Chapter 240: The Black Soil River Exhibition

The skies over Briston cleared on the day of his departure.

The platform at Central Station was packed shoulder-to-shoulder.

Richard's family of four stood beneath the iron pillar at the end of Platform Three.

Evelyn hugged a lunchbox packed tight with the treats she had stayed up all night baking.

"For the trip," she said, shoving the box into her brother's arms.

"The gingerbread will keep for five days. I baked two 'Professor Rabbits,' and the rest are regular cookies."

"How am I supposed to finish all this by myself?"

"If you can't finish it, share it with the people in your carriage," Evelyn said in all seriousness.

"No wasting it. I left the burnt one out so I can study what went wrong."

His mother, Margaret, nudged a leather suitcase closer to his feet.

"Your changes of clothes are packed at the very bottom. I wrapped the custom suit your grandfather ordered in tissue paper—don't let it get wrinkled before you reach the Imperial Capital."

"Got it, Mom."

His father, Rogers, had taken a rare day off from the factory.

He stood to the side, saying little.

Only when they began checking tickets did he give Richard's shoulder a heavy pat.

"Do your best on the exams when you get there."

"I will."

"And if you don't pass, it's not the end of the world." Rogers pulled his hand back.

"Our door will always be open for you."

"I'll pass."

"Good."

The train whistle blew.

Richard picked up his suitcase and followed the flow of passengers through the gates.

A few steps in, he looked back.

Evelyn was on her tiptoes waving at him, with his mother standing right beside her.

His father stood behind them both, his frame looking a little hunched.

...

Richard found his carriage, hoisted his suitcase onto the luggage rack, and took a seat by the window.

He had bought a second-class ticket again.

Truthfully, he had more than enough money in his pocket for first-class.

Between his tutoring wages, field stipends, and the money from selling spell formulas, his savings were far beyond what they had been last year.

But he still opted for second-class.

Save where it made sense, spend where it counted.

Unless someone else was willing to reimburse him, he would probably never choose to ride first-class.

Richard pulled out his copy of Divination and Spirit Vision: From Beginner to Mastery and slowly flipped it open.

The train rumbled out of the station, the tracks clattering rhythmically beneath the wheels.

On the section covering "Gathering Inspiration During Long Journeys," the printed text was standard and dry, but a cramped line of fountain-pen handwriting was squeezed into the margin.

"Never perform divination on a train. There are more dead bodies buried under the tracks than you think.

Every stretch of railway ever built has claimed a few lives.

The very carriage you're sitting in is rolling over a long string of unmarked graves."

Richard's hand stopped on the page.

[Erudition] faithfully committed the annotation to memory.

Richard closed the book, reading no further.

Leaning back in his seat, he closed his eyes to rest.

The intermittent chatter of the carriage drifted into his ears.

Two middle-aged men sat opposite him. One wore a top hat; the other clutched a briefcase under his arm.

"...Things are getting chaotic over in Heimes again,"

the man with the briefcase said.

"I saw in the papers that it's just a few minor states clashing at the border."

"Clashing?" The man in the top hat flipped a page of his newspaper.

"My cousin works for a foreign trade firm. He says weapons shipments out there have tripled in the last six months."

"Tripled?"

"Yeah. Word is several major banks are quietly funneling money into the munitions factories. And over in Germania..."

"Shh." The man in the top hat lowered his voice. "Keep that kind of talk off the trains."

Both men fell silent.

Richard opened his eyes.

The newspapers only reported the surface layer.

Colonial interests, Germania's late rise to power, the centuries-old grudges between Franc and Albion.

The deeper truths were hidden behind the veil.

The man in the top hat flipped his newspaper back to the front page.

Richard's gaze fell on the bold headline.

He sat up straighter.

The text took up nearly half the page.

Largest Batch of Pharaoh-Era Artifacts in History Arrives in Imperial Capital; Albion Museum "Black Soil River Exhibition" Opens Next Month.

Catching his gaze, the man in the top hat tilted the paper toward him.

"Interested in this too, young man?"

"...Just glancing," Richard replied casually. "I heard they brought back quite a haul."

"That's an understatement." The man perked up.

"The papers say it took over a dozen ships just to hold it all, sailing all the way from the mouth of the Black Soil River to the docks in the Imperial Capital.

Bronze altars, funerary bronzewares, jade statuettes... But the crown jewel is a perfectly preserved Priest's Scepter. Rumor has it they dug it out of a thousand-year-old tomb."

In his mind, Richard matched those items one by one against another list.

During the second gathering of the Theogony Salon, Prometheus had provided this piece of intel.

At the time, Prometheus had added an extra detail: the scepter was a high-grade supernatural item, stored in the deepest level of the Imperial Capital Museum's sealed warehouse.

The "Black Soil River Exhibition" on the front page had to be the very same batch of supernatural items locked in that warehouse.

In the Surface World, they were just Pharaoh-era antiquities that ordinary citizens bought tickets to see.

Behind the veil, they were a warehouse full of valuable supernatural items.

The man in the top hat was still talking.

"...I'm planning to take my boy to see it, broaden his horizons a bit."

"You definitely should," Richard agreed.

"Are you heading to the Imperial Capital for your studies, young man?"

"Yes. To take the university exams."

"Which one?"

"Imperial Capital University."

The man set down his newspaper, looking Richard up and down with sudden respect.

"Imperial Capital University... Impressive. That's where the real big shots are made."

Richard just smiled, offering no reply.

The train chugged steadily south. Outside the window, the chimneys and black smoke of the industrial city slowly gave way to rolling fields and hills.

It was just a pity that the dog from his last trip wasn't around.

Richard opened his lunchbox, pulled out a gingerbread rabbit wearing a little frosted top hat, and took a bite.

