Chapter 28: Caught in the Act

Mr. Hutton walked off in the opposite direction. Before leaving, he handed Richard the back door key, telling him to lock up and leave through the gap in the wall.

Richard locked the door, followed the perimeter wall to a half-crumbled gap on the east side, and vaulted over.

The streets were deserted.

He shoved his hands into his pockets, rubbing the Silver Coin between his right thumb and index finger.

The Panel glowed quietly in the corner of his mind.

[Available Points: 0.25]

It had jumped by 0.1 the moment he received the Silver Coin, and points were still trickling in.

Unlike the Sphinx Oil Lamp, the residual ether on the Silver Coin wasn't suppressed by a seal. The drain was slow, but it flowed far more freely than the lamp's.

By the time he reached the bottom of his front steps:

[Available Points: 0.5]

The numbers stopped.

He pulled the Silver Coin from his pocket and examined it under the glow of a streetlamp.

The grayish-blue frost had completely vanished. The surface had returned to the pure luster of old silver.

It was drained dry.

A Silver Coin over three centuries old, having served as a filtration medium for a seal, held a total residual ether of about 0.4.

He shoved the coin back into his pocket and started comparing the numbers in his head.

Copper Pendant: 1 point. A millennium-old relic holding its original, sealed supernatural residue.

Spirit Board: 1 point. Also an artifact from the East Continent over a thousand years old.

Sphinx Oil Lamp: The seal restricted him to absorbing 0.1 points at a time, but if the seal were completely removed, the total yield would likely exceed 1 point.

Silver Coin: 0.4 points. It was only three or four hundred years old, and it wasn't an original relic, merely a byproduct of a sealing process.

There seemed to be a direct correlation between an item's age and its point value.

The older the relic, the more supernatural residue it retained, and the more points it yielded.

If that theory held up:

What about truly ancient supernatural relics with millennia of history—like the ceremonial implements from the peak of the Black Soil River Basin's priest class, or the sacred relics from the temples of the Aegean Sea? How much power would be sealed inside those?

Two points? Four? Seven?

He stood on the steps for a moment, forcing his excitement back down.

He had gained more than enough tonight.

He had witnessed the entire process of reinforcing a seal and verified a crucial hypothesis: ambient ether scattered in the air could not be converted into points by the Panel.

He had also walked away with 0.4 available points, a stalk of Ashcore Grass, and a minor defensive Spell Formula.

Moreover, the residual visions had forcibly expanded his understanding of the world—far more vividly than any book ever could.

He pulled out his key and unlocked the front door, trying to make as little noise as possible.

The living room was pitch black, as was the kitchen.

Richard took off his shoes and carried them, padding barefoot up the stairs one step at a time.

The old wooden floorboards let out faint creaks beneath his feet.

When he reached the second-floor hallway, he saw no light spilling from under his sister's door.

He tiptoed past and reached for his own bedroom door—

"Stop right there."

The voice drifted out of the darkness, thick with a slight nasal tone.

Richard's heart skipped a beat. His bedroom door had been opened from the inside.

Evelyn was sitting on his bed, wrapped in a blanket.

Her hair was down and her eyes were half-lidded. She had clearly been waiting in his room for a long time.

"Do you know what time it is?"

Richard glanced at the wall clock in the hallway, but it was too dark to read the face.

"...A bit past eleven."

"Eleven forty-seven," Evelyn said, her tone icy. She had obviously checked the time.

"I just went out for a walk."

"A walk until eleven forty-seven at night."

"The night air is nice."

"The air in Briston?"

Fair point. The city reeked of coal smoke all day; claiming the night air was nice was a tough sell.

Evelyn climbed off the bed. Her blanket started to slip off her shoulders, but she caught it and wrapped it tightly around herself again.

Moonlight filtered through the small window at the end of the hallway, rendering her cute little face ghostly pale.

She walked right up to him and gave a few puppy-like sniffs. "You smell weird."

Richard inwardly winced.

He had definitely brought back the scent of the basement—a damp, freezing mix of rust and ancient decay.

"I passed by the flea market on my walk."

"The flea market is closed at night."

"The smell drifts out when you walk by."

Evelyn looked him up and down.

His dark, worn coat. The dust on his pant legs. The shoes in his hands, walking barefoot to avoid waking anyone. The grime beneath his fingernails.

In the past, she had never needed to worry about her brother staying out all night.

The old Richard was constantly sick. Forget sneaking out in the middle of the night—if he walked a little too fast, he'd have to go back to bed for half the day.

And now?

He spent his days in the library until dusk.

He got rides home in a rich female classmate's luxury car.

And he went out at night, returning near midnight covered in dirt.

She realized she could no longer keep up with how fast her brother was changing.

"Richard."

"Yeah?"

"Did you join a gang?"

"...What?"

"One of those street gangs in the old city. The ones who steal and get into fights."

"Evelyn, you know I can't fight."

"That's exactly why you'd join a gang—so someone else could protect you."

Richard felt his conversations with his sister would never follow normal logic.

From "sugar baby" to "street gang," the girl's train of thought took wild leaps.

"I didn't join a gang."

"Then what were you doing out in the middle of the night?"

"I was really just taking a walk."

"Do Mom and Dad know?"

"No."

Evelyn pulled her blanket tighter. She didn't press him any further, but she didn't retreat to her room, either.

The standoff lasted about ten seconds before she stepped aside, clearing his doorway.

"Go to sleep."

"Okay."

"Leave your dirty clothes outside the door. I'll get up early tomorrow and wash them so Mom doesn't see."

In the moonlight, the blanket-wrapped girl had messy hair and the groggy, unfocused eyes of someone who had just woken up.

She looked completely different from the usually sharp and efficient Evelyn. Right now, she resembled a little owl huddled in its nest—her small, round face puffed up as she glared at him with bleary eyes. She looked fierce, but in reality, she was just exhausted.

"Thank you, Evelyn."

"Don't thank me," she said, turning her head away. "I don't care what you're out doing."

"But promise me... don't get hurt, don't get sick, and don't make Mom worry anymore.

"The last time your fever spiked, Mom sat by your bed the entire time. She barely even drank any water."

She murmured softly, "Dad didn't say anything, but he skipped his shifts for two whole days."

The hallway was quiet for a long moment.

"I promise," Richard said.

Evelyn didn't reply. She pushed open her door and went inside.

The door closed, the deadbolt clicking softly into place.

A few seconds later, a muffled voice drifted out from under the door:

"Leave your dirty clothes at the door. Don't forget."

"I won't."

"And remember to wipe the dirt off your feet."

"I will."

"I'll fry you an extra egg for breakfast tomorrow."

"...Okay."

"Good night."

"Good night."

Richard closed his door, stripped off his dirty coat, folded it, and set it outside in the hallway.

He found an old rag and wiped the mud from his feet.

The sweat on the back of his shirt had dried, leaving a ring of salt.

He took off his shirt as well and tossed it onto the coat.

Sitting on the edge of the bed in the dark, he pulled the Silver Coin and the Ashcore Grass from his pockets.

He set the Silver Coin on the nightstand and tucked the Ashcore Grass safely inside his notebook.

His breathing slowly settled back into its normal, even rhythm.

Richard pulled up his quilt and closed his eyes.

Outside, the wind howled as it swept through Briston's chimneys.

His pillow was cool, pressing comfortably against the back of his head.

Today, he had caught a glimpse of the true supernatural world—something far more real than any forum post he had ever read.

But the candle had been lit. Whether the eyes in the dark could see it or not was their problem.

He only had to do one thing: make the flame burn brighter, and brighter still.

Until one day, those eyes wouldn't dare to come near, even if they could see it.