Lyle liked the literature club. Although this group, carrying Andrey’s glory, might have some shortcomings in certain aspects, in Lyle’s heart, they were still a lovely bunch of people.

After grappling with internal struggle for quite some time, Lyle arrived at the literature club’s bubble house. As he passed through the colorful bubble membrane, this is what he thought.

He hoped those guys would notice the Holy Light Culinary Society’s animosity towards them and be careful.

"What’s the most beautiful race in the world?"

"Elves!"

"What’s the gentlest race in the world?"

"Elves!"

"Who are the literature club’s best friends?"

"Elves!"

In front of Lyle, under the curious gaze of Nia, a group of Liches, draped in black robes with a mysterious frenzy on their faces, led by a tablecloth sprite, recited terrible lines.

Mr. Reporter swayed his body, lavishing high praise on his companions.

"That’s right! My brethren! Elves are the most adorable people in the world!"

"Cheer! Our literature club has signed a contract with the Dream Elf and Dark Elves of the City of Wandering. These pretty and cute handsome men and beautiful women will hold a unique music concert for us."

"The sound of music!"

"As Andrey’s representative, we will be responsible for liaising with the Elf Race. Comrades! Let living beings feel the passion of the dead!"

"Let art cross the gateway of life and death!"

The meeting, like that of fanatics, ended in an instant, and aside from the lingering excitement on their faces, it seemed as if nothing had happened.

Lyle fell silent.

Now that one of Andrey’s clubs had declared hostility and put you on their menu, you all are rejuvenating over Elves’ misses.

Typical of the literature club.

Feeling his efforts were completely in vain, Lyle greeted the floating tablecloth sprite with a resentful gaze.

"Welcome to the literature club, Plague Doctor. Are you here to play today, or are you here to exchange secrets with me? Or perhaps, you want to join our Elf cheer squad?" Mr. Reporter was clearly also in an excited state, which made the Deer Antler Crown on his head bounce like a small deer, capturing all of Nia’s attention.

"You’ve gotten yourselves into trouble," Lyle said in the most serious tone, his somber eyes dampening Mr. Reporter’s initial enthusiasm.

"Wha-what trouble?" Mr. Reporter had no doubt about Lyle’s words and naturally affirmed the fact that trouble had occurred.

"The things you did the other day."

Lyle had thought that this would clue in Mr. Reporter.

Instead, his body shook, revealing the bright red Scottish kilt under the tightly grasped tablecloth, which leaped with the movements of its owner.

"Which-which thing has caused trouble?" Mr. Reporter, scratching where his head would be, frantically feigned an expression of horror, "Was it the reveal of ’God Chef Little Raymond’? Or has Andrey’s Sword’s identity been exposed? Or maybe... the headmaster finally discovered the public opinion survey was rigged by our literature club in order to participate in the championship?"

"...It’s the Holy Light Culinary Society declaring hostilities and preparing to stew your literature club," Lyle realized.

Lyle realized that for the literature club, this might not be a big deal. Behind their frenzy for courting disaster lay countless lethal perils, and who knew, they might implode at any moment.

Mr. Reporter visibly relaxed and his smile returned.

"Oh, it’s that matter. So that means our mushroom poisoning strategy has succeeded."

Mr. Reporter patted Lyle’s shoulder, completely oblivious to the fact that his Deer Antler Crown had been removed and was now swaying on Nia’s head.

"Still, thanks to Plague Doctor for the information, even though it’s not a big deal."

"...Anyway, just be careful," Lyle warned.

The reporter waved his hand with indifference, as if such hostile behavior was not worth mentioning.

"Plague Doctor, would you be interested in attending the ’Life of Music,’ jointly organized by our Literary Society and the Elf Race? You can bring your family too. I’m sure Miss Alianna would be very interested, especially if she doesn’t sing."

The threat of a stewing potion was thus ignored.

Lyle decided to catch the topic thrown by the reporter.

"I looked at the promotional brochure, ’Life of Music,’ which seems to be a concert organized by the Elves, but what does this have to do with the Literary Society? Do you guys have any talents related to music apart from courting death everywhere?"

"Hehehe, Plague Doctor, you overlooked one capability of our Literary Society."

What capability? Can you play musical instruments? Or are you saying you compose and write lyrics?

"We’re rich, our cash ability."

"???"

The reporter shrugged. "The Literary Society is the wealthiest club in Andrey. Our members have amassed a fortune through various channels, even the Liches would consider it significant. Although, most other people think those Gold Coins are just decorative items."

"As the most active club in Andrey, we naturally also have the strongest club funds."

"Especially since our boss, Mr. Dark, has absolutely no interest in money."

"We sponsored those Elves with a price they couldn’t resist, and they prepared a special concert just for us." Mr. Reporter spread his hands out, striking a pose of financial invincibility.

"Because it’s fun, we of the Literary Society just made it happen."

"Are the Elves really short on money?"

"They’re not short on money, but they lack some shiny gold decorations. We’re very willing to part with those if it can bring us new entertainment."

"After all, listening to those Soul Singers every day feels like your soul is about to split."

So that was it, Lyle had heard from Alianna that her performance activities seemed to be reducing, probably because these flesh-clad Liches had found a new amusement. Alianna didn’t complain about her reduced workload; she now had more free time to savor food, to "live."

Singing was her joy, sing whenever she wanted, even though Lyle had to hide every time to avoid sudden death.

By the way, the best soundproofed place in Naslan Castle was Beatrice’s wine cellar, where the human son-in-law and his vampire niece had a period of empathetic, awkward coexistence.

"Cultural exchanges between races are something the City of Wandering is happy to foster, and they can be very interesting."

"But why didn’t the Elves choose to cooperate with those Soul Singers? They’re fellow musicians; they should have more in common, right?"

"Because this event’s theme is ’Life of Music,’ not ’Music of Death,’ please have faith in Andrey’s musicians, they are quite excellent."

"It’s said that an Elf representative chose to interact with those singers before. Then, she became a ghostly representative, a sad story."

Mr. Reporter sighed, but his voice lacked any trace of sorrow.

"By the way, I heard the Necromancer Figure Club and the Demon Race also have a joint activity."

"Yes, it’s the Inferno Performance Race."

"Cool! That must be a grand event. As the host, Plague Doctor, you have to show some enthusiasm."

"... I will." Do you believe it? I have no clue what this competition is about.

"Don’t worry, Plague Doctor, our Literary Society will also promote this performance race for you!"

"The Holy Light Culinary Society’s Inferno Performance Race hosted with all our might! How do you like that title?"

Before Lyle could respond, Mr. Reporter had already arranged for the new promotional brochures to be sent out.

With full-scale promotional tactics, the sleek poster even featured an image of him riding the Spine Wheel.

It felt as though he had everything planned from the start.