Chapter 256: Empirical Defense

It was the final week of the seminar.

The students who failed the cut had long since packed their bags and gone their separate ways.

Those who remained were waiting for the final practical exercise.

The practical was scheduled at the museum, and there had been no formal classes for the past few days.

The mentors were busy wrapping up, submitting their rosters, evaluations, and recommendations one by one.

Richard found himself with plenty of free time. He gave himself a few days off, no longer pushing himself as hard as he had throughout the seminar.

Early that morning, he rested with his eyes closed as usual and let the Panel float up.

[Perception] Lv.2, progress 97%.

That night, three collapsed masses had ground against each other behind the veil.

He hadn't dared to look closely, only leaving a single thread of Inspiration probing in that direction.

Just from that single thread, the progress had jumped another chunk overnight.

Then came No. 17 Flower Moon Street...

He had sat in front of that coffee table for over an hour, absorbing those heavily translated images, coupled with what Madam Marie had taught him.

At this rate, hitting 100% progress before the summer seminar ended wouldn't be a problem.

But even when the progress maxed out, what truly held him back were the attribute points.

Richard did the math in his head.

[Walking] had also reached 86% of Lv.2. It just needed to max out its progress, plus one point to advance.

[Perception] entering Lv.3 would require another point.

Expanding [Spiritual Capacity] from ten to twenty would cost yet another point.

Every single one of them was reaching out to demand points from him.

But from his small stash, after upgrading [Sleep] and [Eating], he was left with only 0.73.

He suddenly thought about the summer seminar's final practical at the museum.

That batch of artifacts shipped back from the Black Soil River Basin—anything engraved with priestly inscriptions was a supernatural item.

The ones citizens bought tickets to see were just a front. The truly valuable pieces were locked in the innermost depths of the sealed warehouse, and the most precious of all was a perfectly preserved Priest's Scepter.

For a high-tier supernatural item like that, the seals would definitely be airtight.

The university and the School of Theology were currently fighting a legal battle over the research rights for that batch.

With so many eyes on it, the seals would be layered one over another; they absolutely wouldn't let any Ether leak out for nothing.

But what if...

In the back room of Donner's shop at No. 7 Flower Moon Street, the Ether of that pillar fragment from the fire worship temple couldn't be contained even by seals.

It was just that he had been too fragile to withstand the crushing pressure of that Ether field.

And then there was his own Sphinx Lamp. The seals had been solid before he pried them open.

But when he had first come into contact with it over at Clement's place, he had still managed to snag a wisp of it for free.

As long as a supernatural item contained Ether, no matter how absolute the seals were, a sliver or two would always seep out from the weakest points.

That museum warehouse full of supernatural items—even if each piece only leaked a tiny bit... gathered together, it would add up to another windfall.

The corners of Richard's mouth curled up.

It wouldn't hurt to keep a close eye out when the time came.

...

Later that day, another phone call from Isabella summoned Richard to the department office.

Inside the department's small conference room, besides Isabella, sat a middle-aged man he had never seen before.

"Mr. Williams." The man nodded at him.

"I am Clayton, branch representative of the Academic Review Committee."

"Mr. Clayton," Richard greeted politely.

Isabella lifted her chin toward an empty chair.

"Sit."

Richard sat down at the opposite end of the table.

Clayton got straight to the point.

"Your empirical draft passed the review."

Half the weight lifted off Richard's shoulders.

"But..." Clayton opened the file in his hand, "it was marked with a 'flag' for attention."

"...A flag?"

"That core deduction in your draft."

Clayton tapped his finger on the file. "The veil is thinning, and the return clauses of the old seals are loosening."

"The deduction itself is logically sound, and the evidence is solid enough."

"Then what is the flag for?"

Isabella took over.

"Because your deduction steps on a dispute that has been going on for over thirty years."

Richard looked up.

"The Imperial Capital's academic circles have been arguing about the 'annual decay rate of the veil' for over three decades."

Isabella explained:

"One faction says the veil is thinning, and that someone should have seriously addressed it long ago."

"The other faction says this is alarmist nonsense."

"Once the annual decay rate becomes dynamic, the maintenance cycle of every seal within the Empire's borders would have to be recalibrated.

This faction believes that if such talk spreads, it will shake the entire system and cause mass panic."

"The two sides have been deadlocked for thirty years, neither able to overpower the other."

She twirled her pen.

"Over time, it simply became a buried dispute that no one was willing to dig up again."

