Byrne's words struck the auditorium like a bolt of thunder.
Terrified of violating the rules, the invited guests didn't dare to speak. But at this moment, everyone's eyes snapped toward the man in the suit, filled with astonishment. Byrne's words had instantly awakened them.
Indeed—as the leader of this gathering, he should have been above the rules. Why, then, was he also wearing a mask?
Hearing Byrne's question, the man in the suit was visibly stunned. Clearly, he hadn't expected Byrne to say such a thing. However, after only a second or two, he regained his composure and sneered.
"Mr. Three, do not forget: during the gathering, invitees may not actively converse with others and may only speak when answering a question. Your words just now have already violated the rules."
Byrne chuckled. "Not necessarily. As the leader of this gathering, do you really count as one of the 'others' mentioned in the rules?"
He deliberately emphasized the word "others," and the implication was clear. The rules in the attendance guidelines were directed at communication between invitees. If the man in the suit considered Byrne in violation, he would be indirectly admitting that his current status was a sham.
The man in the suit remained silent for several seconds before speaking again. "Heh. You are right. I am the leader of this gathering; I am indeed not an 'other.' But that doesn't mean you can question me directly."
Hearing this, Byrne shook his head. "The rules don't say I can't. Mr. Formal Suit, why don't you answer my question first? Why are you also wearing a mask?"
This question struck right at the heart of the matter. A flash of panic crossed the man's eyes, though he quickly steadied himself. "Heh. Since you are so curious, fine. I can tell you: wearing the mask is simply to fit the theme of the gathering. It has nothing to do with the rules."
"Fit the theme?" Byrne smiled. "Since the theme of the gathering is the 'Game of Identity,' and you are the leader, you have no need to hide and no need to play. That reason is too flimsy. How about I say it for you? You're actually just afraid of being exposed. You aren't a leader at all—you are the liar."
Standing under the spotlight, the man in the suit turned cold. "It seems Mr. Three intends to deliberately disrupt the gathering. In that case, I have no choice but to eliminate you."
As soon as he finished, the man raised his right hand, pointing his index finger at Byrne in the shape of a gun. The invitees held their breath; some instinctively closed their eyes, as if they could already see Byrne turning into a desiccated corpse.
But in the next second, the man's finger froze in mid-air. The mask on his face wobbled slightly. He let out a muffled groan, stumbled back two steps, and his right hand dropped powerlessly to his side.
"How... how is this possible?"
Seeing this, a cold smile curved onto Byrne's lips. As he suspected, he had won the gamble. The supernatural power of this man in the suit was granted by the Rules. Once his disguised identity was doubted or exposed, his power would suffer a backlash. His failure to eliminate Byrne was clearly the Rules rebounding upon him. It seemed he had no authority to eliminate someone who questioned his legitimacy.
Finding himself unable to rely on the rules to kill Byrne, the man in the suit tried to struggle one last time. "You're lying! I didn't lie! I am the leader of this gathering! I—"
Before he could finish, Byrne interrupted. "Very well. Since you insist that wearing the mask is just to fit the theme, do you dare to take it off?"
Byrne raised his voice, ensuring every invitee in the hall could hear him clearly.
"Shut up!" the man barked. The air around him shifted violently, and the hem of his suit began to flutter despite the lack of wind. He raised his right hand again, but just as his finger curved slightly, he was hit by an even stronger backlash. He slammed onto his knees on the stage.
An oppressed groan of pain came from behind the mask. Simultaneously, a faint black mist began to seep from his neck, somewhat similar to the mist surrounding the Night Demon, though much thinner.
At this point, even if the man didn't remove the mask, the answer was obvious. The auditorium was deathly silent. Except for Byrne and the man on stage, no one in the audience moved. They were all watching to see how things would unfold.
Byrne's words were like a sharp dagger, piercing through the man's carefully woven facade of a leader, while the backlash from the Rules indirectly confirmed his theory.
The man in the suit propped himself up on the floor, trying to stand. The black mist grew denser, wrapping around his entire body. Suddenly, he snapped his head up and looked at Byrne behind the lectern, his eyes filled with venom.
It was this guy—this was all his fault. Overwhelming hatred spread through his heart, surging toward Byrne.
"Even if I die, I'm taking you with me!"
The man lunged at Byrne with a burst of power. He wanted to catch Byrne off guard and rip the mask off his face. Without the mask, Byrne would surely die. The man had long since lost the composure of a leader; all that remained in his eyes was the madness and spite of the exposed.
Unfortunately for him, Byrne was prepared. Seeing the man pounce, Byrne chuckled. At the moment the man closed the distance, Byrne suddenly ducked, grabbed the man's wrist with his right hand, and used the man's own momentum to slam him hard onto the floor.
"Since you're so obsessed with masks, why don't we let everyone see your true face first?"
With that, Byrne used his other hand to grip the edge of the man's mask and tore it off. The moment the mask was removed, it revealed a twisted, deformed face. The features looked as if they had been forcibly kneaded together by invisible hands.
His left eye was turned outward, showing blood-red whites and a cloudy pupil, while the right eye was sunken deep into the socket, leaving only a pitch-black hole. The bridge of his nose was collapsed, and his lips were torn to his ears, revealing pale teeth and greenish-black gums. His cheeks were covered in a lattice of crisscrossing scars.
The invitees in the auditorium looked at the man's exposed face but remained silent due to the rules. They could only stare through the eye sockets of their silver masks, their eyes wide with shock. This was no leader of a gathering—this was a monster mutated by the corruption of the black mist.
As the mask was removed, the man's body began to dissipate bit by bit, starting from his feet. Just before he vanished completely, he spoke his final words in a trembling voice.
"...Cannot violate... the rules... the mask... must be worn..."
After the man's body disappeared, the black mist that had been clinging to him circled in the air for a moment. Then, it abruptly turned and flew toward the right side of the stage, vanishing into the shadows at the edge.
Immediately following that, a figure stepped slowly out of the darkness.