Chapter 46: I Am No Longer Involved

"Mom, where's Evelyn?" Richard asked.

"Asleep," his mother said, sounding slightly helpless.

"She ate too much at dinner. When has she ever seen so many meat dishes at home?

"Especially that butter-baked lobster—she ate more than half of it by herself."

"She got sleepy the moment she went back to her room, so I told her to go to bed early."

Margaret chuckled softly, but her smile quickly faded. Her gaze fell to the Gargoyle in her son's hands.

She recognized it. Richard was instantly sure of that.

"Mom, Grandfather told me a lot. Is there anything you..." he ventured.

Margaret raised a hand, stopping him. "I am no longer involved in the affairs of that world."

Richard noticed she said "no longer involved," not "don't know."

"I left this house after I graduated from university and married your father. From that day on, I cut ties with all of it."

Richard thought back to a few things from the past.

His mother had always been in poor health, a condition aggravated heavily by the smog of Briston.

Yet she was uncannily accurate about changes in the weather—even more reliable than the meteorological station.

She could also tell who was visiting before they even stepped through the door.

Evelyn thought their mother just had sharp ears, and Richard used to believe the same.

Now he knew it wasn't about her hearing at all.

It was Inspiration. Suppressed, sealed away, and voluntarily abandoned... but the foundation remained.

"By the way, your aunt Isabella—you should be able to see her after the Cicero Cup ends."

When his mother mentioned her younger sister, her tone was entirely different than when she spoke of his grandfather.

She sounded tense when discussing his grandfather, but mentioning Isabella completely relaxed her.

"She walked the Scholar path as well. She started over a decade before you, so she has some connections in that circle."

"If you ever run into anything you aren't sure about, Isabella is someone you can trust."

"I'll remember that."

Margaret nodded and left it at that, reaching out to straighten his crooked shirt collar.

"Go to bed early."

"You should rest early too, Mom. Don't force yourself if you aren't feeling well."

She paused, then reached up to rub her son's head. "Since when did you learn to be so caring?"

"Recently."

"Keep it up, then."

...

Richard pushed open his bedroom door and locked it behind him.

He set the Gargoyle on the desk, sat on the edge of his bed, and laid the wooden box flat across his lap.

Lifting the lid revealed a velvet-lined interior divided into three compartments.

The first held a folded stack of banknotes and a few gold coins.

He checked the denominations—five pounds, five pounds. Two notes in total.

The gold coins were two Sovereigns in pristine condition, their milled edges sharp and clean.

Added together, it amounted to roughly twelve pounds.

Twelve pounds. His mind automatically converted the sum into Briston's prices:

It was enough to cover the family's rent for several months, buy years' worth of medicine for his mother, or ensure Evelyn always had proper, well-fitting shoes for every season.

He returned the money exactly as he had found it and shifted his gaze to the second compartment.

Inside lay a sealed letter of introduction. The wax seal bore the Ashford crest.

There was no recipient listed on the envelope, only a single line of text: Present this letter at No. 7 Flower Moon Street.

Flower Moon Street. The page from the newspaper on the train floated to the forefront of his mind.

The medium Madam Marie, her mimeographed portrait, and the hushed murmurs of the two men in fedoras.

On the surface, Flower Moon Street was a gray area in the Imperial Capital, a mix of mediums and hidden brothels.

But behind those walls—if there really was a "behind those walls"—it was likely an entirely different world.

He carefully flipped the envelope over. The wax seal was intact, and the flap showed no signs of tampering.

The third compartment was empty, save for a small slip of paper resting at the bottom. It bore a few lines of writing:

"The legal circulation channels for supernatural items in the Imperial Capital are limited.

"No. 7 Flower Moon Street handles the appraisal and consignment of antiquities. The manager, Donner, has had dealings with the Ashford House for many years.

"If you need to purchase or consign related items, you may go there with this letter."

Below that was an even smaller line of text: Act within your limits.

Richard moved the wooden box over and wedged it securely beneath his pillow, pressing it between the bedding and the mattress.

The Gargoyle remained on the desk. He pulled up a chair and sat in front of it.

He pressed his palm flat against the stone surface again. The numbers on his Panel slowly crept upward.

He turned the Gargoyle upside down, holding the base close to the gas lamp to carefully inspect the first set of inscriptions.

It was the ancient inscription system of the Western Continent. He had seen its foundational framework in From the Temple to the Rostrum, the book Mr. Hutton had given him.

However, that book focused on the origins and evolution of religious ritual language. It intersected with the encryption methods of these carved inscriptions, but the two didn't perfectly align.

He could recognize the first few characters, but obscure symbols began to appear further along.

There was no rush today. He would just trace all the inscriptions first and save them to decipher slowly when he had more time.

Pulling a notebook from his satchel, he flipped to a blank page and began tracing the inscriptions on the first side of the base, stroke by stroke, under the lamplight.

After tracing for about ten minutes, he set down his pen, righted the Gargoyle, and covered it with his palm again for a little while.

The points were still rising, slightly faster than before.

It was likely because his palm was covering a larger surface area and pressing down more tightly.

As he kept his hand on the Gargoyle, his mind raced.

The sheer amount of information from the conversation in the study was massive. He needed to break it down piece by piece.

First was the matter of the Copper Pendant.

Gerald had personally admitted that he'd instructed Vincent to hand the pendant over to him, aiming to test whether Richard had potential circuits.

A supernatural item, even a common-quality testing consumable, was highly valuable.

The fact that his grandfather was willing to pay that cost meant that, in his eyes, the test result's value far exceeded the item itself.

But this brought up a question.

During the last family gathering, he wasn't the only member of the younger generation present.

Evelyn had gone as well, and there were several other cousins from collateral branches.

Why was he the only one tested?

Given Gerald's personality, it was impossible he hadn't considered the other candidates.

The true purpose of that gathering was likely never just to catch up.

Richard dug through his fragmented memories of that day.

At the gathering, his grandfather had sat at the head of the table, speaking to the younger generation one by one.

He hadn't paid any attention at the time, assuming it was just a routine check-in from an elder.

Thinking back on it now, his grandfather hadn't spoken to any of the youths for long. He had moved on to the next person after just a sentence or two.

With his Rank, probing for potential circuits was probably as straightforward as checking if someone had a mole on their face.

For most people, the result would be clean. Without any traces of a potential circuit, they were like iron plates—spill Ether on them, and not a single drop would seep in.

Evelyn most likely fell into that category.

If she had potential circuits, his grandfather wouldn't have given the Copper Pendant solely to him.

And what about himself?

Richard looked down at his own palm.

His mother had to have circuits... Though she hadn't explicitly said it, judging by his grandfather's attitude and the various clues, it was practically a certainty.

Her circuits could have been passed down through her bloodline.

When his grandfather had swept a glance over him during that gathering, he might have already caught an anomaly but wasn't entirely sure.

That was why a supernatural item was used to verify it. The only miscalculation was that Richard's health had been too poor to withstand the drain.

Digging deeper, even the Gargoyle and the wooden box had been carefully calculated.

Not too much, not too little. Just enough for him to operate for a short time, but not so much that he could slack off and rest on his laurels.

Every word his grandfather had said to him tonight, every single item he had given him...

...they were all carefully measured. Just enough to give him a push, but not enough to walk for him.

This was a man who had maximizing resource efficiency carved into his bones.

Yet, precisely because of that, the support he offered was reliable.

What did an investor fear most? Their chosen stock plummeting to worthlessness.

So, as long as Richard continued to produce value, Gerald would continue to increase his investment.

Richard saw through this logic with crystal clarity.