"You were recommended by Professor Mortimer."

"He belongs to the 'thinning veil' faction. He wrote an article decades ago stating exactly this."

"Now, this student draft of yours..." Isabella looked at him.

"Using empirical evidence from a Boundary Stone and two field operations, you've pushed this old dispute right back to the surface."

"Both sides probably want to use your draft as ammunition to drag this argument out once more."

Richard understood.

Both sides were holding their breath, eager for a fight, lacking only an excuse.

His draft had provided exactly that excuse.

"So... did I pass or not?" Richard asked.

"You passed, but you still need to do another defense."

Clayton finally found a chance to speak.

"A brief oral defense, so both factions can hear it.

"After the defense, it will be decided whether your draft can be published publicly."

"When is the defense?"

Clayton gave him a specific time.

"Tomorrow. It won't affect your museum practical this weekend."

...

The defense was scheduled for two o'clock the next afternoon.

As Richard pushed the door open, the eyes of everyone in the room fell upon him.

A long table occupied the room, flanked by twelve review committee members.

The seat at the head of the table was empty, reserved for the moderator.

Richard was led to the opposite end of the table, directly facing the empty chair.

He stood there, sweeping his gaze across their faces one by one.

The Rank of the committee members varied.

From a few of them, Richard felt an oppressive weight even before extending his Inspiration.

The moderator pushed the door open and entered.

Richard looked up.

It was Professor Mortimer.

Holding his chipped teacup, the old man slowly walked toward the moderator's seat.

This time, he didn't pretend not to know Richard.

As he walked past, he gave a barely perceptible nod in Richard's direction before taking his seat.

"Let's begin." Professor Mortimer didn't beat around the bush.

"Mr. Williams, please restate the core deduction of your draft for the committee."

Richard stood. He hadn't prepared any written notes; everything he needed to say was already in his head.

"...My interpretation of this symbol references the discussion on 'Dual Structures and Return Clauses' in Chapter Three of Associate Professor Ashford's doctoral dissertation."

"It also references the discussion on 'The Dual Integrity of Tripartite Seals' in Chapter Seven of Professor MacFie's Structure and Evolution of Ancient Gaelic Scripts."

"As for the data regarding the 'thinning veil'..."

"It is based on the statistics in Section Three, Chapter Seven of Mr. Haldane's Introduction to Veil Dynamics.

"Coupled with the localized empirical verification I conducted during two field operations at Whitcom and a weak point in the Western Suburbs of Briston."

"The empirical data from the two field operations is detailed on pages sixteen through nineteen of my draft."

Concluding his statement, Richard fell silent.

The long table remained quiet for a moment.

A committee member on the left spoke first.

It was a gaunt old man with a permanent furrow in his brow.

"Mr. Williams, what year is this Boundary Stone of yours from?"

"Pre-Roman Celtic, Romanized, and Medieval Latin—three overlapping layers."

Richard couldn't give a specific date either. "The span covers roughly two thousand five hundred years."

"Did you conduct the two field operations independently?"

"I was with a Guide and several seniors."

Richard answered truthfully. "But the empirical data was collected and compiled by me alone."

The old man didn't press further, simply making a note on his roster.

Another committee member on the right took over, asking about the details of the data sampling.

Richard answered each in turn.

These questions weren't particularly tricky.

Richard could tell that they were only testing the foundation of his draft in front of everyone.

Once that foundation was proven, whatever happened next was out of his hands.

Sure enough, after Richard answered the final question, the gaunt old man stopped looking at him and addressed the table.

"Everyone."

"The theoretical framework and the data in this draft are undeniably solid.

But a solid foundation doesn't mean this deduction can be published."

"Once the concept of the annual decay rate becomes dynamic..."

The gaunt old man's voice was dry and cold.

"...we will have to scrap and recalculate the maintenance cycle for every registered seal within the Empire."

"This is not a burden a student's draft can shoulder."

"One Boundary Stone, two field operations... these are isolated cases."

On the other side of the long table, a white-haired woman put down the thesis draft.

"Associate Professor Klettenroth."

"You have been repeating the words 'insufficient data' for thirty years."

"Do we have to wait until the seals within the Empire fail on their own, one by one, before we call it 'sufficient data'?"

The two of them traded barbs, matching each other point for point.

Richard sat at the other end of the table, listening quietly.

From start to finish, this defense had very little to do with him.

The fuse had been lit, and the gunpowder was crackling as it burned.

