Chapter 257: Royal Grand Hotel

Mr. Hutton's signature arrived via express mail.

When the package reached the Imperial Capital, Richard was in his aunt's office.

Clara brought the letter in. Richard opened it to find a signature sheet from the review committee.

Mr. Hutton's name was signed in the second guarantor's column, his handwriting square and upright.

A small note was attached to the letter.

Mr. Hutton was never a man of many words; the note contained only a single line:

"I have read the manuscript. The section on the 'Return' was handled very well.

Signature is a serious matter. From here on, the path is your own. Walk it steadily. —H"

Richard tucked the note away.

His aunt's signature had already been finalized two days ago.

She was the first guarantor.

Two Scholars had staked their names alongside Richard's interpretation.

If anything went wrong, both of them would have to shoulder the blame with him.

With his probatio text passing review, the final threshold for his Signature was cleared.

His aunt said that such a momentous occasion called for a proper celebration.

She booked a private room at the Royal Grand Hotel.

...

The private room at the Royal Grand Hotel was exceptionally grand.

It featured carved wainscoting, a crystal chandelier, a snow-white tablecloth draped over the dining table, and a full set of silver cutlery.

The windows faced the most bustling avenue in the Imperial Capital, overlooking the heavy traffic below.

The four of them took their seats.

His aunt took the head of the table, Richard sat beside her, and Sophia and Clara—the two seniors—sat on the other side.

A waiter handed them the menus.

Richard took the gold-stamped menu, opened it, and swept his gaze over the contents.

Intimidatingly long dish names were listed one after another.

"Slow-Braised Beef Brisket with Provence Herbs over Parmesan Crisps."

"Brandy-Flamed Highland Red Deer Tenderloin with Black Truffle Potato Mille-Feuille."

Richard's gaze stopped at the bottom line of desserts.

"Madagascar Vanilla Bean Crème Brûlée."

He remembered his sister's crookedly written letter.

"When your studies are over and you come back, I want to eat the 'Madagascar Vanilla Bean Crème Brûlée' from the Royal Grand Hotel in the capital."

Richard asked the waiter standing nearby.

"Can this be kept at room temperature for half a day?" He added, "My sister wants to eat it."

Sophia burst into laughter beside him.

"Richard, you really are a good brother."

She rested her chin on the back of her hand, her eyes curving into crescents.

"You come here for a feast yourself, yet you still remember to pack something for your sister."

"If my sister found out I came to the Royal Grand Hotel and didn't bring anything back for her," Richard smiled as well, "she'd definitely tear my bedroom door off its hinges."

His aunt sat to the side, the corners of her lips moving imperceptibly.

She ordered with her usual familiarity, barely even glancing at the menu.

Once finished, she closed it and handed it back to the waiter.

"Today's meal," she said, looking at Richard, "is to celebrate your Signature."

The food was served quickly.

During the meal, Sophia alone managed to carry more than half the conversation.

She gossiped about Imperial Capital University, talking vividly about which associate professor had formed a grudge with whom.

Clara spoke as little as usual, occasionally chiming in with a word or two.

His aunt ate at ease, her typically cold face relaxing a fraction in the private room.

After a few rounds of drinks, the dishes had mostly been served.

His aunt set down her knife and fork.

"It's about time." She glanced out the window; the sky had already grown dark.

"I specifically chose this private room."

Richard understood.

The Royal Grand Hotel was in the most bustling area of the Imperial Capital.

Countless people came and went every day. In a centuries-old building like this, an immense amount of residue had settled into its very foundations.

The ether concentration in this private room was significantly higher than in ordinary places.

For a Newcomer's Signature, it was more than enough.

His aunt stood up, walked over to the door, and pressed her hand against an inconspicuous wood grain on the doorframe.

Under Richard's Spirit Vision, an extremely thin barrier rose along the four walls of the private room.

The noise from outside was instantly cut off.

"That's enough," his aunt said, returning to her seat. "Begin."

Richard brought out the Bronze Sphinx Lamp.

The lamp was small, shaped like a sphinx and mottled with verdigris.

