The Mourner and the Poet

The best way to understand a person was naturally to take time and send dedicated agents to investigate them. Yet time was the one luxury the elves lacked. Thus, as Anbaixiu's messenger, Naya was swiftly brought into the royal palace, where a face-to-face interrogation by the Elven Queen and the former king awaited her. Catherine asked Naya, "You have seen that lich. Tell me about him." Naya recalled the encounter, then said agitatedly, "That lich... he isn't human at all!" Her words made Catherine frown. Had the child suffered some form of torment that broke her mind? Why was she speaking so incoherently? Naya seemed to realize she had blurted out something nonsensical and hastily explained, "Your Majesty, that lich is terrifying. He seems able to read minds. I didn't say a single word, yet he guessed everything." At the thought of Anbaixiu's terrifying nature, Naya trembled all over. Catherine spoke gently to her, "Do not be afraid, my child. You are safe here. No matter how terrifying that lich may be, he cannot harm you." Catherine's voice possessed a soothing effect. Naya quickly calmed down, though she said with deep remorse, "I am sorry, Your Majesty. Our strategic plan was deduced by that lich. It is all my fault." Catherine felt as if a blade had pricked her heart. This child did not even know the true plan, yet here she was, blaming herself. Catherine continued to comfort her, "Worry not, Naya. You only need to tell me what you know. Leave the rest to me." Only then did Naya begin recounting her ordeal bit by bit. From the assassination attempt on Viscount Leitman to her encounter with Anbaixiu, Naya described the entire battle in great detail. After listening, Catherine understood what kind of opponent Naya had faced. He was unquestionably a lich of legendary rank. No wonder the Twilight Guard had repeatedly fallen into his hands. "...And then, I was captured by him. After being taken prisoner, I kept my mouth shut and said nothing. But that lich held onto me and started muttering to himself. I don't know what happened, but he quickly deduced that the magical contracts were empowered by Your Majesty. He even figured out the consequences of breaching the contract. I swear before the gods, I didn't utter a single word about those details!" Naya's words puzzled Catherine. Elves were immune to charm spells, and very few things could intrude upon their minds to force them to act against their will. Yet under repeated questioning, Naya's answers showed no inconsistencies; nor were they false memories born of emotional distress. After offering a few more soothing words, Catherine dismissed Naya to rest, promising that she would rescue Cicero and the others. Before Naya, Catherine had maintained an air of calm confidence to put the young elven girl at ease. But once Naya left, Catherine could no longer conceal the shock in her heart. What was behind this mind-reading effect? Catherine asked the old king, "If a mage of legendary rank casts Detect Thoughts, could they read an elf's mind?" The old king shook his head. "Highly unlikely." That blessing originated from the elven pantheon. Forget a legend; even if another deity intervened personally, it would be difficult to alter an elf's will. "Then what is the deal with this lich?" Catherine grew increasingly perplexed. The old king fell into deep thought, turning words like *lich* and *undead* over in his mind. After a long silence, he finally uttered a peculiar term. "The Elegy Poetry Society..." the old king murmured. "This lich is very likely a member of the Elegy Poetry Society." "The Elegy Poetry Society?" Catherine had never heard the name before, so she asked, "That sounds like an undead organization. Could he be a subordinate of that Queen of Roses in the Underdark?" Although the Underdark was not counted among the Nine Kingdoms, everyone knew a powerful Undead Queen ruled down there. Though her domain was not expansive, the might her kingdom wielded was comparable to the middle tier of the Nine Kingdoms. Catherine had never met the Queen of Roses, but she had a fair understanding of her. If he were a subordinate of that queen, possessing some peculiar methods might make sense. However, the old king shook his head. "No, you have it backward. The Queen of Roses is merely one member of the Elegy Poetry Society." Shock registered on Catherine's face. The Queen of Roses, whose stature rivaled her own, was merely one member of this organization? Just how terrifying was it? "That is unbelievable," Catherine said. The old king nodded. "Indeed. When I first heard of the Elegy Poetry Society, I was equally astonished. It is an exceptionally formidable undead organization, where the minimum threshold for membership is legend." "The minimum threshold is legend? How many members do they have?" Catherine pressed. "I do not know. Perhaps only the president of the Elegy Poetry Society knows the identities of every member. I only learned the name from one member whose codename was 'Poet,' whom I met during my travels." Scenes from many years ago surfaced in the old king's mind, back when the Demonic Dragon Tyrant still ruled. In his youth, the elven king had been a free-spirited ranger. While roaming the continent, he met Arthur Ryan, who had just received divine revelation. Both were youths of extraordinary talent and swiftly became adventuring companions. When Arthur Ryan slayed his first dragon, the young elf had stood beside him, drawing his bow. Back then, he had no idea the paladin before him would become the founding emperor of the Ryan Empire, nor could he have imagined that Arthur would achieve the magnificent feat of expelling all dragons. During their travels together, they had once stopped for drinks at a tavern. Having just completed a commission, the two were in high spirits and drank heavily. In their