Chapter 402: Full Cups

After dinner, Gerard stood up.

"Richard, come with me to the study. We need to talk."

The study door closed.

Gerard sat down in the old chair by the window, while Richard stood across the desk.

Neither grandfather nor grandson spoke first.

Gerard sat thinking. He was a Major Adept.

A man who had performed the Rite of the Counter-Hunt back in the day, who had personally sealed a pact in blood.

That name carried immense weight on the Hunting Register.

What kind of offering would it take to strike that name from the register?

The more he thought about it, the darker his expression became.

"Richard," he finally spoke. "Last night, the Wild Hunt did not come to collect me."

"Yes." Richard did not hide it.

"The invitation on the doorpost faded at dawn."

Gerard looked at his grandson.

"Your aunt was crying from anxiety, yet you didn't seem worried at all. Did you have something to do with this?"

Richard already had his answer prepared.

"I traded something of sufficient weight, and the professors stood as guarantors."

"Professors?" Gerard raised an eyebrow.

"Professor Mortimer, and Professor McPhee," Richard nodded.

"They set the stage for me and even brought in two Virtuosos to act as guarantors."

"As for what I traded... Grandfather, I can't go into any more detail."

"Telling you wouldn't do either of us any good."

Gerard stared at him for a long time.

An item that could make the lord of the hunt honor the deal and strike a Major Adept's name from the register...

It was absolutely no ordinary object.

Richard refused to say more, and Gerard didn't push him, but that didn't mean he wasn't angry:

"From now on, you discuss this kind of thing with the family first!"

"You are a mere Practitioner, yet you went behind our backs to deal with high-ranking figures.

What if the item you traded backfired on you? What if those two professors couldn't control the situation and the lord of the hunt turned hostile..."

"Did you ever think about that?"

Richard stood perfectly still, letting his grandfather vent his anger.

Gerard's chest heaved a few times before he slowly calmed down.

In less than two years, he had watched his grandson go from a frail, sickly, bottom-of-the-class engineer's son to someone capable of reaching this level.

He was actually making deals with Virtuosos now, all to drag his old bones back from death's door.

"Why didn't you tell me earlier?"

"Last night I waited in the garden until dawn, thinking I was waiting for my final journey."

Richard thought about it and told the truth.

"If I told you, you would have stopped me."

Gerard did not answer.

"Besides, even if I had tried to stop you before you left yesterday, I couldn't have."

Richard continued.

"The way you looked, you were determined to go out with dignity.

If I had told you 'you're already safe,' you might not have believed me. You might have even thought I was making a joke at your expense."

The old man's hand gripping the armrest of the chair twitched slightly.

"You are a Major Adept. The only thing that can take your life is something a Major Adept cannot deal with," Richard's voice was very steady.

"Judging by the traces at the scene, most of the things that crawled out of that pit didn't last a single move against you.

You were saving the fire of your blood ignition for the Wild Hunt. If the Wild Hunt didn't come, you wouldn't have used it."

"Since the name was crossed off, the Wild Hunt would not come."

"So you weren't going to die."

Gerard finally turned his head to look at his grandson.

"You figured I would go."

"I did," Richard nodded.

"I also figured that as long as that matter was handled, you'd be able to come back even if you went."

"So I didn't say anything. I just let you wait out the night."

The old man looked at him, suddenly letting out a short laugh through his nose.

"...You're much craftier than I was at your age."

"Alright," Gerard waved a hand, his voice softening with fatigue. "You did the right thing this time."

"However," he added, his face stern once more. "Never again."

"Next time, no matter how big the problem is, talk to the family first."

"Even if you just say, 'I'm handling something, and if I fail, I'm dead.' That's enough."

"Don't let the family worry about you for nothing."

Richard looked at his grandfather.

"Okay," he nodded. "I'll remember."

...

The celebratory relief of Ashford House's narrow escape had not yet faded.

The funeral for the Phillips family was held right then.

Richard went with his grandfather.

The funeral was a highly respectable affair. Attendance was vast; more than half the notable figures in the Imperial Capital Occult Affairs Administrative System were present.

There was no wailing or dramatic display of grief at the funeral. The members of the Phillips family looked less heartbroken and more utterly lost.

The family's only pillar, the Major Adept, had fallen. What should the rest do?

This thought was written on the face of every Phillips family member.

Phillips's older brother looked terrible.

He had been incredibly busy on the night of the Day of Mourning, and the dark circles under his eyes were frighteningly bruised.

Still, he forced himself to stay standing, presiding over the entire funeral.

He stood before the mourning hall, receiving guests one by one.

Whenever he encountered the high-ranking figures his father had known, he still had to smile deferentially and exchange pleasantries.

"Thank you for coming."

"My father always appreciated your patronage while he was alive."

"In the future... please continue to look out for us."

His smiles were incredibly forced, and by the end, his face had frozen in a stiff mask.

The entire burden of the Phillips family now fell squarely on his shoulders.

His father had been a Major Adept, the Chief Inspector of the Imperial Capital.

He himself had only just reached Minor Adept. The gap between them was a massive chasm.

Fortunately, the Chief Inspector had died for the city, an act that earned him widespread respect.

