Chapter 406: The Inverted Emissary's Mask

March hadn't even arrived, but Richard was already making frequent trips to Professor Mortimer's office.

He had never been a passive person. Now that the professor had opened his private collection to him, failing to show some initiative would just be ungrateful.

The old professor hadn't lied; the room hadn't been filed in decades.

Documents were piled from the tops of the bookshelves all the way to the windowsills, pinning the curtains so tightly they couldn't be drawn shut.

A few stacks had practically fused with the walls. Pull one file out, and the one beneath it would peel away a strip of plaster.

"Start with the stack in the corner," Mortimer said, pointing with his teacup.

"Make a copy for the records. I'll store the originals separately."

"What if I make a mistake?"

"Then you rewrite it." The old professor propped his feet up on another chair.

"I don't have the budget to issue you a second pen."

Richard sat at a cleared corner of the desk by the window and set out the bottle of endless ink his aunt had given him.

The first stack consisted of seal maintenance records from decades ago. The handwriting was sloppy, and the terminology relied on old conventions that had long fallen out of use.

[Erudition] imprinted every page into his mind, while the ever-expanding web of [Knowledge Lv.4] linked those old terms to the new systems he had studied, one by one.

He copied them quickly.

It wasn't until noon that his hand finally slowed.

The document in his hands was a dismantling diagram for a lower-tier seal. Beside the sketch was a line of small text left by the expedition's Scholar.

"To seal a thing, first define it; otherwise, the bindings will not hold."

Richard stared at that line for a long time.

Every seal he had dismantled and studied over the past year ultimately boiled down to this one principle.

If you wanted to lock something in a cage, you first had to give it a definition.

You had to draw its boundaries—state clearly what it was, and what it was not.

The right to define was a Scholar's primary duty, and it was the very root of how the entire mystical side operated.

Richard's pen hovered on the paper, its ink bleeding into a tiny dark dot.

He suddenly realized something that sent a chill down his spine.

If the entity across the sea wanted to investigate him, its first step would be categorizing the suspect to make him easier to find—a sacrificer, a hider, an insider of the Empire.

If the Department of Internal Affairs wanted to keep an eye on him, their first step would be slapping tags on his file—'deeply hidden,' 'socially adept.'

When the lord of the hunt accepted his goods, he was pinning a label on him as well: a young man with good merchandise and a questionable background.

When Hecate handed him the mask, heaven only knew if she had buried a string deep within its ether structure that only she could pull.

If any of them wanted to make a move against him, they first had to figure out Richard Williams's true background.

"What's on your mind?"

Mortimer's voice drifted over from across the room.

"You've been stuck on that page for half an hour without writing a single word, and your ink is about to bleed right through the paper."

"Just thinking."

"Think all you want, but keep the pen moving." Mortimer took his feet off the chair.

"When you pause like that, an entire afternoon's progress goes to waste."

Richard scraped off the inkblot with a small blade and resumed copying.

His hand kept copying, but the thought in his mind only wound itself tighter.

These days, all he could think about was how to get stronger.

The books had made it perfectly clear the moment he stepped into the mystical side: the stronger you were, the more clearly the veil saw you.

The brighter the candle burns, the easier it is for distant eyes to spot it.

Getting stronger meant stepping into a brighter light, allowing everyone to see him more clearly.

Richard finished copying the last line and gently set the document aside.

Mortimer glanced at him but didn't press the issue.

"That's enough for today." The old professor poured the last drops from the teapot into his cup.

"Leave that batch on the desk. You can pick up where you left off tomorrow."

Richard stood up and screwed the cap back onto the ink bottle.

"Professor."

"Hm?"

"Defining something is locking it in a cage."

"What about the reverse?"

Mortimer's hand paused on his teacup.

The old professor looked up, the cloudiness fading from his half-lidded eyes.

"The reverse," he repeated slowly.

"If no one can define it... then it isn't in any cage at all."

"Why do you ask?"

"Just a random thought." Richard grabbed his coat from the back of the chair.

"Just a random thought," the old professor parroted, letting out a snort.

"Every time you say that, something ends up happening right after."

Richard didn't reply. He simply bowed and pushed the door open to leave.

The wind, still carrying the biting tail end of winter, rushed in from the far end of the corridor.

Returning to his dorm, Richard held a pen and drew a line under 'Inviolability of Emissaries'.

If the day ever came when he was truly hunted, this would be the most useful.

As a boundary-crossing neutral party, his status protected him. Anyone who wanted to touch him would have to weigh the consequences first.

But after weighing it himself for two seconds, the tip of his pen stopped again.