Yet the moment he brought it out, the ether inside the lamp surged eagerly toward him.

The gazes of the three people at the table all fell upon the lamp.

Sophia dropped her playful smile, Clara raised her head, and his aunt's expression grew visibly more solemn.

"Begin," his aunt said.

"The Signature process is simple. Just follow what your guide taught you and imprint your mark onto the supernatural item.

No rituals are needed, and no prayers are required."

Richard nodded.

He cradled the lamp in his palms.

With Fourfold Breathing, the inverted tree of light within the Seat of the Sun directly behind his sternum swayed gently in time with his breath.

A wisp of ether flowed slowly down the inner side of his right arm into his palm.

Richard closed his eyes.

He could feel the lamp.

He had pried open its seal, absorbed its ether, and nourished it day after day with his own purest ether.

The wisp of "resonance" between this lamp and himself could no longer be explained by ordinary compatibility.

He did not need to "imprint" any mark.

The moment his wisp of ether seeped from his palm into the lamp body... the lamp reached out to meet him on its own.

Richard felt a jolt in his chest.

The lamp had been waiting for this exact moment.

The instant his ether seeped in, whatever slumbered inside the lamp was awakened, surging back along his ether pathways.

The two currents of ether intertwined in his palm, indistinguishable from each other.

The tree of light within the Seat of the Sun trembled violently.

An invisible "declaration" was sent out behind the veil through the lamp.

The veil acknowledged his existence.

Richard could feel the Ether Micro-circulation within his body solidify in that instant.

The roots of the previously somewhat tenuous tree of light anchored themselves inch by inch into the center of his chest.

[Signature complete.]

[Richard Williams, Newcomer (Neophytus) -> Practitioner.]

Richard opened his eyes.

He had become a Practitioner.

In the private room, all three of them were looking at him.

"It's done," his aunt spoke first.

Her Spirit Vision had been open the entire time, so she had seen every detail clearly.

"In all my years as a Practitioner, this is the first time I've seen a Signature with such high compatibility."

"Yes," Sophia's voice still carried wonder.

"Mentor, Richard's lamp and him... it's like they were born to grow together."

Clara said nothing, but her gaze upon the lamp was filled with curiosity.

By convention, once a Newcomer crossed the threshold to Practitioner, their supernatural item would "align" with their respective professional direction.

For the Scholar path, that usually leaned toward "recording and analysis."

But Richard's lamp was different from an ordinary Scholar's supernatural item.

"Richard," his aunt voiced the question on everyone's mind.

"What changed in your lamp after the Signature?"

Richard himself wanted to test it.

He had felt it the moment the Signature was completed.

What the lamp granted him touched upon "recording and analysis," yet went far beyond it.

He stood up and walked under the crystal chandelier.

Light cascaded down from above, casting a clear, distinct shadow at his feet.

Richard looked at his shadow.

He stirred his intent.

The shadow... vanished from the floor.

It had not been covered by anything; it simply disappeared into thin air.

Richard stood there under the crystal chandelier, plain as day.

Yet the floor at his feet was completely bare, without a trace of shadow.

"Ah!"

Sophia was the first to cry out.

She bolted up from her chair, circled halfway around Richard, and stared with wide eyes.

"Where is your shadow?! Where did it go?!"

Clara also stood up, staring at Richard's feet:

"It vanished... It has completely disappeared from the material world."

His aunt did not move.

Her Spirit Vision remained active.

The moment Richard's shadow disappeared from the material world, her brows furrowed before anyone else's.

She had seen it.

Under ordinary Spirit Vision, Richard's shadow had indeed vanished.

But his aunt's observational precision was far above that of the two seniors.

A wisp of her Inspiration followed the ground beneath Richard's feet, probing toward the veil.

She saw the shadow.

It had not disappeared; it had merely been shifted behind the veil.

"...Your shadow," his aunt spoke slowly.

"It is no longer in the material world. It is behind the veil, and not even in the shallowest layer."

Richard nodded at his aunt.

He stirred his intent once more.

The shadow at his feet materialized out of thin air once more, identical to before without the slightest deviation.

