"Szzz… Szzz…"
The static of the broadcast echoed through the academy, audible even in the auditorium.
Li Mo activated all the broadcasting equipment, adjusting his voice through the microphone.
"It feels a bit cold… No, it's probably just me. As expected, I was too slow when dealing with Theresa. If this body of mine were still human, I'd have died long ago from excessive blood loss."
Reaching behind, Li Mo ran his hand along his spine. It was sticky and still warm.
As he moved his hand lower, he could feel his entire back soaked in blood—a loss of this magnitude would have killed any ordinary person.
For humans, losing 20% of their blood volume can be fatal. By Li Mo's estimation, he had already lost half of his blood—far beyond a normal person's threshold for survival.
But he wasn't human anymore.
Taking a deep breath, Li Mo brought the microphone closer to his lips and recited the prepared lines to officially conclude the third day's ritual:
"My name is Li Mo. By the time you hear this, I'll already be dead."
"Tonight is my funeral. All guests are invited to attend in the grand auditorium at the back of the academy."
Simple and clear. The mourning broadcast for the third day was intentionally straightforward.
The purpose was to gather everyone, humans and entities alike, for the funeral. The layout designed by the funeral's host ensured that no anomalies would attack the attendees during the service.
Otherwise, the rituals planned for the fourth and fifth days would become a joke.
Li Mo solemnly pulled out an identification card, inscribed with the details of Aikiri.
Name: Aikiri Shawai
Position: Janitor
Gender: Female
He hadn't discarded this card, not because of its value but because he simply wanted to keep it. It was meant to be handed to the surviving students in the auditorium.
Those children deserved to know that, in the unseen darkness, someone had struggled and endured unbearable pain to give everything they had.
In life and in death, she remained steadfast.
Hope was never something Li Mo carried alone.
He cared little for glory or fame; the credit should go to its rightful owners.
If not for the broadcast spreading the message, Li Mo would have had to personally confront the entities, risking attacks from countless ghosts and severed heads. Survival in such a scenario would have been nearly impossible.
Aikiri hadn't destroyed the broadcasting equipment or erased the clues.
Whether it was Shigure Kira or Aikiri, they both trusted Li Mo to find the correct answers and understand their intentions, even without prior discussion.
---
After completing the third-day ritual, Li Mo exited the broadcasting room, only to find the hallway once again filled with disembodied heads.
However, there was now a subtle shift in the academy's atmosphere.
The resonant toll of the auditorium bell echoed repeatedly, reverberating above the school grounds.
The heads no longer fixed their gaze on Li Mo; they had lost their anomalous power, reverting to ordinary severed heads.
Even as Li Mo walked past them, they remained unresponsive.
This was true for the hallway, the playground, and beyond. The blood moon in the sky still loomed eerily, and although it was already half past seven—arguably the most dangerous time of night—Li Mo strolled leisurely towards the auditorium, unimpeded.
Upon arriving at the auditorium entrance, he encountered something unexpected: a display of over a dozen headless corpses.
These weren't there when he had left earlier.
It seemed the disembodied heads had devised a new strategy—these corpses likely belonged to people who, half an hour ago, thought they were normal survivors.
They had likely sought refuge in the auditorium to join the others, only to be turned away by Kira.
Before they could find a new shelter, the clock struck seven, and their heads fell. Without the anomalous force sustaining them, their bodies naturally became lifeless corpses.
"The notebook said the second incense stick in the auditorium was devoured by a small ghost. Did Kira soften up?"
Li Mo speculated calmly; this wasn't the first time he'd encountered such situations.
Fear and pressure bring immense psychological burdens, not something that can be dispelled with a few words of reassurance.
It's like a first-time performer on stage, no matter how much they tell themselves it's fine, their nervousness will still show, often leading to mistakes they've never made before.
"Perhaps it's better to go in and ask her directly."
While the notebook doesn't lie, its written details lack the clarity and immediacy of firsthand observation.
As Li Mo stepped into the auditorium, the overpowering stench of blood assaulted his senses. The floor was awash with crimson, littered with dismembered limbs.
Many young Valkyries had been devoured beyond recognition, their flesh entirely consumed, leaving even their bones unspared.
A severed hand lay near Li Mo's foot, the exposed muscle and pale fractured bones still visible.
And then there were the disembodied heads. Hundreds of them piled up in the auditorium, leaving the living with almost no space to move—a sight that needed no further explanation.
"How many are still alive?"
"Perhaps I should sound more somber, but I feel no sadness."
