Chapter 113: The Mourner and the Poet

To truly understand another party, the best method was to dispatch specialists to analyze that party's behavior.

But the elves no longer had that luxury. Thus, Naya, acting as Ambrose's messenger, was swiftly escorted to the royal palace for a direct audience with the Elf Queen and the former king.

Catherine requested, "You have seen that lich. Tell me what he was like."

Naya thought for a moment, then said with sudden agitation, "That lich… is not human at all."

The remark made Catherine frown. Had the child been tortured to the point of mental trauma? Her words made little sense.

Naya seemed to realize that she had spoken nonsense and hurried to explain. "Your Majesty, that lich is terrifying. He seemed able to read other people's thoughts. Though I did not say a single word, he guessed everything."

Upon thinking of Ambrose, Naya began to tremble.

Catherine spoke gently. "My child, do not be afraid. You are safe here. No matter how dreadful that lich may be, he cannot harm you."

Catherine's voice had a soothing quality, and Naya soon calmed down. Filled with guilt, she continued, "I am sorry, Your Majesty. That lich saw through our strategic plans. This is my fault."

Catherine felt as though a knife tip had pierced her heart. This young child, who had no inkling of the true plan, was blaming herself for Catherine's failures.

Catherine continued to comfort her. "Don't worry, Naya. Just tell me what you know. Leave the rest to me."

Only then did Naya begin to recount her experience in detail.

She described her attempted assassination of Viscount Letterman and subsequent encounter with Ambrose with painstaking care.

When Catherine finished listening, she understood what kind of opponent Naya had faced. This was unquestionably a legendary lich. No wonder the Twilight Wardens had fallen to him again and again.

"…And then he captured me. After I was taken prisoner, I kept my mouth shut and said nothing. The lich started talking to himself. I don't know how it happened, but he quickly deduced that the magical contracts came from Your Majesty's power. He even figured out the consequences of violating them. I swear to the gods, I didn't mention a single detail in front of him!"

Naya's words left Catherine perplexed. Elves were immune to charm effects; very few things could stimulate their minds strongly enough to make them act against their own will.

Yet after repeated questioning, Naya's answers revealed no inconsistencies. This was no false memory born of mental agitation. Catherine offered a few more reassurances, then dismissed Naya and bade her rest, promising her that Cicero and the others would be brought back safely.

Before Naya, Catherine maintained a composed and confident demeanor to put the young elf girl at ease. But once Naya had left, Catherine could no longer conceal her inner shock.

What was this supposed mind-reading ability?

Catherine asked the old king, "Could a legendary mage casting Detect Thoughts read an elf's mind?"

The old king shook his head. "Highly unlikely."

The elves' blessing against mental influence came from the elven gods themselves. Even other gods acting directly would find it difficult to alter an elf's will.

"Then how did this lich…?" Catherine grew increasingly confused.

The old king fell into deep thought, ruminating over what Naya had recounted. After a long while, he finally spoke a particular name.

"The Elegiac Society…" he murmured. "That lich is very likely a member of the Elegiac Society."

"The Elegiac Society?" Catherine had never heard the name before. She asked, "It sounds like an undead organization. Might it be under the command of that Rose Queen of the Umbral Depths?"

Although the Umbral Depths were not counted among the Nine Kingdoms, everyone knew that a powerful undead queen ruled there. Her territory was small, but her kingdom's strength would have placed it squarely in the middle among the Nine Kingdoms.

Catherine had never met this undead queen, but she knew a fair amount about her.

If the lich were one of her subordinates, then his unusual methods might be understandable.

However, the old king shook his head. "No. You have it backward. That undead queen is herself merely one member of the Elegiac Society."

Catherine's expression froze in shock. The Rose Queen was her equal in status, yet she was but a member of this organization. How terrifying, then, must the organization itself be?

"This is hard to believe," Catherine said.

The old king nodded. "Indeed. When I first heard of the Elegiac Society, I was just as astonished. It is an extraordinarily powerful undead organization. Its minimum standard for membership is reaching the legendary realm."

"Legendary, at minimum? How many members are there?" Catherine pressed.

"No one knows. Only the head of the Elegiac Society likely knows the full roster. I myself only met one of its members during my travels, someone known by the codename 'Poet'. It was from him that I learned the name of the Elegiac Society."

The old king thought back to memories from the past, back when the tyrannical demonic dragon still ruled. In his youth, the Elf King had been a free-spirited ranger. During his travels across the continent, he befriended a young man named Arthur Lyon, newly blessed by a divine revelation.

Both were prodigies, and they soon became adventuring companions.

When Arthur Lyon slew his first dragon, the young elf had stood right there by his side, bow drawn.

