Chapter 4 - Aria of Oblivion

Elanor took a deep breath to steady her nerves, then began to play. She closed her eyes, feeling Resonant Verse stir to life.

When she opened them again, every gaze in the hall was locked on her.

She strummed the opening bars, each note crisp and deliberate, then swallowed hard and prepared to sing the first verse.

“Ballad of the Golden Knight” was one of Lord Malric’s favorites. It wasn’t written about him, of course, but he always pretended it was, bellowing along out of tune like a drunkard in a tavern. It had always grated on her nerves.

All she could think as she began to sing was how deeply she wished Lord Malric would, just this once, shut the fuck up and listen in silence.

---

Born beneath the crimson dawn, when three moons kissed the sky,
A child of fortune, blessed by fate, with courage burning high.
The seers spoke of glory won, of deeds both brave and true,
Young Aldric grew with sword in hand, as morning's golden dew.

Oh sing of the knight with the golden blade,
Who ventured where the darkness laid,
Through goblin halls and caverns deep,
Where cursed treasures lie asleep.

When manhood came, he took the oath, to serve the crown with might,
A shining knight in armor bright, defender of the right.
But evil stirred in mountain's heart, where goblins made their den,
They crept like shadows through the night, to steal from sleeping men.

Oh sing of the knight with the golden blade,
Who ventured where the darkness laid,
Through goblin halls and caverns deep,
Where cursed treasures lie asleep.

They took him bound with iron chains, through passages unknown,
To depths where neither sun nor moon had ever cast or shone.
But chains of steel cannot contain a heart that knows no fear,
He broke his bonds and drew his sword, though death was drawing near.

Oh sing of the knight with the golden blade,
Who ventured where the darkness laid,
Through goblin halls and caverns deep,
Where cursed treasures lie asleep.

He found their hoard of stolen gold, a coffer vast and deep,
With relics from a thousand raids, the goblins swore to keep.
He lifted high that golden prize, though goblins swarmed like flies,
And carved a path through gnashing teeth, beneath those cavern skies.

Oh sing of the knight with the golden blade,
Who ventured where the darkness laid,
Through goblin halls and caverns deep,
Where cursed treasures lie asleep.

At dawn’s first light, he stood alone, gold gleaming on his back,
The goblin horde lay torn and slain, strewn down his crimson track.
The people cheered, the kingdom sang, of Aldric's mighty deed,
The Golden Knight, the Goblin's Bane, in story, song, and creed.

Oh sing of the knight with the golden blade,
Whose tale shall never dim nor fade—
The Golden Knight, forever praised,
His banner high, his greatsword raised!

---

She let the final note fade into silence.

The room was still. Dozens of men blinking through tears, yet not a single breath dared interrupt the moment.

Stunned, Elanor stood and bowed. That seemed to break the spell. All 101 men in the room, and even the guards along the back wall, rose in a raucous ovation. The clapping went on twice as long as usual. Elanor’s cheeks flushed with heat.

She sat back down.

She’d been trained to wait for Lord Malric’s commentary and his permission to continue. So she remained still.

Moments passed.

She risked a glance toward the head table and blinked in surprise. The Lord had turned away from the crowd. From her vantage point, she could see what no one else could.

He was wiping tears from his face.

Finally, he sniffed, straightened his shoulders, and turned back toward the room.

“Well! Get on with it, girl.”

Smirking to herself, Elanor played the second and third songs of her set.

After the third, Malric stood and launched into a pompous speech. She used the time to drink water and switch instruments. Carefully, she set down the harp and lifted her flute.

The fourth piece was an instrumental. A tribute to star-crossed lovers whose lives had never aligned. After decades of near-misses, they found each other again—only to spend a single month together before death took them both. A beautiful, aching piece. Regret made melody.

Wine and mead flowed freely now, and drunkenness had taken root. But there was still no chatter. Not even whispers.

They watched her.

She looked across the room, past the goblets and gilded chairs. These were some of the most powerful men in the city. And the worst.

Moneylenders who charged ruinous rates, then murdered the families of those who couldn’t pay. Nobles who raped with impunity, pillaged without pause, and crushed lives beneath their boots.

They didn’t look back. Only forward.

Tonight, she would show them exactly where that path led.

She picked up her lute again and plucked a slow, deliberate arpeggio to open her final song.

“I have composed a new piece in honor of Lord Goldenvale,” she said, her voice calm and reverent. “A tribute to everything he has done for me. My Lord, this is for you.”

She bowed her head. Malric sat up straighter, glowing with satisfaction.

Proud of his songbird.

For a moment, just a flicker, her face shifted. Something dark moved behind her eyes.

Malric caught it. Or thought he did. But it was gone before he could be sure.

Then Elanor began.

She sang slowly. Deliberately. Every syllable wrapped in purpose. Every word a thread in the noose she’d begun to weave.