Protection from whom?

Hermes's protection was, at its core, upheld by Rank.

What use was a small fish holding up a "Do Not Eat This Fish" sign in front of a shark?

Sending messages, contracts, Ferrying, Inviolability... these were all tools that only mattered after he had been targeted.

Their very premise was that he had already been exposed.

No matter how well a piece of prey trained itself, it remained prey.

The problem was never about how to run once the chase began.

He shouldn't be seen in the first place.

Hermes had so many identities: messenger, god of commerce, debater, patron of Scholars, ferrier of souls, god of words and trickery.

In reality, all these identities did the exact same thing.

He was the only entity permitted to freely cross back and forth between any two separated things.

A boundary lay between gods and men, and only he could cross it.

Buying and selling, life and death, truth and falsehood—others couldn't cross the boundaries between them, but he could.

A messenger relayed words for the gods; it was the passage of information from that side to this side.

A ferrier guided souls; it was the passage of spirits from this side to that side.

A debater relied on their tongue to pass logic from their own mind into the minds of others.

A god of trickery allowed things that weren't supposed to pass to sneak through.

It all came down to one word—passage.

The 'Inviolability of Emissaries' was proof of this.

He was protected precisely because he was the neutral party who offended no one and could cross the boundary between both sides.

At that moment, Richard fully understood the price of the mask as well.

The veil around him becoming transparent meant the door was wide open in both directions.

Attracting the dead—the door was open, so the dead would naturally follow the path to find him.

The restlessness of a traveler—the door was right beneath his feet, making it impossible to sit still.

All three prices were byproducts of this passage.

But what if he locked this door from the inside?

Richard's heart skipped a beat.

The more he thought about it, the more promising it seemed. He pulled up [Shadow Inversion].

[Shadow Inversion (Inversio Umbrae)]

The mask's phantom reflection was complete, and the Caduceus had already materialized.

This time, the panel didn't display the 'Unmastered' warning.

[Shadow Inversion: Mask of Hermes]

[Inversion Result: Inverted Emissary's Mask (Persona Aversa)]

[Effect: Seals the path of 'passage'. Any power attempting to define, name, or overwrite the wielder's identity from the outside will be repelled and cause a backlash against the source.]

[Limitation: Against entities of a higher Rank, it can only provide a certain degree of mitigation.]

[Side Effects: During the spell's duration, the original Mask of Hermes cannot be used.

The wielder will become difficult to identify on the veil's side. Certain seals and Spell Formulas that rely on the veil's perception will fail to recognize the wielder.]

Richard read it line by line. Sealing the path of 'passage.' The foundation of Hermes was a door open on both sides, allowing anything to pass through.

Inversion meant locking this door from the inside so that concepts could no longer flow in.

The entity across the sea excelled at name substitution, which required first defining him as someone who could be replaced.

The lord of the hunt wanted to categorize him; Hecate wanted to bury a string inside him through the mask.

Richard's heart beat faster and faster. Now he could name others, but others couldn't define him.

One offense, one defense—a complete set of sword and shield.

He also scrutinized the line about side effects.

"The wielder will become difficult to identify on the veil's side."

This was entirely natural. Being undefinable cut both ways.

If others couldn't define him, the other side of the veil wouldn't be able to clearly recognize him either.

On the other side of the veil, he would become a blurry, indistinct entity.

To beings that relied on instinct to distinguish friend from foe, he would be neither enemy nor friend.

He would probably register as a mass of illegible white noise.

This would cause quite a bit of trouble. Some seals designed to protect him wouldn't recognize him, blocking him out as an outsider instead.

Places that required identity verification would become inaccessible to him.

But this ability was a toggle switch. He could simply turn it on or off as needed.

Richard made a mental note of this, quietly reminding himself.

The shadow surfaced from behind the veil.

He decided to test it on the shadow first.

"Put it on."

He passed the thought over, and the shadow pulled the Ancient Bronze Mask over its featureless face.

The moment the mask was affixed, Richard mentally activated the [Inverted Emissary's Mask].

The change was incredibly subtle. In his Spirit Vision, the pattern of the golden wings and twin snakes flipped over.

Originally, the two golden snakes had flared outward, poised to transmit what was inside to the outside.

After flipping, the snakes faced inward, biting their own tails and completely sealing off the inside of the mask.

The layer of 'transparency' propped open around the shadow by the Mask of Hermes vanished.

On the night of the Mourning Day, the shadow had worn the mask while moving through the shallows.

If Madam Marie hadn't anchored the area, it would likely have drawn gazes from the depths in less than half a minute.