At the time, he had no idea that this paladin would one day become the founding emperor of the Lyon Empire, nor that he would accomplish the feat of driving all dragons from the continent.

During their travels together, they had once drunk in a certain tavern.

Fresh from completing a commission, both were in high spirits. They drank far too much, their excitement washing away all sense of propriety.

"The bard in that tavern sang terribly. I was drunk and went up to mock him a bit. Arthur was no better. He forgot all about the paladin's code, threw an arm around my shoulder, and loudly laughed at the bard with me… Only then did we realize we had offended someone we couldn't afford to."

Even figures who would one day shake the world had moments of foolish youth. Unfortunately, their luck that night had been abysmal: the bard they encountered had a particularly bad temper.

"And that bard was a member of the Elegiac Society?" Catherine asked.

"Correct. His codename was Poet. I only learned that later. That night, Arthur and I were both thoroughly taught a lesson.

"It was the greatest defeat of our lives, yet we convinced ourselves it was only because we had been drunk. The next day, we went looking for that bard again. I can safely say that was an extremely foolish decision.

"Even though Arthur was strong enough to take down dragons, the bard was able to toy with us mercilessly. If he wanted to kill us, the Lyon Empire would never have existed, and I would never have inherited the throne of the Court of the Silver Moon."

The old king rubbed his nose awkwardly, as if he could still feel the pain of having it broken by a lute.

The future luminaries of the continent had been utterly humiliated, then tied up and dragged home by the bard. They had been forced to listen to his poetry for three days and nights—an unforgettable disgrace.

The young elf had a particular talent for verse, and so he spoke at length with the bard. It was then that he learned of the Elegiac Society, and that this terrifying bard was but one of its members.

"The Elegiac Society has a mysterious leader. I only know his codename: the Mourner. The bard I encountered seemed to have an unusual relationship with him. Though he claimed to be an ordinary member, judging by their codenames, he felt more like a vice leader. I have long suspected that he may well be a god."

Catherine asked quickly, "An undead god? You mean the God of Liches, or the Lord of Bones?"

"No. Neither of those gods has such a playful temperament. If we had encountered their avatars, we would have been turned into undead on the spot.

"The bard felt like more than just an undead being. His power seemed far more ancient. I could not even guess his race. He claimed to be undead; it wasn't something I discerned myself. Nor did he harbor the kind of hatred toward the living that demands annihilation. He was free, like a true bard.

"But his poetry was truly awful. It was as clumsy as a gnome's love letter."

Catherine smiled awkwardly as she listened to her advisor try to salvage what remained of his pride. She hadn't expected the dignified old king to have such a past.

"Enough of that. Back to the matter at hand," the old king said. "You should now understand the power of the Elegiac Society. The queen of the Umbral Depths is but one of its members. That mysterious bard is another. By that comparison alone, the strength of this lich should be obvious. Your Majesty, you might not be his equal despite your second legendary ascension. He possesses the power of reading elven thoughts, which suggests he may be a godblessed. As for these negotiations…"

Before he could finish, Catherine interrupted him. "I must meet with him myself. Forgive my willfulness, but I need the fortitude to keep on living."

She pressed a hand tightly against her chest, her face draining of color.

"Your Majesty, you…" The old king sensed something was wrong. The symptoms resembled the onset of death by heartbreak.

Most elves were sensitive and delicate of temperament. At exceeding levels of mental strain, their hearts could literally shatter, leading to immediate death.

The threat of national annihilation and the crushing weight of guilt left Catherine gasping for breath. Her mind was on the verge of collapse. If her confession could have saved the elven race, she would have revealed everything long ago.

But she could not reveal anything. Mana addiction had no cure. Once the pandemic was exposed, it would trigger nationwide panic. At that point, the entire elven race would fracture and swiftly perish.

Under such circumstances, Catherine's sanity was barely holding on by a thread—a thread that would fray and snap if she did not save at least one of Cicero's group.

The old king let out a long breath. He had ultimately chosen Catherine as his heir because of her sense of responsibility. Now, that very responsibility seemed poised to destroy the elves.

"Very well. We will arrange for negotiations with the lich. But first, we must learn more about him. I will have preparations made for a ritual to divine his past and future. For now, you must endure until we have sufficient intelligence."

Catherine said softly, "Thank you."

The ritual the old king referred to was an elven art, a form of magic that borrowed the power of divination to glimpse a target's past and future. It would be far clearer than Naya's account—and might even reveal the lich's weaknesses, granting them leverage in negotiation.

With the power of divination, all that was hidden would be laid bare.

Then, at last, they would learn what this lich's true goals were.