[Pre-reading Notice]
[This special chapter is unrelated to the main story plot!!]
[Recommended to listen to "Millelith's Nameless" while reading for a better experience!]
Not long after the "Wenyensuite" in Liyue Harbor opened its doors, the Shop Assistant found a neatly stacked pile of manuscripts in the corner of the counter. The cover only bore the eight characters "Millelith's Steadfastness, Unyielding Mountains," with no signature.
"Manager, this book... it doesn't belong to our shop, does it?"
The manager took it and flipped through a few pages; his expression shifted from confusion to solemnity. He waved the Shop Assistant away and sat alone by the window in the early morning light, reading page by page.
The handwriting was neat yet weathered, as if carrying the sand, wind, blood, and tears of The Chasm. By the time he finished the final sentence, "The stone tablet remains silent, but the memory lives forever," he was already in tears, speechless for a long time.
He asked everyone he could, but no one knew the source of the manuscript. It was as if it had quietly descended here along with the morning mist.
The manager stroked the rough edges of the manuscript, looking at the bustling and peaceful harbor outside the window, and already understood in his heart.
"Some stories should not be buried." He wiped the moisture from the corners of his eyes and solemnly instructed the Shop Assistant, "Go, arrange for printing. This book is not for profit; it will be sold at cost."
He believed that the person who wrote this story must have hoped for the same.
Let what should be remembered be remembered, and let what should be passed down be passed down.
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[Title]: "Millelith's Steadfastness, Unyielding Mountains!"
[Author]: Anonymous
[Main Text]:
The inscriptions on the stone tablet have become mottled, yet every carving feels like an unhealed wound, aching faintly in the winds of The Chasm.
"In the battle of The Chasm, I was paralyzed from the waist down and could only dictate..."
The young man who recorded the inscriptions is now a white-haired old man.
He sits in a wheelchair, a faded Millelith battle robe spread across his lap, his fingers trembling as they trace every scratch on the armor plates.
The setting sun shines through the window frames of Liyue Harbor, lighting a faint glow in his clouded eyes.
[Part One]
The dark tide came suddenly that year.
A rift to the Abyss tore open deep within The Chasm, and monsters surged toward the mortal world like a bursting dam.
The Six Gods rushed to the source of the disaster, while the seven nations on earth were building the final line of defense with their own flesh and blood.
They were the youngest soldiers in the Millelith, with a bit of baby fat still on their faces, even their posture while holding spears appearing somewhat naive.
Before marching out, he swore an oath before the statue of Lord Rex Lapis, his voice clear yet firm: "Millelith's Steadfastness, Unyielding Mountains!"
Lord Bosacius—the long-retired Marshal Vritra—actually came treading on clouds amidst the sound of war drums.
When that four-armed figure stood at the front of the formation, the entire army erupted in cheers.
He still remembers Lord Bosacius's thunderous voice echoing across the two-hundred-mile defensive line outside The Chasm: "Though this body retreats, this heart remains unchanged! Today, I live and die with the Millelith! We shall hold the line two hundred miles outside The Chasm to the death!"
[Part Two]
The front line held firm two hundred miles outside The Chasm. The roars of the monsters shook the heavens and earth, but the cries of the Millelith never ceased.
"Millelith's Steadfastness, Unyielding Mountains!"
The youth's first face-to-face encounter with death was during the first day and night.
The veteran in the same tent died saving him, his chest pierced by a monster's claws. Before dying, the veteran told him: "Kid, live on, and see the peaceful years for us..."
Lord Bosacius's four arms swung like the wind, lightning exploding gaps into the tide of monsters one after another. But there were too many monsters, so many it seemed they could never be finished.
At dawn on the seventh day, Lord Bosacius was covered in blood, one arm hanging limply, yet he still stood at the very front.
"Millelith!" Bosacius's voice was hoarse but still high-pitched like a war drum, "Behind us is our home; we have no path of retreat!"
The youth tightly gripped his spear, the shaft already covered in dried blood.
[Part Three]
The final decisive battle took place at the edge of The Chasm.
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