Chapter Twenty-Two: Mastering the Voice of Enchantment

Tang Yi searched online for many songs. This world, too, was filled with all kinds of music—some sung by elves, others by humans. Yet these details were unimportant; Tang Yi carefully selected only those songs whose melodies were gentle and healing, then played them for Kirlia.

Using songs to guide an elf princess in learning sound-based moves wasn’t an innovation unique to Tang Yi. Many trainers on the web had shared similar methods. Still, as always, training methods varied with each elf princess.

But Tang Yi believed Kirlia was the most suitable for this approach.

After the songs had looped at least dozens of times, Kirlia, who had been following Tang Yi’s instructions to keep her eyes closed and simply listen, finally opened her eyes again.

“How do you feel?” he asked.

“The lyrics are a bit hard to remember, but if I just hum the melody, it shouldn’t be difficult,” she replied.

“That’s all I need,” Tang Yi said. He knew time was tight, so he didn’t demand much. Besides, this wasn’t the main focus—at least not right now.

“Do you like these songs?” Tang Yi asked again.

“I like most of them,” she said.

Tang Yi nodded; it was not unexpected. He could already tell from the small, joyful expressions on her face as she listened.

“How did you know I’d like these songs?” she wondered.

“Because I can read minds,” Tang Yi replied.

“No, you can’t!” The girl gave him a look, as if she wasn’t so easily fooled.

“Alright, but don’t you think your stories and these songs really fit together?”

Kirlia pondered for a moment, then nodded unexpectedly. “It does seem that way. When I listen to these songs, I can’t help but think of the novel world I’ve imagined.”

Tang Yi had purposely picked songs whose style and content matched that, ones Kirlia could immerse herself in. That was his ultimate training goal.

He first filtered out songs that didn’t resonate with Kirlia, then let her choose freely from the remainder and begin to sing.

Kirlia’s voice was lovely, but she was terribly off-key. After only a few lines, she realized she was completely out of tune, and her voice quickly faded.

“I didn’t sing it well,” she said.

“Don’t focus on singing itself,” Tang Yi gently instructed. “If you can’t remember the lyrics, just hum the melody. That’s not important. What I need is for you, as you sing, to imagine yourself as the protagonist in your novels. Picture yourself in your fantasy world—lying on the grass, feeling the wind and watching the sun, or soaring across the sky…”

With Tang Yi’s patient guidance, Kirlia began another attempt. To help her find the right feeling, Tang Yi played the backing track from his computer.

Kirlia seemed to find her groove. She closed her eyes slightly, and her gentle, drifting song echoed through the room.

She was still off-key, of course. In truth, Tang Yi didn’t expect Kirlia to become a singer in a single afternoon. That was impossible.

But that wasn’t the point.

Kirlia’s expression gradually grew more focused; she was sinking into the melody, or perhaps into the world of her imagination.

Tang Yi understood this feeling. When he read novels, he liked to play fitting music, and sometimes the sense of immersion was extraordinary.

That atmosphere was what he sought.

All along, whether intentionally or not, Tang Yi had been slowly guiding Kirlia to express her inner world—through novels, through drawing, and now through singing.

Kirlia’s heart was rich, always bubbling up with odd and whimsical thoughts.

This time, in her fantasy, she was no longer an elf princess, but an ordinary human girl living on a beautiful grassland beneath blue skies and white clouds.

Here, she lived with an older brother—a gentle soul who cared for her every day. They rose with the sun, rested at sunset, and led a peaceful, harmonious life.

Yet, vaguely, she felt this older brother resembled her trainer somehow.

Impossible!

Her trainer was clearly a villain!

A big villain!

...

As Tang Yi listened nearby, he suddenly noticed Kirlia’s singing tremble, as if she’d been startled, and the melody veered wildly out of tune.

He wondered if he should remind her, but then his mind grew hazy, and he felt a faint sting. Realizing what was happening, Tang Yi quickly stopped Kirlia’s singing.

It had worked!

“Kirlia, did you know you just used the move ‘Enthralling Voice’?”

Tang Yi was both surprised and delighted. It was even more successful than he’d hoped. But why had Kirlia used Enthralling Voice on him? What had she imagined to make him the enemy?

Tang Yi looked at her suspiciously.

Kirlia’s cheeks flushed with shy embarrassment, and she pressed her lips together, saying nothing.

Well, it didn’t matter.

The only problem was that they’d already broken a cup during the telekinesis training; at this rate, he really wouldn’t have enough cups left at home.

He found another cup and poured some water for the girl to soothe her throat. For the sake of Kirlia’s voice, today’s Enthralling Voice training was over.

Curiously, Kirlia was unusually shy today. Even when it was just Tang Yi in the room, she hid her large eyes behind her bangs.

“Never mind, just rest well,” Tang Yi said, deciding she must be exhausted and not pressing her further.

After all, Kirlia hadn’t yet passed her rapid growth phase, and Tang Yi’s principle was always balance between work and rest. If Kirlia ever showed the slightest sign of fatigue, he would immediately halt training and practice, lest prolonged effort breed resistance in her heart.

Tang Yi sat and recorded today’s training results in his notebook, occasionally glancing at the girl resting on her side atop the bed.

His gaze was filled with emotion.

Nearly ten weeks had passed since Kirlia was born. Her rapid growth phase could vary by individual, but would never exceed three months.

Tang Yi felt a small sense of pride in Kirlia.

In just over two months, she had already mastered two attacks of her own type: Telekinesis and Enthralling Voice—especially Telekinesis, a notoriously difficult psychic move.

Based on the information he’d gathered, this achievement wasn’t necessarily extraordinary, but it was certainly stronger than most starting elf princesses.

Not counting those high-powered special moves, it was once tallied that the average elf princess in this world took about 100 days—over three months—to learn a basic skill.

Of course, the average was only a rough reference. There were many prodigies raising the bar, and many lagging behind.

In the entrance selection tournaments, which were aimed entirely at newcomers, most elf princesses relied on just one or two moves in battle.

Every extra skill mastered was another ace up the sleeve, increasing the chances of advancing to the city-level selection.