Genshin Impact: Marechaussee Hunter

Don't yank my hair!

Clorinde, determined, kept grabbing at his hair. Frustrated, he retaliated by pulling hers in return. And just like that, their rivalry began. Rolling on the ground, they wrestled with all the fierceness two babies could muster, their tiny fists grasping at each other in a battle of wills.

Ultimately, their fight was cut short when Petronilla burst through the door, her gaze sweeping over the scene unfolding before her.

"Oh? Looks like you two are already fighting to see who's stronger," she remarked, amusement dancing in her eyes as she watched Clorinde pin him down with ease.

Get off! he grumbled in his mine, squirming beneath her.

This was humiliating—he had lost to his sister.

This was his life. Three years of babyhood? Pure torture—I swear! Being completely helpless, unable to take care of myself? Absolutely humiliating.

I spent most of my time sleeping, pooping, and, of course, fighting with my sister—our own little battles to pass the time as best as we could.

"She's won more than me—but I swear, I'm just letting her win!"

But now? Now he could run. And he wasn't about to waste that freedom.

With unsteady steps, Lucien took off, determined to explore. Petronilla—his adoptive mother, mentor, master… whatever, let's just call her his mentor—clearly had no idea how to raise kids. Instead of coddling them, she let him roam free.

Of course, Clorinde trailed right behind him, both of them running with the wind rushing past their faces.

The land around them was alive with movement—birds chirped happily as they flitted through the trees, following the winding forest trail.

Lucien wasn't foolish enough to stray too far. Getting lost? Not a chance—he had no desire to run into any lurking monsters.

"Look ove ther! Wha's that?" Clorinde pointed with her tiny hand.

His eyes locked onto a strange little creature scuttling through the underbrush. It looked like a crab, its shell thick and buffed, glowing a bright orange under the sunlight.

"It looks kinda cute," Lucien muttered.

Clorinde smirked. "Go pet it. I dar you."

"Oh, you think I won't?" He puffed out his chest and tiptoed closer, moving slow and steady. Inch by inch, he reached out until his fingers brushed the creature's shell.

"I did it!" he exclaimed, spinning around triumphantly.

Then—pain.

A sharp pinch shot through his hand. Lucien's face went pale, his breath hitched, and his eyes darted downward.

The crab's claws were clamped onto his fingers.

"AHHHHHHHH!" He shrieked, flailing wildly as he stomped his feet, shaking his hand like a madman.

Clorinde doubled over in laughter, her small body shaking as she clutched her sides. Her giggles rang out, high-pitched and uncontrollable, as she pointed at Lucien, completely unable to contain herself.

"This isn't funny! It hurts—get it off, get it off!" Lucien yelled, shaking his hand violently.

With one final desperate swing, the crab went flying, landing with a splash in the crystal-clear water.

Lucien let out a breath of relief, cradling his sore, reddened hand. "That hurt…" he muttered.

Clorinde's eyes were brimming with tears of laughter as she wiped them away, still chuckling.

"That's why you don't go touching things you shouldn't," Petronilla's voice rang out.

Lucien whipped his head around to see her casually strolling over, arms crossed, having watched the entire scene unfold from a distance.

Meanwhile, Clorinde had wandered up to her, tugging at the hem of her coat. "Ca we play?" she asked, looking up expectantly.

Petronilla smiled. "Oh, sweet child…"

With a smooth motion, she unsheathed her sword and handed it to Clorinde. A real sword. A short blade, but still—very much not a toy.

Lucien's eyes went wide. Is she insane?! He barely had time to process what just happened before his sister's small hands wrapped around the hilt.

Clorinde's eyes sparkled with awe as she gripped the weapon, attempting to swing it like a pro. But her movements were clumsy, and before she knew it—ouch! The blade nicked her hand.

Lucien's heart jumped. "Clorinde!" He ran to her side, eyes wide with concern. Her small hand trembled, blood beginning to seep from the cut.

Lucien spun around, hissing at Petronilla. "What are you thinking? Giving a child a weapon?!"

"Now, now," she said, completely unfazed. "She'll be fine. And besides, she'll learn firsthand what happens when you don't wield a sword correctly."

Lucien sighed. That was just how his mentor was—but he had to admit, she had a point. He still remembered the time he tried climbing a tree, only to lose his grip and come crashing down, the sharp snap of a bone echoing in his ears. Yeah… he never tried that again.

Petronilla knelt beside Clorinde, her tone softening. "Now, I'll teach you how to bandage yourself. Lucien, bring me the first aid kit."

Lucien nodded, quickly dashed off to grab the supplies, returning moments later. 

