Star Rail: Starting with a Lyre, Living off Busking

Yukong ignored Kafka's greeting, her cold eyes drifting briefly to Welt. He represented the Astral Express, and while she ached to launch her attack immediately, she had to maintain decorum for the sake of her potential ally. Acting impulsively would only damage the alliance.

Kafka, however, turned her attention to Welt with a smile that didn't falter.

"Welcome. Welt, isn't it? How are the kids doing?"

Her tone wasn't that of an enemy meeting on a battlefield—it was more like a friend reunited after a long separation.

"They're fine, thank you for asking," Welt replied evenly. "And if you'd kindly surrender and cooperate with the Xianzhou's investigation, I wouldn't mind arranging another visit for them to see you."

Welt regarded the Stellaron Hunters with nothing but wariness and vigilance. This group of so-called "maniacs," who pursued the universe's most dangerous relics, never failed to give him a sense of unease.

From the Black Tower incident to the current chaos on the Xianzhou, the Stellaron Hunters had left their fingerprints all over the galaxy's disturbances. And while Tingyun's death had too many suspicious elements to ignore, pinning it solely on the Stellaron Hunters felt both convenient and reductive.

They were calculating, not careless. Such a blatant act would only serve to draw unwanted attention.

"..."

Kafka's lips curled into a playful, almost predatory smile, her beauty tinged with an intoxicating allure. Even Yukong, who prided herself on her self-control, couldn't deny the magnetic pull of Kafka's presence. She had the air of a performer captivating her audience under the stage lights.

But Yukong wasn't here to admire her. Memories of past melodies meant nothing now, as her purpose was singular and unwavering.

"Are you two done chatting?" Yukong's icy tone broke through the tension. Her fingers were already poised on her bowstring.

"Oh? I thought you might want to ask about your dear Navigator first—"

Twang.

The bowstring hummed, loosing an arrow that left a trail of azure light in its wake. It grazed Kafka's cheek, slicing through a few strands of violet hair before disappearing into the distance.

Kafka tilted her head slightly, her gaze unfocused, as though unbothered by the near miss—or perhaps as if she had expected it.

Yukong remained unfazed by her shot's failure to land, her voice colder than before. "Save your explanations. Once you're in custody, the Divination Commission will extract the truth."

Kafka's smile deepened, taking on an edge that was both alluring and dangerous.

"That won't do," she said softly, raising her hands. A glint of light reflected off the spider-patterned gloves she wore, the rings on her fingers catching the light ominously.

Rolling toward Welt and Yukong's feet were several spider-shaped grenades, their dark purple glow a foreboding warning.

Kafka parted her lips, her voice smooth and composed.

Then came the explosion.

Boom!

The shockwave sent smoke and debris billowing through the area, obscuring everything. But through the haze, streaks of luminous arrows shot forward, their trajectories sharp and precise.

Kafka moved, her blade flashing as she intercepted the incoming projectiles, either deflecting them or slicing them mid-air.

Her unfocused eyes turned toward the source of the arrows—but Yukong was already gone.

The foxian moved like a phantom, her agility surpassing what the human eye could track. Her movements were a whirlwind of precision, the torrent of arrows she unleashed akin to a merciless storm.

Swish! Swish! Swish!

Each arrow, forged from energy particles, flew with deadly accuracy from her exquisite bow. They were powerful enough to pierce steel, and for a living target, a single hit would result in devastation.

This woman was fighting with deadly intent.

Despite years of administrative duty, Yukong's skills as a warrior had not dulled. In fact, she was sharper than ever, her attacks refined and lethal, honed like a fully operational starskiff.

Every shot was calculated, every movement deliberate. She even displayed techniques Welt had only seen among the elite combatants of other planets—curving arrows that danced through the air unpredictably.

Even the most critical of forest elders would find no flaw in her mastery of the bow. Yukong had reached the pinnacle of her craft.

Yet if Kafka were so easily defeated, that itself would be cause for concern. It would suggest that her true methods lay far beyond personal combat.

