Grasscutter_Resources/Resources/Readable/EN/Book84_EN.txt

Down every street in Mondstadt have I strolled.
The air was filled with the stench of misery and the buzz of revelry.
I saw the most arrogant of aristocrats,
And I saw the most pitiful of the impoverished.
At night these streets are a spider's web — some here to feast, others their eternal prey.
I hear a jangling in the night, and know it is the chains that fetter the souls of the oppressed.

I patrol the streets of Mondstadt at nighttime,
Where my peers and superiors would once declare:
"We are the starlit knights, lift thy heads and bear witness!"
"For we, who raise our flag in the splendor of starlight, are the true protectors of Mondstadt!"
But not once have I lifted my head to the stars, or gazed at our flag:
For I cannot shift my focus from the filthy street corners.

Destitute peddlers weep in silence.
Aging soldiers grimace in pain.
In the deathly stillness of night,
A young girl, rejected by the Aristocracy, pleads for Barbatos' mercy.
The sighing of mournful winds rattles the Cathedral gate,
Carrying with them the grief of the oppressed, they assault splendid palatial walls.

Each mother's call,
Each infant's cry,
Enough to dent the hardest of shields.
Enough to shatter the sharpest of swords.

Sounds of sorrow send shivers down my spine.
But in the palace, and in the castle,
Though the wind blows the same over holy ground,
They are but the sighs of ants to the ears of men.