Chapter 473: Only Family Will Not Hesitate

Back at the university, Richard bumped into Fischer again at the corner of the corridor.

The fellow was carrying a stack of proofreading assignments. Catching sight of Richard, he let out a surprised gasp.

"Williams, didn't you go home?"

"I'm already back."

"If you're back, why aren't you heading to the dining hall?"

Fischer shifted the stack of assignments to his other arm.

"They have potato and beef pie for lunch today... Sure, it's mostly potato, but at least there's meat."

"I'm staying at the dorms today."

Fischer's eyes lit up.

"Staying at the dorms? There's less than a month left until the holidays, and you're moving back?"

"Something came up in the department."

"Right." Fischer gave him a knowing look.

"It just so happens I've composed a new..."

"Not listening."

"I haven't even told you what it is."

"I don't want to hear it, whatever it is."

Fischer hurried after him.

"This one is pure instrumental, no lyrics. I named it 'June.'"

"Why name it 'June'? Because you wrote it in June?"

"Of course. I couldn't think of any other name."

Richard stopped at the landing and looked at him seriously.

"Fischer..."

"What?"

"That's actually a pretty good name."

"Really?"

"Really," Richard nodded.

"It's much better than 'The Silent Williams.'"

Fischer hugged his stack of assignments, the excitement on his face cooling bit by bit.

"You just don't want to listen."

When Richard reached the entrance to the dormitory building, the crippled porter looked up.

"Williams. I thought you weren't coming back to stay this term."

"I should be here for a little over a week."

The old man nodded, delivering his customary instructions.

"Gas is charged by the hour. You're not allowed to turn it on after ten o'clock."

"I'll be asleep after ten."

The old man opened the registry.

"That's for the best. Fewer and fewer people are staying on campus lately. There's only you and three students taking makeup exams on the second floor."

Richard signed his name. As he looked up, the old man suddenly added one more thing.

"Oh, right. Yesterday afternoon, that red-haired girl from Cheltenham moved back into the dorms too."

"Is she alone?"

"Yes, alone." The old man closed the registry.

It rained the entire morning. Richard sat by his dorm window, Hecate's letter spread open on the desk.

He did something he rarely did these days: he pulled out a blank sheet of paper and started writing from scratch.

Richard wrote: "Why do I still sit at this table?"

After writing the heading, he chuckled to himself and began to list everything he had gained from that table over the past year, item by item.

First was the Mask of Hermes, the accompanying Caduceus and winged shoes, as well as the inverted [Mask of the Reverse Messenger];

Catherine's contact line, and the materials he had exchanged for with Demeter;

There were also the condensates he and Heracles used to settle their accounts every time, along with Prometheus's few bottles of stabilizer and Ether Condensate;

And finally, his own little appraisal shop.

Halfway through the list, he stopped.

These were all things he had earned bit by bit through his own hard work.

But the accounts had to be kept clear. Nearly half his growth in strength over the past year was tied to that round table.

If someone were to flip this table now, everything connected to it would vanish along with it.

He continued writing: "What will happen if I withdraw from the seat this time?"

[Inner Awakening] took effect, turning its light inward upon himself.

Withdrawing wasn't as simple as just standing up and walking away.

That Clay Token had been delivered personally by Hecate, connecting to the Spirit Realm Messenger, which meant a thread from his side was permanently attached to it.

If he withdrew on his own accord, that thread might not sever so easily—especially since he had already demonstrated sufficient value.

Moreover, Catherine was also at that table. He had already built momentum and drummed up business for her.

If the group battle really broke out and he pulled out alone, how awkward would Nemesis's position at that table become?

He put the pen down and leaned back in his chair.

Outside the window, the rain tapped against the iron bucket at the eaves, with long pauses between each drop.

He wrote the next question very slowly: "Why should I help Hecate?"

This was what was truly stuck in his throat.

The head seat of that table was Hecate. Once they reached the so-called Third Stage of the group battle, no one could say for certain who would ultimately reap the benefits.

Her Torch and Key were far more condensed and solid than anyone else's at the table.

As the head seat, she was being targeted. Why should he throw in his grandfather, his two professors, and all the favors he had painstakingly accumulated over the past year to help her?

