The literary society’s collaborative event with the Elves was undoubtedly a failure. In the face of the literary society’s wanton behavior, the Elves’ slight defensive measures were as light as a feather in terms of offense.

Lyle admired the caliber of the performing Elves, even as the audience became chaotic, treating these elegant musicians like Muggles or mere backdrops. Despite being ignored by the Liches and the literary society’s members, who were preoccupied with watching a gentleman being beaten by an enraged cat to applause and cheers, the beautiful Elves maintained their composure and continued their performance without changing their expressions.

With a sympathetic and apologetic heart, Lyle returned to his seat, beside Alianna, to enjoy the Elves’ performance. The Witch, a long-time resident of Andrey, had no interest in the foolish behavior of the literary society. Her love for music took complete control of her mind, and she was now attentively savoring the harmonious sound of the Elves’ harps.

Lyle’s gaze lingered on her profile. Relaxed and focused, she seemed as if her soul had been taken away; her ruby lips were black in the green light, which only added to her gothic allure. The skin, crafted by Lyle’s own hands, stretched over flesh and cheekbones to form a complexion as smooth as a pearl.

The faint breaths exhaled sweetness, but the noise around was too loud for Lyle to hear the breaths he longed to listen to.

As if the heavens had heard Lyle’s simple wish, the shouting of the Liches diminished, and the music on stage tapered off with time.

If it could end with the sound of Alianna’s breath, that would indeed be a perfect conclusion to the concert.

Just as Lyle had hoped, in the emerging calm, he heard Alianna’s intake of breath.

A long inhalation, followed by the singing of Alianna Deathchant.

"Ahhhhhhhhhh!"

The concert, at last, ended with Alianna’s voice (her singing).

The music surged with fierce currents, and the large black cloth covering the cage danced wildly in the wind. The frantically thrashing corners resembled the outstretched hands of wailing spirits yearning for escape.

Music’s birth, music’s death.

All fell into dead silence.

After a long while, the ironwood door, groaning under its burden, creaked slowly open.

A gaunt and frail figure appeared. Bloody from all orifices, the whites of his eyes nearly filled with red. He resembled a survivor who had narrowly escaped from a massacre, collapsing to the ground after a few steps. Under the horrified stares of the Elves coming to investigate, he extended a trembling limb.

"Save... save... save me, I don’t want... I’m not ready!!"

The intense scream drained his last bit of energy, and that hand of hope fell powerlessly.

Before the Elves could approach to administer aid, new sounds emerged from behind the door.

It was the noise of a tumultuous collective movement.

In the Light Five District, the lush Elf Zone, that deep and obscure door seemed to connect to the Netherworld.

Skeletons, threads of blood clinging to them, exuding a terrifying aura of death. The eye sockets of those horrific Skeletons burned with the cold fire of souls, almost freezing the air.

The Skeleton Army, fully revealed under the sunlight, was a horde of Evil Spirits returned from Hell. And they aimed their malevolent gaze at the sole survivor.

"Why does the gentleman persist? Take off the disguise already."

The Skeletons didn’t cover their limbs as they moved, one by one, to the side of the gentleman lying on the ground.

"Fellows, the gentleman’s fleshly disguise seems a bit damaged, and it’s not coming off."

"Then let’s rip off the disguise. Being oppressed by flesh, the gentleman must be suffering."

So, seven or eight skeletal frames crouched beside that corpse, with sharp bone fingers piercing into the flesh, tearing it apart like wild dogs.

The guarding Elves were terrified by the horrifying scene in front of them, some fainting away, some sitting on the ground, numbly enduring the torment of their minds.

"What a hassle, the adhesiveness of this flesh disguise is too good," complained a skeleton draped in strips of flesh to its companion.

"Stop talking and get to work, I’ve already taken off my thigh flesh." Another skeleton stabbed its bone claw into the joint connecting the thigh, peeling off the muscle in layers as if removing stockings.

"Wow! A gentleman’s stomach is all acid, that’s just disgusting!"

Finally, a human was torn until only his skeleton remained, and two flames burst forth from his eye sockets. The gentleman in his Lich form sighed, "What are you doing, I think I can still be saved!"

"No, you’re beyond saving, better to be freed."

A weary Lich threw the intestines hanging from its body to the ground and stretched its bony frame languidly.

"Miss Alianna, has her singing improved again?"

"Definitely, she literally blew us away with her singing."

"Ah, I’m so satisfied, after hearing the Elves’ singing, and now Lord Alianna’s, I feel utterly comfortable. Let’s hurry to the other festivities."

"Remember to head back to the academy to change into a disguise first, I don’t want to run naked at the festival!"

The Lich members of the literature club, laughing and joking, walked away arm in arm, leaving a crimson-stained ground behind them.

Alianna, clothed in a specter-like black gauze, which had been dyed dark red by blood, supported Lyle, slowly taking one step at a time as they walked out.

Lyle felt as though his head was being violently stirred by a savage with a red-hot iron rod, turning it into a churning paste. If it hadn’t been for Nia immediately enveloping him, he probably would have died, damn that Alianna.

"I’m sorry, Lyle, I got too absorbed and couldn’t help but start singing."

Lyle took a deep breath; the smell of blood that filled his nostrils made his head hurt more, his facial muscles trembled, forming a strained smile.

"It’s okay, Alianna, I can handle it."

Even though he could hardly straighten his legs.

Alianna didn’t expose Lyle’s last bit of bravado, pressing her body closer to him, shifting more of the boy’s weight onto herself.

"By the way, how is Lady Veralliz? I don’t seem to see her around."

"That cat slipped into the shadows at the first opportunity; it was thanks to her aid that the gentleman managed to keep his body intact. She’s probably long gone."

Lyle nodded his head, limping towards the outside of the Elf Zone with a body full of pain.

"Uh, those musicians are still in the field," Lyle greeted the Elf Guards who were scared stiff to one side, "They are being protected by the leaves from the Emerald Tree, currently unconscious."

They should still have a chance at recovery.

One had to admit, the protection measures of the Elf Race were prescient.

However, they probably wouldn’t dare to participate in a cooperative event with the Liches again.

Truly, a sorrowful thing.