"I can let my shadow switch freely back and forth between the other side of the veil and the material world," Richard explained.

Sophia still had not fully processed it:

"What... what use is that? Making your shadow disappear—is it just for scaring people?"

Clara was the first to understand.

"It can connect to many ether-level Spell Formulas."

She looked at Richard, uncharacteristically speaking at length in one breath:

"Many Spell Formulas use a shadow as a medium.

"For example, tracking and locating Spell Formulas must first lock onto the target's shadow... If you move your shadow behind the veil, those Spell Formulas cannot lock onto you."

"More than that," his aunt added.

"The beauty of the ability Richard's lamp grants lies in the 'shift.'

"Defensively, shadow-related Spell Formulas cannot lock onto him.

"Offensively," she looked at Richard, "your shadow can switch back and forth between the two worlds..."

Richard finished the thought: "With Spell Formulas that use a shadow as a medium, an opponent will find it impossible to defend against."

He recalled the inner answer to the Sphinx's riddle.

"A shadow is no servant of man, nor is man the master of his shadow.

"Shadow and man share existence; each holds its own will, mutually interdependent."

This lamp inherently sealed that portion of the Sphinx's power—to "guard the gates between the two worlds."

The world of light, and the world of shadow.

Now that it had recognized Richard as its master, it granted him this ability to "ferry a shadow between two worlds."

"What a treasure," Sophia finally realized.

"This kind of ability is practically tailor-made for a Scholar!

"You won't need to clash head-on with evil creatures. Just this trick of hiding your shadow is enough to save your life!"

"It is indeed a rare treasure," his aunt nodded. "A standardized supernatural item could never provide an ability like this."

She looked at Richard's lamp, silent for a moment.

It seemed Senior Hutton's assessment had been conservative after all.

...

With this major matter settled, the atmosphere at the table instantly relaxed.

In a rare departure from habit, his aunt asked the waiter to open a bottle of wine.

"I'm happy today." She poured a glass for herself and her two students.

"Keep me company and drink a little. Richard, you're not allowed—you aren't of age yet."

Richard readily complied, picking up his glass of juice.

Yet the moment the wine was opened, trouble arose.

The first to lose her composure was, surprisingly, Sophia.

She was so lively and talkative on an ordinary day that everyone assumed she could hold her liquor.

Instead, after a single glass—before a second could even be poured—her face flushed entirely red.

"Mentor!" She abruptly stood on her chair, raising her empty wine glass and gesturing wildly.

"Let me tell you, your nephew... is just too brilliant!

"Back in my day, I only got eighth place in the training class, but the moment he arrives, he gets second! If this... if..."

She repeated "if" for a long time without ever reaching a conclusion.

Then came a heavy thud.

Richard sat too far away to catch her in time.

Sophia went limp and slid right under the table.

The private room fell silent for a moment.

"...That's all the tolerance she has."

His aunt looked at the heap under the table and sighed helplessly. "It's like this every time. One glass and she's out."

Clara silently put down her knife and fork, bent over, hauled Sophia out from under the table, and laid her flat on a cushioned chair nearby.

Only then did Richard notice there was not a hint of redness on Clara's face.

She had downed her own glass of wine in a single gulp earlier as well.

"Senior Clara," Richard said in mild surprise, "you hold your liquor well?"

Clara glanced at him and silently poured herself another glass.

"I'm alright," she said succinctly.

Richard understood.

The quietest and most polite person at the table, Senior Clara, was actually the heaviest drinker among them.

The one who truly caught Richard off guard was his aunt.

Who could have imagined that Associate Professor Isabella—who carried herself with such reserve, treated her words like gold, and pursued scholarship more rigorously than anyone else...

...also had terrible alcohol tolerance.

She lasted only two glasses longer than Sophia.

By the time the third glass went down, his aunt's typically cold face had flushed red.

Then, her usually meticulous speech began to slip.

"Richard..." She held her wine glass, her eyes slightly glazed. "Let me tell you..."

"Aunt, slow down." Richard quickly took the glass from her hand.

"Let me tell you," his aunt waved her hand, refusing to be interrupted.