Sitting there, he did indeed feel a bit of indignation.

But anger clouded judgment. He silently circulated the Condensed Mirror Method, began to think it over again, and suddenly realized he had miscalculated one thing.

When the Rome table consumed the other, they would definitely swallow everything whole—people, divine names, masks, and all. It was a winner-takes-all scenario.

As the head, Hecate would undoubtedly suffer the greatest loss if such a total wipeout occurred.

But taking the heaviest loss didn't mean she was the only one losing.

If this table couldn't be saved, his seat as Hermes would also cease to exist.

What he needed to do right now was simply self-preservation.

However, this also reminded him that he needed to scheme more for his own interests at this table.

Having figured this out, the lingering knot of resentment in his chest dissipated.

But immediately after, the second question surfaced: "Should I really ask for outside help?"

Asking for outside help meant they had to take the field in their true bodies. If they died, they died for real.

To put it in the most straightforward and blunt terms, it meant asking someone to follow him into a fight to the death.

This was the most ruthless part of it all: an outside helper equated directly to someone willing to die for you.

Therefore, it couldn't be bought with money, couldn't be forced through threats, and couldn't be requested through indirect connections.

In this world, the people willing to put their lives on the table for him could be counted on one hand.

In the afternoon, Richard returned to the Ashford mansion.

The row of holly in the backyard had grown denser than in May. Gerard crouched in front of the easternmost bush, but the small trowel in his hand remained motionless, buried in the dirt.

"Grandfather," Richard greeted him.

He sat down on the stone bench and led with the roundabout question he had rehearsed in his dorm.

"I want to ask you a hypothetical first."

Gerard pulled the trowel out, knocked the dirt off against the side of his shoe, and looked at him with some amusement.

"You're trying this routine with me?"

Richard pressed on.

"Suppose the rules of a battle are set in stone, and you can only bring one extra person to help."

"The person you bring must be invited by you personally. They must take the field in their true body, and any injuries they take will be real."

The old man waved the trowel in his hand.

"And if they die?"

"If they die, they really die."

Gerard braced both hands against his knees and stood up, his knee popping.

"When?"

Richard stalled.

"Grandfather, I said it's a hypothetical."

"And I'm asking you, exactly when is it?"

"Mid-June."

Gerard patted his hands against his trousers, knocking off the layer of dirt.

"Then there's less than a week left."

"Grandfather..."

The old man took a few steps toward the house.

"I just sharpened my blade last month, and it hasn't found any use yet."

Richard stood up as well. "I said it's a hypothetical."

Gerard turned his head. The expression on his face, which had been stern for a lifetime, slowly softened.

"Richard, back in March, you discussed something with me once, saying you were going out for the night and would return at dawn."

"I asked you where you were going, and you only said it was an invitation from a certain someone. That night, I stood under the porch until daybreak."

He shoved his hands into the pockets of his coat.

"Today, you beat around the bush so much to tell me all this. Do you think I don't understand what you mean?"

Richard stood frozen in place, momentarily unable to speak.

Gerard snorted.

"Do you think your grandfather has lived all these decades in vain?"

"Of course I didn't think that."

Gerard didn't wait for a reply and kept speaking.

"You intentionally asked it this way because you were afraid I'd agree."

"So you tried to confuse me with a hypothetical first. The moment I hesitated, you were going to seize on that hesitation and change the subject."

Richard lowered his head.

"Yes."

"I won't hesitate."

Gerard turned around and walked toward the foyer.

"Back when I snatched your grandmother back, no one in the Ashford family was willing to let me perform the Rite of the Counter-Hunt."

"My father was still alive then. He locked me in that room on the second floor and refused to let me out."

"And then what?"

"And then I climbed out the window myself."

Gerard reached out and slapped the doorframe, the spot where a tooth-marked invitation had once been left.

"That was the worst deal I ever made in my entire life. I carried the cost for so many years, and it wasn't until this year that someone finally took it off my shoulders."

The row of holly in the backyard swayed in the wind.

"I've never regretted it." He pushed the door open.

"So if you really need someone in mid-June, don't beat around the bush with me."

"Just say one sentence directly: Grandfather, come with me now."