"If the Phillips family ever faces any difficulties, don't hesitate to ask."

"We'll do everything we can to help."

Others patted the older brother on the shoulder.

"Work hard. Reach Major Adept as soon as you can and take over your father's mantle."

"The honor of the Phillips family depends entirely on you now."

The older brother nodded repeatedly, offering another round of bows and forced smiles.

Through it all, hardly anyone noticed the young man huddled silently in a corner of the foyer.

Phillips stood in the shadow of a pillar, without the teapot that never usually left his hands.

He just stood there, and not one person came to pat his shoulder.

It made sense. Who would place any expectations on a youngest son who only wanted to scrape by as a lecturer and spend all day absorbed in idle books?

Richard caught a glimpse of him across the crowded hall.

Phillips also saw him.

Separated by the crowd, neither of them walked over.

Phillips just gave him a faint nod.

His usual carefree, unbothered demeanor—the guy who could always source good tea—was completely gone.

The funeral finished, the guests scattered, and the Phillips family's house emptied out.

The hollow emptiness that followed the bustling crowd was even harder to endure than the funeral itself.

Richard accompanied his grandfather, leaving among the last of the guests.

As he passed by the side hall, he heard the voice of Phillips's mother.

"In your father's will..." her voice was very tired.

"It says he hopes you and Constance marry as soon as possible."

Inside the hall, Phillips just stood there in silence.

"Everything has already been finalized with the House of Count Blackburn," his mother continued.

"Before your father... passed, his biggest concern was this marriage."

"He said you would never be able to find your footing in our circles."

"With the Blackburn family backing you, your future will be secure."

Phillips still didn't speak.

"Say something, will you!" his mother urged, her voice laced with sudden anxiety.

Phillips remained silent for a long time—so long that Richard thought he wasn't going to answer at all.

"...I understand," he finally said.

He neither agreed nor refused. He only showed a bleak apathy, as if he couldn't even muster the energy to consider either option.

It was as though his mother was discussing someone else's marriage, a trivial matter that had nothing to do with him.

His mother looked at him, opened her mouth, but ultimately said nothing more.

She was too tired.

Her husband was gone, her eldest son had to take over, and the household was a chaotic mess of affairs.

Her youngest son's marriage should have been the easiest matter to settle, but seeing him like this, she didn't even know how to press the issue.

She sighed, turned around, and walked out.

In the side hall, only Phillips was left.

Constance was right outside.

The girl was usually quite decisive, but right now, she was just twisting the hem of her skirt. She wanted to say something, yet didn't know what to say, so she simply kept her head down.

"Phillips..." she softly called to him.

Phillips acted as though he hadn't heard her. He walked right past her and headed straight upstairs.

Constance turned and spotted Richard standing a short distance away. Her eyes immediately lit up.

"Mr. Williams," she said, her voice trembling. "Please, go check on him."

"He hasn't listened to anyone since yesterday morning."

Richard went upstairs.

The door to the fourth-floor room filled with his collections was slightly ajar.

The sound of water being poured into a cup drifted through the crack, accompanied by a voice muttering to itself.

"...Dad, the one you drank that day had sage in it, didn't it?"

Phillips's voice was no different from usual.

"I remember. You poured it straight from my teapot."

Richard pushed the door open.

The long table beneath the Helvetian Clock was entirely covered in teacups.

Dozens of them sat side by side, every single one filled to the brim.

The tea had long since gone cold, a thin film of oil forming across the surface of the liquid.

Phillips sat at the table, holding that old teapot in his hand.

The chair opposite him was empty.

A single cup sat in front of the empty chair, filled all the way to the top.

"Richard," Phillips said, looking up. "You're just in time."

He was smiling, even as two trails of tears streamed down his grinning face.

The smile and the tears fought an even battle.

"I'm making tea for my dad."

Richard stood at the door, unable to say a word.

"This teapot can produce any flavor," Phillips muttered, as if reassuring himself. "Anything I want."

"I've been trying all night, but I just can't recreate the cup from that day."

The dozens of full cups on the table were the result of his long, sleepless night.

What he wanted had never been the flavor of the tea; it was the person who drank it.

But while the teapot could grant him any flavor in the world, it couldn't bring back the man.

"Madam Marie told me once," Phillips suddenly said, his voice faint and drifting.

"When a person stretches their Inspiration out too far and cannot pull it back... sage can call it back."

He looked up at Richard, his eyes terrifyingly bright.

"My dad drank sage."

"I have been brewing sage, brewing it all night."

He smiled, looking perfectly at peace.

"He should be coming back now."

With that, he turned back to the empty chair and waited in absolute silence.

"Phillips," Richard finally managed to say.

"Hmm?" Phillips didn't turn around. His gaze remained fixed on the empty chair.

Richard didn't know what to say.

Just then, Phillips picked up a freshly poured cup and took a sip.

He froze. He cradled the cup in his hands, not setting it down for a very long time.

"...It's this one."

The two streaks of tears were still wet on his cheeks, but his expression was one of overjoyed relief—the look of someone who had finally recovered something precious.

"Dad, you're back!"

The Helvetian Clock ticked steadily on the wall.

The teacup sitting in front of the empty chair gave off a faint wisp of steam.