This time, there were no gazes at all.

On the flip side, as Richard looked at the shallows behind the veil through the wisp of spirit embedded in his shadow, he noticed something felt off.

Even to his own Perception, the shadow's silhouette had become blurry.

Richard circulated his Mirror-Condensing Technique.

A mirror could reflect pitch black, but it could not reflect a contourless fog.

The shadow at his feet had become something a mirror couldn't reflect.

Richard made a mental note of this and tried something else.

He commanded the shadow to walk toward him while mentally activating the Chronicler's Pen, attempting to name it.

"Shadow Guard."

He pushed his ether outward, but it bounced right back upon hitting the shadow.

Even his own naming couldn't penetrate it.

'So it doesn't distinguish between friend and foe,' Richard muttered inwardly.

Richard deactivated the Inverted Emissary's Mask, and the flipped mask on the shadow's face dissolved.

Right now, the Inverted Emissary's Mask was still weak.

But all Spell Formulas derived from [Shadow Inversion] grew continuously alongside the original ones. At the very least, its prospects were bright.

Richard suddenly felt a bit relieved.

Growth. He still needed to grow.

With his cheat, as long as he didn't die, he would eventually grow to a point where no one could easily manipulate him.

But the prerequisite was having the chance to grow. That was why he currently cherished any ability that allowed him to lay low and survive.

Just as he was thinking, someone called his name from downstairs.

"Williams! You have mail!"

Richard went downstairs to fetch it.

One was from Evelyn.

The envelope was bulging. When he tore it open, a small piece of something tumbled out alongside the letter.

It was a dried chunk of a rabbit-shaped gingerbread cookie. The hat, as always, was crooked.

The letter explained that sugar rationing was getting tighter. She had tested seven or eight sugar-free recipes, and the ninth generation of Professor Rabbit had finally held its shape.

"This one was made with honey and apple purée. It's sweet even without sugar."

She had added another line at the bottom.

"Mom said something happened on Grandpa's side of the family. Are you okay? If you're fine, write back so Mom doesn't have to keep bothering Auntie every day."

Richard held the chunk of gingerbread, examined it for a moment, and tossed it into his mouth.

The sweetness of the honey mixed with the tartness of the apple, slowly melting on his tongue.

His sister's baking skills had improved again.

The second letter was from Grey.

The letter wasn't long.

Her family's ship—which had been requisitioned and then returned—hadn't been able to set sail again.

The Admiralty had only temporarily lifted the requisition, with no definitive word on when they might commandeer it again, so her father had left the ship docked in the port for now.

At the end of the letter, Grey had drawn a small cat next to a single line of text.

"The bean on the balcony sprouted a tiny bit of green this morning."

"Just a tiny bit, no bigger than the tip of a needle. Do you think it's really going to sprout?"

...

On February twenty-fifth, Associate Professor Croft was seven minutes late.

This was something that had never happened with him before.

When he walked through the door, he had a copy of the "Imperial Capital Morning News" tucked under his arm.

"Yesterday afternoon." He spread the newspaper out on the podium.

"The Church, the Civilian Guild, the Branch Office, and the Military held their third four-party coordination meeting."

He looked up, scanning the people seated below.

"The 'Wartime Spiritualist Activity Control Decree' passed with a unanimous vote."

No one in the classroom made a sound.

"Last time, they spent six weeks arguing over the standards for the blackout regulations."

He picked up his cup of bitter tea and downed it in one gulp.

"Everyone, remember today."

"The Empire's administrative machine only moves when it has enough lubricating oil."

As for what that lubricating oil was, he didn't say.

Croft turned the page of the newspaper.

"Keep listening. It gets even more ridiculous."

"Parliament also passed a resolution at the same time yesterday: the banning of spiritualist gatherings."

Someone in the back row raised their hand.

"Sir, isn't that a good thing?"

"It is a good thing," Croft said.

"But listen to their reasoning."

He looked down and continued reading.

"...Given that wartime spiritualist gatherings are easily exploited by enemy spies, and attendees often engage in the spread of military intelligence, unit designations, and casualty lists, in accordance with Article... of the 'Defence Regulations'..."

He pushed the newspaper aside.

"They spent months investigating spies, and their ultimate conclusion is that those rogue mediums are most likely spies."

"They did the right thing, but for incredibly absurd reasons."

Fischer muttered softly from the back row.

"That's still better than ignoring it."

"No." Croft heard him and turned around.

"Banning these rogue mediums bans the gatherings. When people stop gathering, they shift to one-on-one house calls."

"House calls happen behind closed doors. The police can't get in."

'''