Li Mo placed a hand over his heart. Its slow, faint rhythm mirrored his unfeeling response to the carnage before him.
Sacrifice and death had become mundane, almost trivial.
"Better put my spine back. It'd be hard to explain this to any survivors."
Gripping his exposed spine, Li Mo shoved it back into his body.
As the vertebrae re-entered, his skin began stitching itself together, seamlessly healing in seconds to resemble that of a normal human.
Stepping over shattered bones and mangled remains, Li Mo climbed the stairs made of corpses, leading him towards the heart of the auditorium and the promise of tomorrow. His face remained devoid of emotion.
---
At the heart of the auditorium stood five incense sticks; three remained, the third burning weakly, barely illuminating the black coffin nearby.
The headless male corpse inside the black coffin had been tossed out, a severed head lying beside it.
The head seemed intent on claiming the corpse but had been interrupted by Li Mo's funeral broadcast.
A vibrant streak of ice-blue hair caught Li Mo's eye. Despite being matted with blood, it remained stunningly brilliant.
Its owner lay in a pool of blood, her fate uncertain.
Li Mo gazed at the dying Kira. He wanted to help but found himself powerless.
Though he couldn't die, the people around him could—and often did—die all too easily in these anomalous events.
Kira was no exception. Li Mo couldn't heal her wounds; he wasn't capable of such miracles.
Crouching down, he tore a piece of fabric from the black coffin's lining and used it to sterilize his hands with the faint purple-blue flame flickering at the end of his gun barrel.
It was a crude, rudimentary form of disinfection, one of the few things he could manage.
Then, relying on the minimal first aid knowledge he'd learned in university, he carefully bandaged the gash on Kira's neck, barely stopping the bleeding.
But judging by the massive pool of blood around her, Li Mo's efforts seemed meaningless.
She had lost too much blood.
Kira's eyelids fluttered slightly. Sensing movement outside, she struggled to open her eyes. Her fingers twitched but refused to respond.
Her hands, her body—nothing obeyed her will. She couldn't even sit up, remaining slumped against the black coffin.
Desperately, Kira tried to command her body to move. She had to stand. She had to keep fighting…
Her unfocused pupils lost their ability to see, and her world plunged into darkness. All external sounds faded away.
Even so, she stubbornly clung to life, refusing to die.
This state of forced endurance should have kept her unconscious, but sheer willpower drove her to futilely hang on.
If this continued, she would only burn through the last reserves of her strength, hastening her death.
Li Mo didn't hesitate any longer. He leaned closer, gently cupping her pale, icy face in his hands.
Her skin was as cold as his own.
"I'm back," he said softly.
The chill in his voice held a faint warmth at that moment.
Four simple words, devoid of emotion or embellishment.
But they stirred a reaction in Kira's nearly nonfunctional mind.
Her trembling eyes quivered faintly, her icy blue pupils rippling like a gentle quake.
Dry, bloodless lips moved slightly, whispering a faint "I'm sorry."
Li Mo gently closed her eyes with his hands.
"You've done your best."
---
In anomalous events, no one can guarantee they won't make mistakes. Li Mo was no exception.
What mattered was how one atoned for those mistakes—by doing everything possible to bear the consequences, no matter the cost.
Li Mo wouldn't blame Kira. She wasn't much different from how he had been when he first faced the anomaly.
The only difference was that Li Mo had the ability to reset, while Kira didn't.
He could afford to fail countless times, to take reckless risks, even gambling everyone's lives on the barrel of a gun.
But Kira only had one life. A single mistake from her could doom everyone.
The pressure of such responsibility was crushing, distorting one's thoughts and judgments.
In dealing with the anomaly, only results matter, not the process.
Beneath the black coffin's table were several survivors, along with those who had hidden inside the coffin.
Had Kira not held her ground, the disembodied heads might have slaughtered everyone else, claimed the headless male corpse, devoured the remaining incense sticks, and desecrated the funeral portrait…
In that scenario, this funeral would have turned into a death trap.
Kira's final decision to sacrifice herself had been the correct one, preserving the hope for others to survive.
"Goodnight," Li Mo murmured to the tenacious girl.
The girl in his arms trembled slightly, as though receiving the answer she had sought. Her taut spirit crumbled like a breached dam, and she slipped into unconsciousness.
Her tears, mixed with crimson blood, stained her cheeks.
Without words, they spoke of her grievances and her relief.
She had made a mistake, tried her best to rectify it, and ultimately succeeded in holding the final line.
There was still a chance for hope. Though she might never see it, it remained.
=====================
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