Crimson oozes from your side, a wretched ache running through you with every breath. A pesky Fatui Skirmisher had somehow landed a hit on you, and now you could hardly move.

You were convinced this was the end— until a gust of wind cut your thoughts off, and a figure appeared before you. Before you knew it, your perpetrator fell to his knees, desperation and terror in his eyes.

“Apologize,” the man who saved you seethed. This was Scaramouche— a wanderer with an air of mystery surrounding him. You aren’t necessarily friends, so why did he go out of his way to do that?