She taught them how to bandage a wound, and Lucien had to admit—neither his parents nor his school had ever taught him anything medical. Not even basic CPR. Ironically, the only time he learned anything useful was in his school's culinary class.

He shook his head. School had always felt useless to him, especially after middle school. He could already do simple math, read, and write—what more did they want? A letter on a piece of paper just to tell him how Smart he was?

But ask him about guns? Now they were talking.

His eyes locked onto Petronilla's firearm—its design reminded him of the Pistolet Modèle 1777, but more advanced. His fingers twitched with the urge to touch it. Slowly, he stepped closer, reaching out until his hand brushed the smooth material of the holster.

Damn… It felt perfect.

Petronilla's gaze shifted to him, noticing his fascination. "Oh?" She raised an eyebrow. "You like the gun?"

Before he could respond, she unholstered it and held it out to him. "Here. It's yours."

Lucien's eyes went wide. He had never been given a gift before—not even from his friends. A strange warmth spread in his chest, and for a moment, he felt his throat tighten. He wanted to cry, but there was no way he was showing that kind of vulnerability.

So, he did what he always did—he cracked a joke.

"Giving a gun to a child? How irresponsible," he said with a smirk, his eyes narrowing. "But hey, I'm not complaining."

He hugged the weapon close, admiring its design. A sleek white body with gold accents, red lines tracing along the barrel—it was beautiful. 

Lucien lifted the gun to his nose, inhaling deeply. The faint scent of gun residue still lingered—it hadn't been long since it was last fired. Don't ask him how he knew. He just did.

Petronilla watched him with amusement. "It amazes me how well you speak for a three-year-old. Your intelligence is quite something, while Clorinde is still struggling to pronounce words properly."

Lucien smirked. "I guess I'm just smarter."

Clorinde froze, her grip on the sword tightening. Then, with a furious glare, she charged at him, weapon in hand.

"Oh, shit—!"

Lucien bolted. "Wait, wait! I didn't mean it!"

"I'll sho you who's smart!" Clorinde shouted,Chasing after him, they darted around in endless circles.

"Calm down, you two," Petronilla said firmly. "Clorinde, a sword is meant to cut down your enemies, not your own brother."

Clorinde halted in her tracks, her grip on the sword loosening. "I'm sorry," she mumbled, her hands trembling from exhaustion.

"And Lucien, since you seem interested in guns, I'll teach you how to shoot—but keep in mind, they're far more effective with a Vision, which neither of you have yet. No doubt you will one day, but first, I want you both to master the sword. I'll head to the Court of Fontaine and have one crafted for you, Lucien."

"Wait! Can I come with you, Mentor?" Lucien's eyes sparkled with excitement, his mind already imagining the sights and sounds of the city— the bustling shops, the delicious food, and of course… the women.

Petronilla's gaze sharpened. "Don't call me that. Call me 'Master'—it's more fitting," she said, her tone a little agitated.

"As for your request, we're moving closer to the Court. I won't always be around, and it's best for you two to live near the city."

He couldn't believe it—he was going to the city! He had always dreamed of seeing the beautiful sights there. He wished he could grow older faster so he could go out and experience more. 

But first—

"Uh… Master how do I use this gun?" Lucien asked, turning it over in his hands.

"You either use a Vision to channel your shots or rely on standard bullets," Petronilla explained. "Most of the bullets we use are non-lethal rounds. You get six shots before you need to reload."

She pointed at a small mechanism near the trigger. "See this? That's the chamber. Slide it open here, load the bullets, and you're good to go."

Oh my god, this is so badass!

Lucien checked the gun—it was still loaded. Excitement surged through him as he aimed at a nearby tree, his small hands gripping the weapon as tightly as he could. With a deep breath, he pulled the trigger.

Boom!

The gun kicked back violently, ripping from his grip and clattering to the ground.

"AAAHHH!" he yelped, clutching his throbbing hand. His fingers tingle with sharp pain, a stinging ache radiating up his arm as he shook them desperately.

Petronilla chuckled. "You're far too small to use it properly, but you'll grow into it."

"You also need to take care of the gun," Petronilla instructed. "Keep it clean, especially the barrel. The last thing you want is for it to blow up in your hands."

The pain in his hands gradually faded. With a determined nod to Petronilla, he bent down, picked up the gun, and held it firmly in his grasp.

"Now, you two, put your things away. Training begins now," Petronilla commanded. "Your first task—swim across that water."

"Yes, Master!" Lucien and Clorinde shouted in unison before rushing to set their belongings aside.