The first few arrows missed, but as the barrage continued, Kafka began to feel the pressure. With the third and fourth arrows, her body was abruptly slowed, caught in a gravitational field of black and crimson.

The sudden weight bore down on her, threatening to crush her movement altogether.

Yukong's mastery over the battlefield became increasingly evident as her gravitational manipulation extended its reach. She imbued her surrounding arrows with a "homing" property—even those Kafka had initially dodged looped back toward her.

"Interesting."

For the first time in the skirmish, Kafka seemed genuinely impressed.

Though her fluid, spiderweb-like blade technique guarded her well, it wasn't flawless. One of the returning arrows managed to slice through her beloved coat, leaving a thin gash. Kafka glanced down, a touch of annoyance creasing her brows.

"Oh dear, this coat was custom-made. Such a shame."

"Still fretting over your coat, Kafka? If you don't start playing your trump cards, you'll soon find yourself as prey."

Welt hovered above the battlefield, his commanding presence amplified by the gravitational energy radiating from his cane. For him, the sky had never been a limitation.

Even Yukong, a seasoned foxian pilot, couldn't help but glance at Welt's display of power. A flying enemy of his caliber was any pilot's nightmare. Fortunately, he was an ally in this battle, not an adversary—a realization that adjusted her earlier assessment of the Trailblazers.

Kafka, ever composed, smiled sweetly.

"You're right. If this keeps up, even I'd find it troublesome. So—"

Her voice took on a hypnotic lilt, the rhythm of her words transforming into a spell.

"Listen to me: the stars do not shine in daylight; the world must await the night."

Her words carried a tangible, otherworldly power, weaving reality-altering threads into the air. Even Welt faltered for a moment, his focus wavering under her spell. Only Yukong, standing beyond the range of Kafka's influence, remained unaffected.

Anticipating the "linguistic enchantment," Yukong had preemptively sealed her hearing.

For foxians, their heightened senses were both a strength and a vulnerability. Against an enemy capable of manipulating minds through language, her acute hearing could easily become a liability.

Without hesitation, Yukong nocked an arrow and loosed it into the sky, its sharp tone reverberating through the air.

The piercing sound snapped Welt out of his daze. His resistance to illusions was formidable, but Kafka's word-based abilities bore an unnerving resemblance to the powers of the Aeon Shaping Dust. Both warped perceptions and blurred reality, making them difficult to counteract.

Had the spell been any stronger, even realizing he was under its influence might have been impossible.

Welt's expression darkened. Kafka's potential threat level rose another notch in his mind.

If circumstances permitted, he would have resorted to his most devastating technique, the simulated black hole. But they weren't in open space—any misuse of his abilities here could destroy the area and render countless starskiffs inoperable.

While he deliberated his next move, Yukong sprang into action again.

Her next volley of arrows wasn't aimed for pure damage. Instead, they emitted high-frequency soundwaves, disrupting Kafka's focus and interfering with her spellcasting.

Kafka's serene expression shifted slightly, her brows furrowing. It was unclear whether she was frustrated by the tactical disadvantage or simply irritated by the noise.

Yukong carefully observed her opponent's movements, exploiting the gaps in her defenses.

Dodging a slash from Kafka's blade, the foxian vaulted into the air, her lithe frame defying gravity. Her bowstring stretched to its limit as an arrow of radiant energy formed, pulsing with concentrated power.

"The wind rises; the clouds align."

The arrow's mere presence distorted the surrounding air, streaks of crimson threading through its comet-like glow. Yukong's focus was absolute as she channeled her skill.

"This ends with one shot!"

The arrow flew with a speed and force that defied comprehension, surpassing any conventional concept of "archery." It was a streak of pure destruction, weaving through Kafka's counterfire like a bird dancing through a storm.

The impact erupted into a dazzling explosion, the residual shards of light sealing off any possible escape. Despite her cunning, Kafka could only brace herself against the attack.