"Then I'll immediately grab my blade and my gear."

The door closed behind him. Richard stood alone in the wind of the backyard for a long time.

The butler peeked out and saw the young master standing there, then quickly pulled his head back in.

Afterward, Richard arrived at Room 314 in the Petrie Building.

The potted mint had already shot up to half the height of the window, its top leaves covered in thick white fuzz.

Isabella was grading papers. She always had an endless pile of papers to grade.

Hearing his footsteps, her red pen came down on the paper, marking a cross.

"Speak up. You didn't look quite right when you walked in today."

Richard sat down opposite her.

"Auntie, I want to ask about an academic matter."

"What is it specifically?"

"A battle for a seat."

Isabella set her pen down in the groove and looked up.

"Where did you hear about this?"

"In a book."

"Which book?"

"I forgot."

His aunt stared at him.

"Richard, the last time you said that was when you asked me about the Tradition of Change."

Richard shut his mouth.

Isabella pushed the exam papers aside, folded her hands, propped her chin on them, and scrutinized her nephew.

"Out with it. What do you really want to ask?"

"I'm asking about the kind of battle where you can only bring one outside helper."

"Mhm, I know."

"Auntie, why aren't you surprised at all?"

Isabella let out a chuckle.

"Surprised about what? I've been immersed in this field for twenty years. Did you think I wouldn't know about those tables?"

"When I was younger, someone came to ask me as well. That was the year I had just finished grad school, and my mentor was still around."

"You didn't go, did you?"

"Of course not. My mentor locked me in the archives room for the whole night."

The heating pipes in the office rumbled.

"So?" His aunt shot him a glance.

"What?"

"So did you come today to ask me what you should do? Or to ask if I'll go?"

Richard was just about to speak when Isabella cut him off.

"I'll go."

"Auntie..."

"I said I'll go."

"You don't even know what day it is."

Isabella glanced at the calendar.

"It's in mid-June, right? You started intentionally leaving your schedule empty for this Wednesday since last month."

She picked her red pen back up, twirling it between her fingertips.

"Your grandfather even called me yesterday to ask if I had any classes or fieldwork scheduled on that day."

Richard's hands tightened on his knees.

"What else did he say?"

"He didn't say anything else." Isabella raised an eyebrow.

"He's been a man of few words his whole life. He hung up right after saying that, but I knew exactly what he was trying to say the moment I heard it."

Richard knew that the Classical Records Tradition had almost no direct combat prowess at the Practitioner stage.

It became much stronger at the Minor Adept rank, but compared to the Hunter and Secret paths, it was still relatively disadvantaged.

Meanwhile, the head seat at the opposing table was a Major Adept of the Star Map tradition, and the remaining five were all on paths and traditions that excelled in combat.

Yet Isabella had spoken first, not a trace of a smile left on her face.

"Richard, listen carefully."

"All along my journey, what I've hated most is having every step perfectly calculated for me by others."

"I spent six years on my bachelor's and master's, three years as a teaching assistant, and several years lecturing on fringe courses. I didn't become an associate professor until I was past thirty."

"At every step of the way, other people were calculating things for me. They said walking this path was too slow, that I'd be better off changing direction;"

"Or they said staying at the university wasn't as good as going to the Branch Office—there's more money and more practical experience;"

"And finally, they asked what I planned to do since I was over thirty and still not married."

"Their calculations might have been right, but I've already walked this path to the end."

Richard didn't know how to respond.

"The year your mother's ether circuits ruptured, I was still studying at the university."

"By the time the news reached me and I rushed back from campus, she was already sitting up in bed."

Isabella silently clenched her small fists.

"The very first thing my sister said then was, 'Don't let this delay your studies.'"

"I stood in that room all night, completely powerless to do anything."

As she said this, she blinked her eyes.

"...Auntie."

"So you are not allowed to say no."

"I won't."

"Good."

Isabella dragged her exam papers back over and picked up her red pen.

"Get out. Stop holding up my grading."

Richard closed the door behind him. The wind in the corridor swept in from the far end.

His grandfather and his aunt had both agreed without a sliver of hesitation, yet he couldn't feel happy at all.