Academic gathering with a lich

As the crowd ascended the spiral staircase, directly before Lyle was a large door. If he wasn't mistaken, behind that door should be the castle's main hall.

Numerous Light Bats clung to the door, arranged into the letters of Andrey's name. Only then did Lyle realize that the wings of Light Bats were not just one color.

With the door slowly opening, Lyle's excitement gradually intensified, as if the side of mystery itself were opening its gates to him.

Beyond the door...

Actually, there wasn't much difference.

Facing the stone steps, there was no one around. It seemed the headmaster hadn't arrived yet.

Figures in disguise gathered in twos and threes, murmuring softly to each other. Without the accompaniment of banquet dishes or even tables and chairs for resting, everyone just stood in the hall exchanging words.

Andrey's people didn't seem to have much talent for entertainment, perhaps their talents were all devoted to scholarly pursuits.

The welcome music, however, was performed in the stands on both sides.

But evidently, the musicians' minds were as abnormal as the others, for Lyle could hear Cassandra's Requiem, a mournful tune played at funerals.

Dozens of compositions mixed together, creating a discordant cacophony that aggravated the listeners, yet the undertone of sorrow within the music made their meaning clear as they were no different from a Requiem.

The entire hall could be summed up as an odd place with musicians who played their laments with abandon, where a mix of several dozen versions of laments mingled in chaos. Lyle marveled at how they could keep in tune with the dissonant interference around them. The people below silently endured this torment, pretending to converse as if nothing were amiss, as if Lyle were the only one feeling oppressed.

Fortunately, the welcome music soon ended, the musicians laid down their instruments and joined the crowd in the hall, and those outside surged in as well. Thankfully, the space in the main hall was large enough that it didn't feel too crowded.

"Mr. Plague Doctor, about the vegetable soup you mentioned earlier with the Light Bat..."

It seemed Mr. Gentleman wanted to speak his mind.

"Rest easy, Mr. Gentleman," an Impostor passing by greeted Mr. Gentleman.

"Rest easy, Mr. White,"

Mr. White gave a slight nod and walked away to another area.

"Mr. Plague Doctor, about the vegetable soup..."

"Rest easy, Mr. Gentleman," another greeter interjected.

"Rest easy, Miss Silver Star," and again he left indifferently.

"The vegetable soup..."

"Rest easy, Mr. Gentleman."

"..."

Lyle smiled. Those greeters seemed to be interrupting on purpose, turning away right after receiving a reply, as if to say, "Mr. Gentleman, I just wanted to call out your name."

Mr. Gentleman didn't seem to think so, shrugging his shoulders towards Lyle, "Mr. Plague Doctor, I fear my questions must be postponed for now. If I don't manage my friends' enthusiastic greetings, I think our conversation would be hard to sustain. Please excuse me, Mr. Plague Doctor."

"Of course, Mr. Gentleman," Lyle expressed his indifference.

Mr. Gentleman raised his top hat, holding it before his chest, gave Lyle a slight bow, and disappeared into the crowd.

Lyle found a supporting pillar in the main hall and leaned against it, taking what he considered his first break of the evening. As a young man, he felt uncomfortable with the night's activities, wondering where the others got the energy to continue their discussions. Was it a passion for learning?

The people of Andrey were emotionally rigid, their interpersonal dealings awkward, and they remained indifferent to trivial matters, but maintained a lively interest in knowledge and untiring energy. Would I become like this in the future?

That was generally the case, but there were exceptions, like the passionate Mr. Gentleman who seemed quite skilled at social interaction, a fact obviously proven by his popularity among his peers.

Lyle noticed an interesting phenomenon.

Everyone's disguises were different and could generally be divided into three categories.

Ordinary humans.

Like Lyle, their disguises consisted of full-coverage coats or neatly tailored professional attire, and this style of dress made up the majority of the crowd.

Abnormal humans.

Strange attire.

Lyle saw an Impostor dressed as a king not far away, with a diamond-encrusted crown on his head, a Golden Scepter in hand, and a red cape over silk clothes – the whole attire screamed opulence. The costume didn't appear theatrical, and the wealth displayed by that attire alone suggested a fortune large enough to rival a country's.

Apart from this, there were knight armors, doll costumes, and figures wrapped in full-body bandages; Lyle wasn't sure if that was supposed to be a mummy, but it sure looked like one.

The addition of these eccentric outfits turned the hall into a masquerade ball, bringing a sense of novelty amidst the homogeneity of dark attire and aesthetic fatigue.

Lyle also noticed that these brightly disguised figures seemed to be at the center of various social circles; so it was, only the mighty could carry off such bizarre clothing.

The third category.

Non-human.

Lyle could bear the odd clothing just fine, but have you ever seen a wardrobe wobbling its way through a party? With each move, the thudding of its pointy ends on the ground, it's like you couldn't pick a proper outfit, so you brought the wardrobe instead?

There was also a huge pillow with the outline of a human figure on top indicating someone was moving inside.

The curtains dragged on the floor and the doors that joined together to form a square box.

Lyle realized his narrow understanding of the term "clothing."

The door opened again, and a tall figure once again shattered Lyle's worldview.

Thud, thud, thud, thud.

That was the sound of the big chunk of iron moving.

At the very top was a carved bust of a beautiful girl, below lay a massive hollow iron cabinet, its surface evenly arranged with rhombic bulges, and a large iron ring on each side—those must have been where chains were to go through to keep the victim from struggling free.

If it matched Lyle's memory, the inside would feature a human-shaped space filled with iron spikes of varying lengths, and at the bottom, a secret door covered with metal plates and saw blades, ensuring the victim's remains would be efficiently disposed of.

This was the Iron Maiden, a torture device from the Middle Ages used for interrogation and torment.

Lyle felt admiration for the person inside, and he was not the only one; everyone's gaze seemed to converge on the thrumming Iron Maiden.

The Iron Maiden moved on its own accord.

Thud, thud, thud, thud, thud, thud, thud.

It hopped right in front of Lyle!!!

And all of a sudden, the pressure of all eyes turned to Lyle.

After swallowing hard and taking a deep breath of the beak mask's medicinal fragrance, the pungent smell of blood was filtered, but Lyle could still smell it.

This Iron Maiden was the real deal!

Lyle nearly fell over in fright and pinched his own limp thigh, realizing it was time to put everything he had learned to use.

"Requiem, Mr.," Lyle doffed his hat from atop his head and bowed as a gentleman would.

"...Requiem, Mr.," a woman's voice came from within the Iron Maiden, apparently not hung up on Lyle's wording mistake.

"Is there something you wish to discuss, young lady?" No matter which woman it was, praising her youthfulness was certainly not wrong.

"I'm curious, you..."

"Plague Doctor, you can call me Plague Doctor, miss."

"I am Eliane, Mr. Plague Doctor, why do you look at me that way?"

So many eyes and you just focus on mine, Lyle silently protested his innocence in his mind.

"They all look with a sense of wonder as if to say 'What kind of move is that?' But your gaze... it holds sympathy."

Lyle indeed felt sympathy for the victim of the Iron Maiden; it was inevitable, given such a shocking instrument of torture.

"I only feel sympathy for those who have died at the hands of this Iron Maiden; they didn't deserve to suffer such pain."

"...It's such a pity that you, Mr. Plague Doctor, have come to this place."

Huh? What does that mean? Am I not worthy? In this day and age, does sympathy signify weakness?

Lyle, apprehensive at heart, dared not respond and could only stand quietly aside.

Eliane stood erect beside him, as if she truly were an instrument of torture.

The air around them filled with the stench of blood.