Chapter 225: The Object in the Box

After he sold [Moon Nail: Reflection], the first consultation letter came from Ares.

That day, the Spirit Realm Messenger landed on the workbench in the small reading room on the third floor.

After the moth dissolved, it left behind a thin, folded sheet of paper.

Ares's letter was blunt, a dozen lines dashed off in a single breath.

He had used Richard's [Moon Nail: Reflection] three times on the surviving ether circuit in his severed stump.

The first attempt yielded astonishing results. The circuit segment, which had been stiff for days, was refreshed and revitalized.

The second attempt was also effective, but the ensuing period of weakness lasted nearly twice as long as expected.

After the third needle, the stump began to heat up.

Richard frowned when he read this.

Heat was not a good sign.

He flipped his notebook to his own experimental records for [Moon Nail: Reflection].

He remembered his own data perfectly.

He had tested it on himself eleven times (a complete circuit at the Newcomer rank). With a single needle per attempt, the period of weakness remained a stable two to three minutes.

He was even more familiar with Coleman's data.

Over a dozen trials, the weakness period had shrunk from forty-odd seconds at the start to around twenty seconds.

Although the circuit had a break in it, the segment beyond that gap was extremely robust, allowing the spell's depletion to be replenished quickly.

Ares's data...

Using [Speculation], Richard mentally drew a table comparing the three sets of data side by side.

Himself, Coleman, and Ares represented three different circuit states: complete, broken, and a severed stump.

In a complete circuit, the spell's refresh would result in "supply exceeding demand."

In a circuit with a break, the refreshed "blood supply" still had somewhere to flow.

But in a severed stump, the refreshed supply had nowhere to go.

This last scenario was the most dangerous.

Once activated, the ether would idle within that stump. Unable to find an exit, it would begin converting into heat.

Richard immediately picked up his pen to reply, telling him to suspend its use at once and find a way to vent the stagnated ether.

The Spirit Realm Messenger drifted in through the crack in the window, took the letter, and silently dissipated.

The second consultation letter came from Nemesis.

Her senior—a Minor Adept—had a "ruined circuit from a failed rank breakthrough." This was slightly different from Richard's mother's condition.

When preparing to advance to Minor Adept, that Hunter had followed family custom and chosen the Moon-Hunting tradition.

However, he later discovered it was a poor fit, resulting in failure when he attempted the breakthrough to Major Adept.

But this failure happened early: the moment he began preparing for the breakthrough ritual, he sensed something was wrong and retreated on his own.

While this caused damage, it wasn't overly severe.

His mother, Margaret, was a different story.

Judging by how the residual circuits inside her body had been blown apart, her failure had likely occurred at the very last moment—falling short right on the verge of success and nearly causing a total circuit collapse.

Although the situations weren't exactly the same, this experimental data was incredibly precious.

Richard weighed his options repeatedly using [Speculation].

He could take this opportunity to provide an immature, long-prepared treatment plan that completely lacked a test subject.

If it produced results, his research would take a massive leap forward;

but if something went wrong, that senior from Nemesis's family would bear the cost.

After a moment of thought, Richard decided against it.

His conscience wouldn't allow it, and the hidden risks were simply too great.

He penned a reply, keeping the proposed treatment plan and follow-up examinations extremely conservative.

At the end, he added a final note:

"After administering the spell, you must report all physical sensations within seven days (including but not limited to: breathing rhythm, heart rate, sleep quality, emotional fluctuations, and the temperature of the limbs)."

This was the cheapest piece of clinical data he could secure for his mother.

Even a single data point was better than theorizing in a void.

He added a disclaimer to protect himself:

"Additionally, I must state in advance that there are currently no successful cases of this spell being used to treat circuits ruined by a 'failed rank breakthrough.'

If you choose to proceed, the caster and the recipient bear all associated risks."

The Spirit Realm Messenger came and went.

Richard leaned against the desk, his gaze a little distant.

He had finally grasped Mr. Hutton's claim that "Scholars hold a lofty status within the system" from an entirely new angle.

He was just a Newcomer who hadn't even reached Signature yet, but he was already remotely directing a Practitioner and a Minor Adept.

...

Mid-March.

The early spring winds carried a bitter chill, marking this year's late spring cold snap.

Over half a month had passed since he stumbled upon Lillian's secret in the abandoned house behind the main building.

In the past, Richard and Lillian had barely spoken two words to each other.

A nod in the corridor or a passing glance through the bookshelves on the library's second floor—at best, they only "recognized" each other.

But now, they shared the same table.

The right half belonged to Richard.

