Chapter 167: Tributes

After dinner that evening, Mrs. MacNeil gathered everyone at the long table once again.

She took a leather roll from her satchel, untied the cord, and laid the contents out on the tabletop one by one.

"These are the 'tributes' left behind in the underground seal."

She explained where they had come from:

"Ever since that crude sealing in the Middle Ages, those who maintained it have only ever repaired the outer layers."

"By rule, the items sacrificed to reinforce the seal over the last few centuries can serve as our team's compensation."

Several items lay on the table.

The first was a ceremonial dagger with a silver handle.

Its blade was narrow and thin, the hilt entwined in a vine relief that ended in a dove spreading its wings.

The edge was unsharpened; from the moment it was forged, the dagger had never been meant to cut anything.

"A fourteenth-century ceremonial dagger," Mrs. MacNeil said.

She flicked the blade lightly with her index finger, producing a clear, ringing hum.

"The hilt is pure silver, and the blade is a silver alloy. It has sat in the sealing field for nearly six hundred years.

Unlike ordinary weapons, this dagger serves as a 'fuse' in rituals.

Monks used it in the early stages of a sealing to tear open the first incision in the ether, allowing the subsequent incantations to pass through."

She set the dagger back on the table.

"It's brittle. Strike something with it and it will snap in a single blow. But as a ritual fuse, a stylus for carving inscriptions, or an etheric conductor for repairing seals... it's a fine piece."

Next were three silver coins.

The obverse bore the profile of Saint Michael, while the reverse showed a flaming sword.

Mrs. MacNeil lined the three coins up in a row.

"Cast in the Middle Ages, bearing the mark of Saint Michael. They spent around four hundred years in the sealing field."

She paused and scraped the edge of one coin with her fingernail.

"Let me be clear, though—the etheric deposit on these three coins is very low.

Four hundred years sounds like a long time, but the coins are too small, and they sat too far from the core of the seal. At best, they only absorbed a surface coat."

She pushed them aside.

"Strictly speaking, they don't count as standard supernatural items.

Wear them on your person and they'll slowly leach trace amounts of ether, but the quantity is negligible.

Their real value is as collectibles. Saint Michael sealing coins can fetch a decent price on the Imperial Capital's antiquities market."

The third item was a scroll of parchment.

It was rolled tight and bound with a dry leather cord.

"Suspected early Celtic incantations." Mrs. MacNeil did not unroll it. "The exact contents will require later appraisal."

There was also a bronze plaque.

It was about the size of a palm, its surface etched with densely packed symbols.

"Pre-Roman." She turned the plaque over. "Engraved on both sides, and exceptionally well preserved."

Finally, there were several ether condensates resembling crystal shards, arranged neatly on a piece of old flannel.

Richard recognized them at once.

"These are from those children last night..."

"Yes." Mrs. MacNeil folded the edges of the flannel neat.

"When the ritual closed, the twenty-five children were swallowed back beneath the True Name Stone.

But while they were in this hall, they were hacked apart by a Hunter's enchanted weapons, pierced through the heart by silver-lead bullets, and dismantled by a Scholar's verdicts... Throughout all of that, the etheric structures within each child were repeatedly broken down and reassembled."

"When the twenty-five children were finally swallowed back, some of their fragments remained behind."

She tapped the darkest cluster with her fingertip.

"These condensations are precipitates of shadows. They contain the children's residual etheric traces.

From the mill workers of 1881, from the singers of the pre-Roman era, from the repeated prayers of medieval monks... Hundreds, thousands of years of ether churned together inside those children, crystallizing and precipitating out once the ritual ended."

"High-concentration ether condensations. All three major paths have uses for them."

"If a Newcomer has chosen their signature artifact, they can use these condensations to nurture it."

She glanced at the four newcomers.

"Alright. That is the entirety of the spoils."

"As for distribution," Mrs. MacNeil said, folding her hands on the table, "each of you will choose according to contribution and need."

"Captain Field sustained the heaviest injuries; he chooses first."

The captain rose from his high-backed chair and walked to the table.

His gaze swept over the display before he reached out and picked up the silver-handled dagger.

In his broad palm, the weapon felt so light it was practically weightless.

He turned the dagger over, inspected the inscription along its spine, and flicked the blade.

Then he turned around and offered it to Richard.