She focused her entire intent into her music, and thought about her other new skill: Elegy’s Mark. She cast it on Lord Marlic as she finished the chorus at the end of her first verse.

Close your eyes, let go your breath,
Find your peace in silent death…

No one moved a muscle. Even Malric sat frozen, his mouth wide open, hands reaching forward. But he did not shout. Did not bark orders. He could only listen.

Mesmerized.

She reached the third verse. And then…

Eyes began to close as the crowd fell asleep—as commanded by the music.

A few men slumped forward, collapsing onto their plates with soft thuds.

At the back of the hall, all three guards toppled to the floor. No one turned toward the noise.

No one even noticed.

Elanor’s voice never faltered.

She began the fourth and final verse.

But before she reached the end of the third line, she saw blood flowing from the men’s ears.

A song not sung for coin or praise,
But forged to set your world ablaze.

She launched into the final chorus.

As her voice soared, she watched grown men draped in the finest regalia begin to shudder. Then, one by one, they simply… collapsed. Bone and muscle gave way, their skeletal frames failing to hold together under the force of her vibrato.

They didn’t die screaming.
They dissolved.

Elanor turned her gaze to Lord Malric Goldenvale as she sang the final two lines:

Find your peace in silent death.
Rest your heads… in silent death.

As the final echoes of the chorus faded, silence fell over the room like a burial shroud.

At the head table, Malric tried to stand, arm outstretched, words failing to form behind clenched teeth. Unspoken curses hung on his tongue.

All around the room, blood pooled beneath slumped bodies. Chairs lay overturned. Mushy, spasming heaps twitched grotesquely where men had once sat.

Elanor turned her gaze toward her captor. The evil man who had stolen everything from her. Elegy’s Mark pulsed on his forehead, visible only to her. She stood slowly, the hall utterly still now.

She walked the length of the stage, then up the steps toward him.

“It’s my birthday today, you know,” she said, a devious smile on her face.
“You’ve already given me so much…” she gestured to the room with a slow, deliberate sweep of her arm.

Then she pulled the blackened steel dagger from within her robes.
Malric’s eyes widened in terror, his breath ragged and shallow.

“But there’s one last thing I want from you.”

She stepped up next to him, careful to avoid the pool of blood and viscera on the floor from his brother, who had been sitting next to him.

Her fingers tightened around the hilt. She quietly invoked the skill Closing Note, feeling it click into place, pairing with the Mark to increase her damage exponentially.

Raising her arms above her, she said, “Your miserable, pathetic life,” as she brought the dagger down into his chest with all the power she could muster.

Her aim was perfect, and the dagger pierced his breastbone, slicing cleanly through and into his heart, ending the greatest performance thus far of Elanor Veralyn’s young career.

She looked around one final time. Not a breath left in the room.

The servants had been instructed to stay away during her performance, and none would return until summoned by a guard or the Lord himself.

---

System Message

You have slain Manor Guard, human, Level 15.
You have slain Manor Guard, human, Level 15.
You have slain Nobleman, human, Level 96.

…

You have slain Lord Malric Goldenvale, Level 125.

23,835 experience points have been awarded.

You are now Level 8.

Magnum Opus Progress: 9.2%

---

Holy shit, Elanor thought.

The system message listed 104 kills.

She should feel something. Guilt. Revulsion. Doubt, maybe?
But she didn’t. Not even a flicker.

They were monsters. Every single one of them.

She rushed to her instruments, packed them swiftly, and slung the cases over her shoulder. Without hesitating, she slipped out the servant door she’d noted earlier in the night.

The narrow hallway beyond was dim and silent. She turned left, and bumped straight into the girl who had brought her water.

The maid looked up and whispered, “Is it done?”

Elanor hesitated.
Does she know?

She gave a small nod. “Yes. It’s done.”

“Follow me.”

The girl grabbed her hand and pulled her through a maze of shadowy corridors and out the back of the estate. Once outside, beneath a low moon, she pressed a folded piece of parchment into Elanor’s hand.

“This map will lead you to a safe house. Someone will come for you in the morning. You’ll learn more then. Don’t talk to anyone along the way. You’ve done well tonight, Songweaver. More than you know. Your actions have ended much suffering, and saved many lives. Don’t doubt yourself.”

She turned to go, but Elanor called after her in a whisper.
“Wait… what’s your name?”

The girl smiled.
“You can call me Wren. Now, go!”

Elanor followed the map through side streets and quiet alleys until she reached a nondescript house tucked between two shuttered shops. She slipped inside and locked the door behind her.

Whoever had arranged this was generous.

There was a small jug of wine, a heel of bread that was still soft! And a hunk of cheese three times larger than anything she’d ever been allowed before.

She ate until she was full.

She drank until her muscles loosened.

Then she lay down. In a bed! No more sleeping on cold, hard stone. And for the first time in over two years, she slept without pain. Physical pain, anyway.

Her last thought before drifting into slumber:
I wonder what tomorrow will bring…