Chapter 713: [Requiem Ballad]

This voice sounded like a theater aria, but it was different.

It didn't have too sharp a falsetto, but it was full of power, like a sharp sword, gently stroking the world in the gentlest way... This was a ballad.

I don't know if it was Wang Jincheng’s illusion, but the moment this first line of the ballad sounded, the cold wind sweeping over the main city seemed to dissipate a little.

His heart, which had just been in agony, seemed to be smoothed by this voice, and his heart gradually calmed down.

"『I hear your voice』;"

"『I smell longing blooming in the thorns』,"

"『I come from the direction of the sunset』..."

Wang Jincheng just lay there, listening to the ballad circling in his ears, as if it had some unspeakable magic, smoothing out the painful scars of this domain.

Creak—creak—

Just as Wang Jincheng closed his eyes to enjoy the quiet of the ballad, a slight sound of footsteps came from afar.

He turned his head with difficulty, only to see several tall figures in black suits walking slowly toward here amidst the war fires of the ruins...

Spotless black leather shoes stepped over the blood-soaked earth, the corners of their suits fluttering in the whimpering wind. Some had one hand in their pockets, others were solemnly tightening their black ties, as if they had come to attend some solemn and grand ceremony.

In their breast pockets, a few black poker cards with great texture revealed a corner.

【6】，【7】，【10】，【J】，【Q】。

In this devastated world, they came dressed up;

"...Twilight Society?"

Seeing those poker cards, Wang Jincheng muttered to himself, as if thinking of something.

These five figures walked through the ruins and passed by Wang Jincheng. A young man with a wolf-tail haircut among them glanced at him, then withdrew his gaze and continued forward.

Finally, they arrived beside the young man who was kneeling in the ruins, covered in wounds.

"The Requiem Ballad has been sung..." Bai Ye spoke calmly. "Plum 8, it’s time for us to go."

Plum 8’s blood-stained face slowly lifted.

He looked at the bright red theater robe dancing on the stage in the distant sky. After a long silence, he supported himself on the ground with both hands and stood up staggeringly...

He was the former Ninth Hall of the Floating Life Painting, and also the current Plum 8 of the Twilight Society;

The Red Dust Domain was facing a disaster of extinction, with people living in misery. He had already risked everything to fulfill his duty as the former Ninth Hall... But now, everything was coming to an end, and it was time to return to the identity that belonged to him.

He had failed to save the Red Dust, and since that was the case, he could only see those two million victims off on their final journey.

"I'm sorry... I acted without authorization," Club 8 said, head hanging low, looking disheveled.

"Acted without authorization?" Chu Muyun raised an eyebrow and smiled. "What unauthorized action... weren't you accidentally dragged into this war? This was just self-defense."

Club 8 was stunned, but seeing the smiles on everyone's faces, he felt a warmth in his heart.

Just then, as if remembering something, he looked down at his blood-stained, tattered clothes and said bitterly, "But... I didn't have time to put on my funeral attire."

"Small problem."

Club J raised his hand and gave Club 8's shoulder a casual pat. The tattered outfit suddenly shimmered and transformed directly into a formal, well-fitted black suit—clean, neat, and meticulous.

Club J then rubbed his fingers together, and a black Club 8 playing card appeared, which he gently tucked into the breast pocket of the suit.

"Thank you, Senior," Club 8 said respectfully.

At the same time, Bai Ye glanced at the void to the side.

"Heart 9, how long do you plan on lurking over there?"

Club 8 was startled. He followed Bai Ye's gaze and saw the ground not far away suddenly shift. A figure crawled right out of the earth—it was Heart 9!

Heart 9 stood up and brushed the dust off himself, looking a bit awkward.

"Hehehe... how can you call it lurking? I was just passing by, just passing by."

Club 8's expression turned strange.

"Come to think of it, why is Heart 6 singing the Requiem this time?" Heart 9 changed the subject naturally while putting on his own suit. "Isn't it said that only a few high-ranking members of the Twilight Society can sing that?"

Chu Muyun turned his head to look at the bright red opera robe in the sky, his eyes filled with complexity. "It seems that the half-year Heart 6 spent missing in the Ancient Opera Treasury was well-spent..."

"How could a kid who has four [K]s backing him at the same time be simple?"

"From now on, there is one more person in the world who can sing the Requiem... that's a good thing for the Twilight Society."

"I'm going to say it again, we're both of the [6] generation..."

"Stop right there!" Jian Changsheng gritted his teeth and covered Heart 9's mouth. "I'll admit I'm not as smart as Heart, but this thing is exclusive to the Opera God Path! Even if you tore me into pieces, I couldn't learn it!"

"...I was just saying."

"Alright."

Bai Ye spoke, and everyone immediately fell silent.

Seven figures in black suits stood quietly together, their gazes fixed on the ruins of the Red Dust main city...

"...Let's get to work."

……

In his bright red opera robe, Chen Ling climbed the void step by step. His gaze was fixed on the sea of souls shrouded in red lightning, and the patient voice of his Fourth Senior Brother, Mo Jiao, from his time in the Ancient Opera Treasury, echoed in his mind:

"Little Junior Brother, the most important thing about singing the [Requiem] is to use your own soul as a vessel..."

"Let the pitch of every melody resonate with your soul. This frequency of vibration is extremely unique and requires a great deal of practice to master..."

"Little Junior Brother, you sang that part wrong. Listen to me sing it again..."

“……”

A whimpering cold wind brushed against Chen Ling's cheek. The face of Mo Jiao in his memory gradually faded, replaced by a desolate, ruined dead city.

Chen Ling took a deep breath, and the song he had practiced countless times in the Ancient Opera Treasury drifted from his throat once more:

"'The earth and the rose-red are your bed,'"

"'Frost, snow, and the setting sun are your heavy makeup;'"

"'I will weave hope into dancing kapok flowers,'"

"'Until the rocks remember the fragrance of the flowers'..."

As Chen Ling's singing turned, that sea of souls, which had been twisting and shrinking, seemed to be influenced by some external force; the souls that had been in agony suddenly went quiet!

The pain on their faces vanished bit by bit, replaced by a peace they hadn't felt in a long time, as if they had been cleansed by some holy and grand power, all extreme emotions being purified.

The operation of the alchemy array suddenly stalled!

Following that, these souls no longer twisted or deformed, nor did they condense toward the outline of the Philosopher's Stone under the influence of the lightning. Instead, as if their consciousness had been awakened, they drifted away in all directions!