He spread out his scratch paper, which mostly contained passages from Tacitus assigned by Mr. Holland, or pages of ancient Greek conjugation exercises.

The things truly hidden underneath, he never touched at this table.

Lillian had a foundation; any slight fluctuation of ether wouldn't escape her eyes.

The left half of the table belonged to Lillian.

Arranged on the linen cloth were the small things she had recently scavenged—tweezers, scalpels, and glass vials, all lined up with millimeter precision.

The two of them each minded their own business without speaking.

But when the quiet stretched on long enough, conversation naturally bubbled up.

Over the past half month, they had chatted about a wide mix of things.

They discussed Virgil, they discussed Ovid, they discussed her dog-eared copy of the Illustrated Guide to Medicinal Plants of the Albion Archipelago;

They also touched on history, talking about those ancient naturalists who tried to cram the entire world into a single book.

On Wednesday afternoon, a bullfinch Lillian had recently picked up was soaking in a jar by her hand.

While she waited, she sketched a sprig of holly in her notebook.

With her tweezers set aside, the only sound left in the room was the rustle of the pencil tip moving across the paper.

Richard pulled a bookmark from his book.

It was the one Lillian had given him last year, made of heavy watercolor paper and painted with a sprig of laurel.

"This," he said, placing the bookmark in the center of the table. "You gave this to me last time."

Caught off guard, Lillian was visibly a little shy.

"Why are you suddenly... I really just made that on a whim."

"I've always wanted to ask, why laurel?" Richard asked.

The girl lowered her head, spinning the pencil a half-turn through her fingers.

"Because it's easy to draw. The leaves have a neat shape, and the veins are clear."

Richard smiled, flipped his book to a certain page, and brought up a story about the origin of the laurel.

The daughter of a river god couldn't outrun a pursuing deity. Unwilling to be caught, she pleaded with her father for help.

Her feet took root in the soil, her fingers sprouted into branches, and her hair transformed into leaves.

The god pursuing her could never touch her again.

The god snapped off a branch and declared the laurel a sacred tree. From then on, it was woven into crowns and worn on the heads of victors and poets.

"...She turned into a tree," Lillian softly repeated.

"Yeah."

"So does that count as escaping?"

Richard thought for a moment.

"Yes and no."

"The god could never touch her again. In that sense, she escaped."

"But she was no longer herself."

Lillian finished the sentence for him.

The room fell quiet for a moment.

The daylight was just right, falling upon that drawn laurel branch.

Lillian looked at that laurel branch for a while, then suddenly said:

"I actually think it's quite nice that way."

"Hmm?"

"Think about it." Her voice was soft. "If she hadn't turned into a tree, the god would have caught her, and the story would have ended."

"She turned into a tree, and instead, she stayed behind forever."

"It's been thousands of years, and people are still drawing her, writing about her, and wearing her leaves as crowns."

She looked up, her gray-blue eyes reflecting the patch of daylight filtering in.

"Staying behind is always better than disappearing."

Richard recalled something his mother had once said.

The most terrifying price behind the veil was that you were changing, and you wouldn't even realize you were changing.

What Lillian liked was the exact opposite.

Pinning something in place so it would never change, freezing it forever in its most beautiful moment.

As she spoke, Lillian seemed to suddenly remember something.

She reached into her shirt pocket, pulled out a small brass key, and placed it in the center of the table.

It was identical to her own.

"For you," she said.

Richard glanced at the key.

"I had it cut," the girl explained quickly, afraid he might overthink it.

"This way, you can come in even when I'm not here."

Richard closed his hand around the small key.

The brass surface had been freshly filed, its edges still a bit sharp.

This was a place Lillian had kept hidden for years, a place she had never allowed anyone else to enter.

From today on, he could enter as he pleased.

"Thank you," he said.

"You're welcome." Lillian picked up her tweezers again.

"...It's not very pretty inside, just don't bring anyone else here."

"Of course."

The tips of the girl's tweezers dipped into the jar, her movements a bit faster than before, likely to hide something.

...

Cracking the box couldn't be done at home, nor could it be done on the third floor of the library.

That small reading room was separated from the second-floor study area by only a thin layer of floor tiles; any slight noise would be heard.

Since Lillian had given him the key to her secret base, he decided he might as well do his own work here.

On Friday morning, Lillian happened to be heading into the western woods to scavenge.

She wasn't surprised when he mentioned he wanted to stay in the room alone to do some research.

Richard had given her a heads-up and brought everything he needed.

The Fang Needle wouldn't be necessary today; the thing inside this box couldn't be pierced, nor would it feel pain.