As the one who struck the match, he had simply stepped aside.

Having argued to this point, neither side could produce anything new.

Everything that needed to be said had already been exhausted thirty years ago.

The conference room slowly fell quiet.

Professor Mortimer hadn't said much.

From start to finish, he had simply held his chipped teacup, occasionally taking a sip as he listened to the two factions argue.

Now, he set the teacup down.

"Are you done arguing?"

No one answered.

He spoke slowly. "Watching you argue is like watching children fight over candy."

"One says the candy is mine, the other says the candy is yours."

"Shouting until you're red in the face."

"But that piece of candy melted onto the table a long time ago."

The conference room was unnervingly quiet.

"What you are arguing about today," Professor Mortimer continued, "is whether this article can be published."

"Whether the veil is thinning or not isn't decided at this table."

"Just because you refuse to look at it doesn't mean it isn't there."

Klettenroth's expression shifted slightly, but he didn't speak.

"Alright." Professor Mortimer brought the matter to a close.

"My ruling... is that this draft is approved for publication."

"Both sides will take a step back, alright?"

No one on either side of the table made another sound.

After arguing all afternoon, the matter was put to rest by just a few words from Old Mortimer.

Professor Mortimer's gaze drifted up to the ceiling.

"Exactly how thin the veil has become..."

"...there are people who know far better than anyone at this table."

"It's just that those people aren't here." He brought his gaze back down. "Nor would they stoop to coming here to argue with us."

"Dismissed." Professor Mortimer picked up his teacup.

"Mr. Williams, step outside and wait for a moment."

Richard stood and walked out into the corridor.

He leaned against the windowsill.

Less than fifteen minutes later, the door opened again.

Clayton walked out, holding the file.

"Mr. Williams, it's settled."

Clayton handed the file to him. "Approved for publication. The 'flag' mark remains."

"Once Professor Mortimer spoke up, there wasn't much left for the two sides to fight over."

Richard took the file. He was about to leave when someone approached from the other end of the corridor.

It was Klettenroth, the leader of the opposing faction.

The gaunt old man paused as he walked past.

"Mr. Williams," the old man said, his voice neither warm nor cold.

"Associate Professor Klettenroth."

Klettenroth said, "I still harbor reservations about the views presented in your draft."

"I understand."

"However," Klettenroth changed his tone, "that draft of yours is indeed well-written."

"Pardon?"

"You didn't resort to slogans."

"Throughout the entire text, you simply laid out the evidence piece by piece. There wasn't a single line telling us what we 'should' or 'must' do."

"Those of us in academia prefer it when data speaks for itself and leads to a conclusion. What we hate most is when people who aren't even sure themselves resort to sweeping generalizations."

"I hope all your future papers manage to do the same."

Klettenroth gave him a nod, then walked away.

...

When he returned to the Ashford Residence, the butler handed him a letter.

It was postmarked from Briston. The handwriting on the envelope was crooked, the letters perfectly round.

Richard recognized it at a glance—it was from his younger sister.

He tore it open.

"Brother, You've been gone for almost a month. It's so quiet at home, there's not even anyone to bicker with.

Last week I baked a batch of Professor Rabbits, but sadly they were entirely wiped out.

I turned the oven temperature up by twenty degrees because I wanted them to have a nice golden-brown crust.

Instead, every single one of them turned into a Charcoal Knight~

Mom said it was a waste of honey and made me eat burnt Professor Rabbits for three days to atone for my sins.

My biggest discovery is that opening another vent on the oven keeps the heat from swarming upward all at once.

Are you eating well in the Imperial Capital?

If your seminar is over, when you come back I want to eat the 'Madagascar Vanilla Bean Crème Brûlée' from the Royal Grand Hotel, the one you mentioned last time.

You're not allowed to say you don't have money. You go to Imperial Capital University now; crying poor is just lying.

I've written down every dish I want to eat. Once you make big money in the future, you have to treat me to all of them.

Dad's been working overtime again lately. Mom says to take care of yourself.

—E.W"

Richard folded the letter and placed it in the drawer.

He looked back at the Academic Review Committee file on his desk.

It was certainly important.

But no matter how important it was, it couldn't compare to this letter with its crooked handwriting.

He walked over to the window.

Summers in the Imperial Capital were hotter than in Briston, but right now, the evening breeze blowing through the sycamore leaves still felt cool against his face.

Tomorrow he would let his aunt and the others know that he could begin his Signature.