long as you agree."

Dixia lowered her eyes, her fingertips slowly tracing an old scratch on the edge of her arm armor, her voice low and firm:

“Rahman, you should know this: I never bow to grand vows, only to concrete actions.”

Paimon said nervously, "Desia, you won't betray us, right? You won't, right!"

Dixia turned her head and said helplessly, "Are you an idiot?"

Ying reached out and covered Paimon's mouth, saying, "Sorry, she often speaks without thinking. You guys continue."

Dixia slowly turned around, her clothes fluttering slightly, her gaze sharp as a blade, and faced Rahman again—that figure standing on the edge of the sandstorm, carrying with him the glory of the past and his obsession.

Rahman gazed at her, his voice low and solemn, as if coming from the depths of a riverbed that had been dry for a thousand years: "Is this your choice?"

"So be it." He sighed softly, his tone devoid of anger but revealing an almost compassionate certainty. "Who stands shoulder to shoulder with whom, and who is an enemy of whom, can ultimately not shake our great cause of awakening the Crimson King."

"When the ancient kings return to this parched land, treading on stardust and flames, the ashes of the past will be transformed into fertile soil for new life, and everything—will begin anew."

With one hand on her hip, her knuckles slightly bent and her eyebrows raised, Desia spoke with a sharp sarcasm and an undeniable clarity: "Weren't you just saying you didn't believe the Church's lies? And now you're already thinking about waking up the Crimson King?"

Her gaze was sharp as a knife: "Furthermore... you know better than I do—the Crimson King has fallen, the temple is in ruins, the sacred texts are incomplete, and the awakening is nothing but the drunken ramblings of drunkards!"

"Rahman, all these years you've been licking blood off the edge of a knife, surviving sandstorms, and navigating power struggles. Haven't you managed to sever that secret and stubborn glimmer of hope for the 'supreme ruler'?"

Rahman was silent for a moment, the wind brushing against the stray gray hairs on his forehead. He raised his hand to touch an old bronze plaque etched with a sun pattern on his chest, his voice low but as firm as a rock: "I am a child of the desert, a child who grew up by the last campfire in the Red King's era."

"Whether I live in the dark alleys of exile or reside in the magnificent palaces of the powerful; whether I wield a rusty scimitar or a gilded scepter—my faith has never wavered because of my circumstances. It has long been forged into my bones and blood and deeply rooted in the deepest corner of my soul."

He raised his head, his gaze burning as if trying to pierce the ancient azure sky above: "Even if the Crimson King never awakens, even if the legend turns to dust... I will follow Him forever!"

"I swear by blood, I pledge my life!"

The air suddenly froze—the wind stopped, the sandstorm ceased, and even the aftershocks of camel bells in the distance quietly dissipated.

The phrase "swords drawn" is no longer a figure of speech; it represents the silent clash of two wills, the abyss where two destinies quietly split open between grains of sand.

Or rather, this is the true weight and substance of this confrontation—not a noisy exchange of blows, but a thunderous roar surging in silence.

After a long silence, Rahman lowered his eyes, his Adam's apple bobbing slightly, and finally spoke again. This time, his tone lost its divine arrogance and turned into an almost cold pragmatism: "However... knowing yourself and your enemy is the key to victory in every battle."

“In terms of stance, we are indeed strangers; but if we examine the situation closely—behind you and behind us stands the same shadow: huge, cold, and unquestionable.”

He raised his eyes, his gaze sharp and cautious like that of a hawk: "Then... how about we try to cooperate?"

——Digression

I'm almost finished writing the 3.1 version of the story. It's driving me crazy; I've been stuck on writer's block for days.

I was mostly thinking about how to arrange the dialogue so that the characters wouldn't be out of character. After I finished writing it, I had to write a whole extra chapter to relax.