"Never mind that I'm an associate professor now... when I was sixteen... your grandfather kicked me right into the training class..."

She began digging up old family history.

"I didn't understand anything back then... I spent a whole month memorizing irregular conjugations in Ancient Greek... I memorized them until I was reciting them in my dreams..."

"Your mother... my sister wasn't married yet... When I came home, she asked me if Imperial Capital University was fun... I told her, fun my ass..."

Richard stifled a laugh.

It was the first time he had ever heard such a vulgar word from his aunt.

"And your uncle..." His aunt's tangent steered in yet another direction.

"That bastard of an eldest brother... left just like that without even writing a proper letter... before going to the New Continent, he just tossed one sentence at our father..."

She mimicked her brother's tone, though her tongue was stumbling now.

"...If I win the bet, the family gets another pillar of support;

if I lose, consider it me paving the way... bastard!

"He brushed off his hands and left, leaving the whole family to rely on my sister... and then my sister... sigh..."

As she spoke, she slumped over the table.

In the private room, Sophia slept soundly on the cushioned chair, smacking her lips now and then.

His aunt lay slumped across the table, vaguely muttering something about "irregular conjugations."

That left only Richard and Clara staring at each other across a table littered with plates and glasses.

Clara poured herself one last glass, finished it, and set the glass down.

"...We need to take them back."

Richard nodded.

The two sober ones got to work: one helped up the aunt slumped over the table, while the other carried Sophia on his back from the chair.

They hauled the two drunkards back toward the Ashford Residence.

Along the way, Sophia, slung over Richard's back, was still talking in her sleep:

"Second place... amazing... next time I'm gonna get first place... hehehe..."

Richard did not know whether to laugh or cry.

When they reached the Ashford Residence, the butler saw their state and hastily called the maids to help, settling both Sophia and his aunt into the guest rooms.

It was unlikely either of them would wake up tonight; they could only wait until they sobered up the next day to head their separate ways.

By the time everyone was settled, it was past nine in the evening.

Richard walked Clara out to the entrance of the residence.

"Senior Clara, thank you for tonight."

"It was nothing."

Standing under the porch lamp, Clara's face was indistinct in the darkness:

"Mentor... usually keeps herself under tight restraint. It's rare for her to relax this much."

She added one last thing:

"Congratulations, Richard. You're a Practitioner now."

Clara waved at him, turned, and stepped into the carriage.

The carriage wheels rumbled over the cobblestone street, the sound gradually fading into the distance.

Richard stood beneath the porch, watching the carriage disappear into the night before turning back into the residence.

Upon returning to his room, Richard immediately locked the door.

He drew the curtains and let out a long breath.

The evening had certainly been lively.

But what truly stirred his curiosity was something he had not yet had the chance to test properly.

At the moment of his Signature, he had obtained Shadow Shift.

Making his shadow disappear from the material world and shifting it behind the veil...

He had shown that much to his aunt and the others at the dinner table.

Yet what the lamp gave him went far beyond that.

There were certain things he could not reveal at the table.

Richard stood before his desk, directly in the candlelight.

The flame stretched his shadow long against the wall behind him.

The shadow swayed faintly with the flicker of the candle.

Richard watched his shadow, but did not make it disappear.

He let his intent sink into it.

The shadow on the wall... moved.

It did not move with his body.

Richard stood perfectly still, yet the shadow on the wall "stood up" from the surface on its own.

The shadow detached from the wall, dropped to the floor, and rose into a human figure.

It was his shadow.

Its outline and build were identical to his.

Yet it had separated from his body, standing independently in the center of the candlelit room.

Richard's heartbeat slowed.

Spread across the desk were several pages of an unfinished manuscript, with the inkwell his aunt had given him resting nearby.

Richard watched the shadow standing in the middle of the room.

He stirred a thought.

The shadow took a step forward.

It walked to the desk, picked up the pen, and dipped it in ink.

Then, the shadow lowered the pen onto his unfinished manuscript.

The candle burned quietly.

Richard himself had not moved an inch.

He simply leaned against the wall, watching the shadow hold the pen and write across the manuscript, stroke by stroke.