He brought two steel pipes, along with weighed portions of Multi-Eyed Black Moss and fog bells.

The Branch Office had supplied two standard steel pipes. He had spent a week repeatedly polishing them just to scrub the anti-oxidation coating clean off their inner walls.

He also brought his usual divination kit: his Copper Dish, Runestones, and half a vial of Starfall Sand.

After his final class, he took a detour to the old garden behind the main building.

The holly and boxwood had shrunk into a blur of shadows. The gravel path was covered in half-melted snow, completely devoid of footprints.

Richard walked to the door of the small house and unlocked it with the brass key Lillian had cut for him.

Stepping inside, he casually locked the door from the inside.

Before starting, he wanted to perform a divination.

Not to read the box, but to read himself.

Madam Marie's handwritten manuscript contained this annotation:

"You cannot illuminate the bottom of the well, but you can see the hand you reach down into it.

When a subject refuses to be questioned, just ask around yourself."

Richard suddenly understood.

He couldn't ask, "Is that box dangerous?" But he could ask, "What will happen if I touch it?"

By shifting the subject, he replaced the untouchable object with "myself."

And in divination, matters concerning oneself yielded the strongest and most accurate feedback.

This was divination by taking a detour, curve divination.

He placed the Copper Dish in the center of the table, pinched a small amount of Starfall Sand, and sprinkled a circle along the rim.

First, he thoroughly formed his first question in his mind.

"If I touch this box, will it bring fortune or disaster to me?"

The subject was "I."

For this divination method, he used the Runestones he had completely mastered.

Grabbing a handful, he tossed them into the Copper Dish.

The stones rolled a few times before settling.

Richard leaned over to read them.

The hammer, landing near the center—action was the core.

Right next to the hammer was the wheat stalk, meaning action would bring a harvest.

Up to this point, it was auspicious.

But on the outer ring of the dish lay an S-shape and a spiral.

Detours. Repetition.

The harvest couldn't be grabbed in one handful. He had to take detours and repeat the process over and over; he couldn't rush it.

The water drop had rolled to the edge of the dish—a bit of unfinished business, but it landed far away, so it didn't matter.

Another stone had rolled out of the Copper Dish entirely, landing on the table.

Something was no longer on this board.

Richard stared at the runaway stone for a moment before slowly understanding.

When Professor Mortimer dismantled the seal, he had easily suppressed the danger along with it.

The thing that could take his life had already been removed from the table.

Richard gathered the stones, shuffled them again, and asked his second question.

"For me, when and in what state is it safest to make my move?"

Still questioning around himself.

He scattered the stones.

This time, the closest stone to the center was a new moon.

The new moon spoke of change and growth, and also of "refilling."

Beside the new moon lay a double circle—relationship.

Richard pondered for a moment.

New moon, refill.

The double circle represented this room and the key, the relationship between him and this safe haven.

The so-called "safest timing" was never about deliberately picking a good day.

As long as his mind was clear and he was alone and undisturbed, that was the best time.

He didn't need to rely on any heaven-sent providence; he only needed to get his own condition fully prepared.

Richard let out a long breath.

It was time to get down to business.

He placed the Ebony Box in the center of the table.

He first lit a candle and set it far away at the corner of the table, its flame standing steadily.

Since the materials had arrived, he had already practiced the complete Silence Spell several times.

He held the steel pipe above the box, and the ether flowed out alongside the third cycle of his exhalation.

The layer of herbs inside the steel pipe ignited with a hiss, instantly isolating a vacuum zone around it.

Because he wasn't fully proficient with the spell and had used substitute materials, this vacuum zone was quite small, but it was enough for his current needs.

The candle's flame was suppressed to half its height.

Richard quickly adjusted the angle of the steel pipe, casting the expelled vacuum zone over the box.

His own breathing was similarly suppressed until it was virtually inaudible.

The vacuum zone also enveloped his Micro-circulation.

His Inspiration lost most of its spirituality within this vacuum, returning only the most basic visual and tactile feedback.

The Silence vacuum treated all etheric activities equally.

While it suppressed the thing in the box, it also suppressed the caster.

Richard waited for about ten seconds, confirming the vacuum was stable.

Only then did he free up one hand, keeping the other steadily holding the steel pipe.

He located the first scribbled turning point on the temporary seal Ares had added over the box's outer seal.

His first application of pressure was extremely light, merely grazing the turning point.

The box did not react.

His second application of pressure was slightly heavier.

According to Professor Mortimer's description, the thing inside the box was supposed to ring whenever ether flowed.

But in the vacuum, it had no idea someone outside was dismantling it.