The blast tore through the battlefield with calculated intensity, leaving Kafka heavily injured but alive. Yukong had deliberately restrained the arrow's full potential, ensuring her target wouldn't die outright.

After all, the Xianzhou's medical capabilities could preserve a life even at death's door. But the pain Kafka would endure during recovery? That was her own doing for repeatedly provoking the Xianzhou.

Yukong didn't believe in mercy for fugitives. That Kafka still breathed was evidence of the restraint Yukong had cultivated over the years—on a true battlefield, leaving enemies alive was a foolish luxury.

Yet, before Yukong could relax, the sharp click of a trigger broke the silence.

Her first thought: How is this possible?

Her second: When did I fall under her spell?

She reacted instinctively, her battle-hardened reflexes propelling her into evasive maneuvers.

But that moment of hesitation was enough.

Through the haze of smoke, Kafka emerged unscathed, her weapon trained squarely on Yukong. Her enhanced perception caught every detail: the trajectory of the bullet, the heat of the gun barrel, and the inevitable future where Yukong would be riddled with holes.

Yukong tried to dodge, but she knew it was too late. Even the foxian's resilience couldn't protect her from this.

Regret flickered in her heart, her lips curving into a bitter smile. There was no room for anger or despair—just a quiet acceptance of her mistake.

Yet, in the suspended moment before the bullets could strike, a barrier of shimmering void energy materialized between them.

Welt's steady voice broke through the chaos.

"Calm your body and mind."

The bullets disappeared into the void, swallowed without a trace. Welt descended from above, his presence a reassuring anchor amidst the chaos. Yukong's tail flicked involuntarily, betraying her unsettled emotions, though her expression remained composed.

Kafka's expression turned contemplative as she observed the scene. Behind Welt and Yukong, the rest of the Trailblazers arrived at last, forming a circle that left Kafka no room to escape.

"Kafka, your days of barging onto the Xianzhou without consequence are over!"

March 7th's voice rang out as she raised her weapon, her usual cheer replaced by righteous fury.

"Drop the guns!"

"Now!" Stelle's stern voice followed, her gaze locked on Kafka's twin submachine guns—White Ivory and Black Ebony.

Only Venti, swaying drunkenly with no weapon in hand, seemed out of place. But everyone knew better than to underestimate him; if he became a target, the outcome would likely be disastrous for his enemies.

"Be careful. Her word-binding abilities are dangerous," Welt warned, stepping forward to draw Kafka's attention.

He had observed Yukong's earlier misstep and understood the complexity of her powers. Fortunately, now that her methods were exposed, Welt's gravity fields and Venti's wind barriers would suffice to counteract her influence.

Surrounded and seemingly out of options, Kafka raised her hands in mock surrender, her guns angled downward. She appeared ready to comply, her expression calm.

But just as she moved to drop her weapons, her round glasses glinted ominously, and she whispered under her breath.

"They've arrived."

A rain of gunfire erupted from above, far more intense than before. Everyone instinctively shifted into defensive stances, but Yukong's sharp eyes caught sight of a figure descending through the chaos.

"Hmm. Parlor tricks."

A young, confident voice rang out as a pink-haired girl descended gracefully, her movements precise and deliberate.

"Every move you make has already been foreseen."

Balancing effortlessly atop suspended bullets, she flicked them aside with her fingers, redirecting their trajectories with casual precision. The Eye of Insight on her forehead glowed faintly, its power enveloping the battlefield.

The deflected bullets clattered harmlessly to the ground, leaving Kafka and the newcomer standing back-to-back like actors in a rehearsed performance.

"Fu Xuan, Divination Commission."

The pink-haired girl turned with an air of authority, her voice clear and commanding.

"The suspect is now under my jurisdiction."

Kafka relinquished her grip, letting her twin guns fall to the ground.

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T/N: also holy grail war got blocked :), caught me in a bad time so no reposting here just going to go straight to scribblehub!

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