The spice of ginger, the sweetness of sugar, and the richness of butter melted in his mouth.

"Are those... homemade?" the man with the briefcase leaned over to ask.

"My sister baked them."

"They look quite unique."

Richard kept eating in silence. He had no intention of sharing them with the two men; he couldn't bear to part with them.

"Of course. My sister is the second best baker in the world."

"Who's the first?" the man in the top hat asked curiously.

"My mom, obviously."

The train pulled into the Imperial Capital that afternoon.

Suitcase in hand, Richard followed the flow of the crowd out of the station.

When he came here last year, the whole family of four had walked out of the station together.

His father had picked out the cheapest carriage from the cab stand outside, spending ages haggling over the fare before they finally climbed in.

This year was different. Richard had barely stepped past the ticket check when a man in a dark uniform approached him.

"Young Master Richard?"

Richard recognized him as the Ashford family coachman.

"That's me."

"The master sent me to pick you up." The coachman reached out to take his suitcase. "The carriage is waiting right outside."

The coachman led the way, guiding him past the long line of cabs to the very front of the station.

A black four-wheeled carriage was parked there.

The paintwork gleamed a glossy black, without a single speck of dust on it.

The family crest—an oak tree and a rampant lion—was carved into the wooden door. Two chestnut horses were hitched to the shafts, their coats sleek and glossy.

This and the cramped little hansom cab his father had hailed last year were entirely different things.

The coachman stowed the suitcase in the luggage compartment, then circled around to pull the carriage door open.

"After you, Young Master."

Richard climbed inside.

The moment his foot touched the step, his [Perception]-enhanced senses picked up the faint whispers behind him.

The two middle-aged men who had just stepped out of his train carriage were standing a short distance away.

The man in the top hat was staring wide-eyed at the black four-wheeled carriage.

"...Good heavens," he muttered to his companion. "That young fellow is actually loaded?"

"Look at the carriage, and that crest." The man with the briefcase couldn't peel his eyes away either. "That's a major house."

"But didn't he just ride in the same carriage as us?"

"Second-class."

"A family like that, traveling in second-class?"

The two men exchanged baffled looks.

Richard settled into the carriage, and the coachman shut the door.

Through the window, he could still see the confusion on the two men's faces.

The carriage started moving, its wheels producing a smooth, steady rumble over the cobblestone street.

...

The Ashford Residence looked exactly as it had last year.

The imposing iron gates, the neatly trimmed garden, the two columns on the portico.

The moment the carriage pulled into the courtyard, the butler came out to meet them.

During their first visit last year, this butler had only been polite to his family on the surface.

It was only after Gerard confirmed the Micro-circulation within his body that the butler's attitude shifted.

This year, that attitude had elevated yet again.

Richard had barely stepped down from the carriage when the butler stepped forward with a slight bow.

"You must be tired from your journey, Young Master Richard."

"Mr. Butler."

"The master is waiting for you in his study. Please rest for a moment and have a cup of tea first."

He had no sooner sat down than a maid brought over a cup of tea.

Such treatment never came out of thin air.

After resting for a moment, the butler came to invite him to the study.

Gerard Ashford was still sitting behind that massive desk.

His grandfather looked a bit older than last year, his hair whiter, but those eyes remained as sharp as ever.

"You're here."

"Grandfather." Richard offered a bow.

"Sit."

Richard sat down.

Gerard didn't speak at first, merely looking at him.

After looking for a while, he raised a hand.

"The usual routine. Reach out."

Richard knew what he intended to do and extended his hand.

Gerard's ether seeped through the point of contact.

This time, Richard didn't feel the intense, suffocating grip he had experienced last year.

The Ether Micro-circulation within his body was no longer the prototype that fell into chaos at a single touch like last year.

The Seat of the Sun operated steadily, and the inverted tree of light right behind his sternum was rooted deeply.

Gerard withdrew his ether. "It's stable enough that I'm a bit surprised."

He pulled his hand back onto the desk.

"How long has it been? In just over half a year, you've gone from an unstable Newcomer to nearly reaching Signature."

Richard didn't answer.

Half of this "stability" was backed by his [Breathing], [eating], and [sleep] skills.

The other half was his own solid hard work.

"When your great-grandmother was alive, she used to tell me something."

Gerard suddenly changed the subject:

"She said the lampstand of the Ashford house was already on a downward slope."

Richard listened quietly.

His mother, Margaret, had told him about the Ashford family's situation.

"I've always hoped our family would produce someone capable of upholding the family name; I've waited for decades to no avail."

Gerard's voice dropped low.

"Vincent is a hard worker, but his talent is average. He'll need luck just to reach Minor Adept in this lifetime.

Isabella is excellent at her scholarship, but she remains unwilling to marry.

Unless someone reaches Major Adept, they won't be able to uphold the family."

Gerard looked at him and slowly nodded.

"Alright. You're tired from the journey. Head back to your room and rest."

The butler showed Richard to his guest room.

The one he had stayed in last year was already luxurious.

This year, the room had been upgraded yet again.

The room was larger, with a dedicated desk set up by the window, fully stocked with stationery.

A silver desk lamp rested on the nightstand.

Several rows of books were stacked neatly on the shelves, all original texts in Latin and Ancient Greek, alongside a dozen textbooks from the Department of Classics at Imperial Capital University.

"Miss Isabella had someone set out these books."

The butler explained, "She said that since the Young Master is preparing for his exams, it would be convenient to read here."

Warmth filled Richard's heart.

His aunt had even prepared his exam materials in advance.

The butler stepped out, pulling the door shut.

Richard opened his suitcase and began to unpack.

Tomorrow morning, he would be heading to Imperial Capital University to see his aunt.