"Take it."

Richard looked at him, puzzled.

"Captain?"

"Take it." Captain Field's hand pressed forward half an inch.

The silver hilt pointed straight at Richard.

"I'm not a Scholar. A ritual item like this is useless to me even if I take it back.

I might as well give it to you... You're a Scholar. A ceremonial dagger will do much more good in your hands than in mine."

"Captain, this..."

Richard glanced at Mr. Hutton.

"Take it," the old gentleman nodded.

Richard looked down at the dagger.

The vine relief on the silver hilt gleamed matte in the hearth light; the blade was narrow and thin. Six hundred years of immersion in a sealing field gave the entire piece a heavy sense of history.

He accepted it.

The metal felt slightly warm to the touch. Silver was an exceptional conductor of ether; centuries of exposure had saturated the entire dagger from hilt to blade.

The [Available Points] on his Panel jumped, though he didn't check the exact number.

"Thank you, Captain."

"Don't thank me. Consider it an investment.

Grow up quickly so we can work field missions together later on."

Captain Field rubbed his temples and limped back to his seat.

"Captain," Mrs. MacNeil spoke up.

"You gave away the dagger, and I can't let you leave a mission empty-handed."

She picked up two clusters of condensate from the flannel and held them out to him.

"These two have the highest etheric density. A Hunter doesn't need to feed a Spirit Lodging Vessel, but you can use high-concentration precipitates like these for bodily maintenance."

"Nourish your body slowly with these two clusters, and you'll at least offset some of the toll from blood ignition."

"...How much will it offset?" The captain raised an eyebrow.

"With good luck, almost half a year's worth."

"Half a year is enough." The captain took the condensates, wrapped them in a handkerchief, and tucked them into his pocket.

"Thanks, ma'am."

"Don't mention it," Mrs. MacNeil shook her head. "It's what you were owed."

She turned her head.

"Sarah."

The female Hunter walked over, picked up one silver coin, and rolled it across her knuckles.

"This is enough."

"Just one?"

"One is enough." Sarah pocketed the coin. "I've already received my fee from you, ma'am. Taking more wouldn't be proper."

Mrs. MacNeil gathered the majority of the crystal shards and stored them in her own leather case.

"I'll reclaim these myself to replenish my Spirit Lodging Vessel."

Three remained. She looked at the Newcomers.

"Edmund, Maggie, Theodore—one each."

The three Newcomers took their respective crystal shards.

Edmund held his piece up to his eye to inspect it.

"How... how are we supposed to use this?"

"Hold onto it for now," Mrs. MacNeil instructed.

"When you eventually have your own signature artifact, place the shard beside it. It will slowly seep in on its own."

That left three items on the table: the parchment scroll, the bronze plaque, and two silver coins.

Richard stepped up to the table, his gaze resting on the three choices for several seconds.

The silver coins carried etheric deposits, but their content was the lowest among the three.

The parchment scroll and the bronze plaque were both textual relics; their value to the Scholar path was far greater than to any other.

He tested the surface of the parchment and the bronze plaque with his fingers, finding that the plaque's etheric content was noticeably higher.

"I'll take the bronze plaque."

"Fine." Mrs. MacNeil raised no objection.

Richard lifted the bronze plaque from the table.

It felt cool against his palm, the engraved characters distinct beneath his fingertips.

Mr. Hutton's voice came from the side:

"Don't grip the bronze too tightly. It oxidizes easily, and the lettering will become illegible."

"Understood."

The old gentleman himself chose the parchment scroll.

The parchment was dry and brittle; he cradled it carefully in both hands, wary that uneven pressure might crush the edges.

The remaining two silver coins were placed into a cloth bag.

"Team property," Mrs. MacNeil said, putting the bag away. "I'll take them back to the Civilian Guild for registration and mission logging."

The distribution was finished.

Richard wrapped up the bronze plaque and the ceremonial dagger and stowed them in his pack.

While the bronze plaque was in his hand, the [Available Points] on his Panel jumped.

This bronze relic had remained in the sealing field for at least a thousand years.

Its accumulated etheric deposit had to be substantial, though the suppression of the seal itself kept its rate of seepage extremely slow.

Once he brought it home, away from the suppressive environment of the sealing field, the seepage would likely speed up considerably.