drunken excitement, both cast proper etiquette to the winds. "The bard singing in the tavern was utterly dreadful. I had too much to drink, so I went up and mocked him. Arthur did the same, completely forgetting the strictures of a paladin. Clapping an arm around my shoulder, he laughed loudly at the bard... and then we realized we had picked on the wrong person." Even prominent figures who shook the continent had their share of foolish, naive days. It was just their terrible luck that the bard they ran into happened to have a rather foul temper. "That bard was a member of the Elegy Poetry Society?" Catherine asked. "Indeed. His codename was Poet, though I only found out later. That night, Arthur and I were thoroughly thrashed. "Arthur and I suffered the greatest defeat of our lives, but we thought it was just because we were drunk and hadn't fought at our best. So the next day, we went looking for trouble with that bard again. I must admit, it was an exceedingly foolish decision. "Even with Arthur's dragon-slaying might, we were still thoroughly toyed with before him. If that bard hadn't lacked the inclination to kill, the Ryan Empire might never have come to be, and I would never have had the chance to inherit the throne of the Silvermoon High Court." The old king rubbed his nose rather awkwardly, as if still recalling the piercing pain when his nose was broken by a lute. The young prodigies destined to shake the continent had suffered a humiliating tumble, only to be tied up by this "Poet," dragged back to his dwelling, and forced to listen to his poetry for three days and three nights. To them, it was the crowning disgrace of their lives. The young elf happened to be particularly well-versed in poetry, so he talked extensively with the "Poet." That was how he learned of the Elegy Poetry Society—and that this terrifying "Poet" was merely one of its members. "The Elegy Poetry Society has a mysterious president; I only know his codename is the Mourner. And the Poet I encountered must have had an extraordinary relationship with this Mourner. He claimed to be an ordinary member of the society, but judging by their codenames, the Poet seemed more like a vice president. I have always suspected that he might very well be a deity." Catherine hastily asked, "A god of the undead? Do you mean Velsharoon, the God of Liches, or the Lord of Bones?" "No. Neither of those deities has such a playful, mocking disposition. If we had encountered an avatar of either, we would have been turned into undead long ago. "The impression Poet gave me went beyond mere undead; his power seemed far more ancient. I could not even discern his race. He admitted his undead nature himself; I never sensed it on my own. Nor did he harbor that relentless hatred toward the living. He was as free and unconstrained as a true bard. "It was just that the poems he wrote were genuinely dreadful—clumsy as a goblin's love letter." Catherine wore an awkward expression at the old king's words. It sounded remarkably like someone who had lost a fight trying to salvage some dignity. Who would have thought this dignified, steady former king had such a past? "Very well, back to the matter at hand. You should understand by now just how powerful the Elegy Poetry Society is. The Queen of Roses in the Underdark is a member, and so is that mysterious Poet. By that measure, one can easily imagine how formidable this lich must be. Your Majesty, even after your second ascension to legend, you may not be his match. He possesses a unique power to read elven thoughts, making it very likely that he is yet another God-favored. Therefore, these negotiations..." Before the old king could finish, Catherine interrupted, "I must go. Forgive my obstinacy, but I need to find the strength to keep living." Catherine pressed her hand tightly against her chest, her face turning deathly pale. "Your Majesty, you..." The old king saw that something was wrong. Her reaction looked alarmingly like the signs of dying from a broken heart. The vast majority of elves possessed delicate, sensitive natures. When psychological pressure grew beyond what they could bear, their hearts could very well shatter, bringing about total death. The existential crisis facing her kingdom and crushing guilt left Catherine suffocated, her mind teetering on the verge of collapse. If confessing her guilt could save the elven race, Catherine would have revealed the secret long ago and submitted herself to the judgment stand. Yet she could not utter a word. Mana addiction had no cure. If exposed, it would incite nationwide panic, and Catherine would not be the only one dying of a broken heart; the elven race would immediately fracture and face total annihilation. Under these circumstances, the lives of Cicero and the others were the final strand holding Catherine's sanity together. Rescuing even one of them would grant her the strength to endure and keep going. "Sigh." The old king let out a sigh. When he had chosen Catherine as his heir, he had valued her strong sense of responsibility above all. Yet now, that very sense of responsibility threatened to become the doom of the elves. "Very well. The negotiations will proceed, but before we begin, we must learn more about this lich. I will have the rituals prepared to divine his past and future. So bear with it for now, until we gather sufficient intelligence," the old king consoled her. Catherine murmured a grateful "Thank you." The ritual the old king spoke of was a magic unique to the elves. By harnessing the power of divination, they could glimpse a target's past and future—far clearer than Naya's account. Perhaps it could even uncover his weaknesses, granting them the upper hand in the negotiations. Beneath the power of divination, nothing hidden could remain concealed. When that time came, they would uncover exactly what this lich was plotting.