Chapter 477: Hermes, Do You Have Any?

Hecate let out a long sigh. She sat motionless before her loom for a long time.

She still cradled that single thread in the palm of her hand.

Strangely, the thread carried no malice.

She had read that much immediately.

A line of Inspiration never erred. The moment someone harbored a genuine desire to harm you or those connected to you, the line would begin to tremble.

Demeter's line hadn't trembled at all.

Hecate lifted the thread slightly and traced it, discovering that its other end was rooted in the earth.

Feeling her way further along, she reached Demeter's field.

That field sat atop an ancient weak point—a fact everyone at the table knew.

Over the past year, how many times had Demeter reported something wrong with her field?

She probably couldn't even keep count herself anymore.

Hecate set the thread down. She had seen plenty of similar setups.

People bought off with money, coerced by threats, or even implanted with a suggestion, completely unaware of what they were doing.

She had seen Demeter's type of situation before, but never executed so cleanly.

The opponent's methods were brilliant... There was no need to bribe Demeter; they only had to grow a single season of crops in her field.

Demeter walked barefoot onto that soil every day to till it. She had worked that field for countless years and would never raise her guard against it.

Through that contact, the other side had read every piece of information Demeter saw.

Hecate sat before her loom, but her gaze drifted out the window.

She saw a ship weighing anchor at the Harbor, its capstan turning painstakingly slowly.

Before the window, that row of clay pots remained.

They were filled with branches scavenged from elsewhere, and a pair of scissors rested on the rim.

Hecate picked up the scissors.

Over the past two months, she had picked up these scissors many times.

One snip, and the thread would break.

Once severed, the opponent's setup in the field would no longer be able to read the information at this table.

But if the thread was cut, Demeter would no longer be able to stay at the table, either.

Hecate sighed again. She weighed the scissors in her hand, then set them back on the rim, deciding to beat them at their own game.

...

Time quickly passed to the night of June 15th. Richard closed his eyes, counted to seven, and the sea of stars receded.

All seven stone chairs surrounding the round table were full. Naturally, no one would miss such an important gathering.

His first glance swept over the table and caught Demeter.

The ears of wheat atop her head looked plumper than last time.

She sat very still, both hands resting on her knees, lost in thought.

Richard withdrew his gaze.

Hecate spoke up. "There is only one matter tonight. The time for the team battle against the Rome table has been set."

No one at the table interrupted.

"It is set for two days from now, on the night of June 17th."

Heracles's chair creaked. "Why so soon?"

He sounded audibly nervous when he spoke.

Hecate shook her head.

"They cannot wait much longer. On the twenty-third of last month, Apennine declared war on Austria-Hungary. The military is pressing them hard."

She folded her hands on the table. "Now, state your outside reinforcements.

"According to the rules from the last letter, you can only bring one person, invited personally, and they must take the field in their true body."

Noticing the heavy atmosphere, she took the initiative. "In that case, I will go first."

At this, the eyes of the entire table fixed on the seat of honor.

For the past year, Hecate had always been the last to speak. This time, she broke her pattern.

"I have invited a Major Adept of the Secret path."

Hearing this, everyone's breathing hitched slightly.

"She follows the Abyss Tradition."

At those words, Heracles's hands tightened on his armrests.

Dionysus's Two-Handled Cup paused in midair, completely forgotten.

Demeter lifted her calloused hands from her lap, then lowered them back down.

"The Abyss!" The flames atop Prometheus's head flared fiercely.

"Chief, across the entire Empire, there can't be more than three registered Major Adepts of the Abyss Tradition, right?"

Hecate nodded. "Yes, no more than three are registered within the borders, but there is no telling how many exist outside them or off the registry."

"The one I invited is neither domestic nor registered."

Richard sat in his chair and spread out his Still Water.

When Hecate said this, the layer of Ether around her was deliberately steady, as if intentionally demonstrating something.

A line of words surfaced on the scales atop Nemesis's head: "Then, what was the price?"

Hecate waved her hand. "I have already paid it. You all do not need to worry about that."

She said only this and left it at that.

No one dared to press further.

Everyone at the table could imagine several different answers for the price of getting a Major Adept of the Abyss Tradition to act, and none of them were pleasant.

Heracles spoke up again, his voice muffled. "Chief, will she take the field in her true body?"

"Of course in her true body."

"Then she will be dealing with..."

"Naturally, she will be dealing with that Major Adept Scholar of the Star Map, Minerva."

Hecate finished his sentence for him.

"The Star Map is adept at observation and deduction. On the battlefield, she would help her table see everything with absolute clarity.

"The one I invited excels most at making people blind."

She pulled her hand back. "That is why I invited her."

The temple fell silent for a long time. Richard silently committed this to memory.

An unregistered Major Adept of the Secret path following the Abyss Tradition, whose price was already paid—these were all heavyweight details.

Hecate had never spoken an empty word at this table.

She had revealed her outside reinforcement first tonight, and done so decisively, simply to awe the rest of the table, ensuring that whatever they reported would just be an afterthought.

And indeed, she had accomplished exactly that.

The others at the table now looked at the seat of honor with changed expressions.

For the past year, they had followed her lead because she provided masks, channels, and intelligence, allowing them to see a path upward.

But tonight, for the first time, they saw firsthand just how many cards their chief actually held.

A Major Adept of the Abyss, and she could actually invite one just by giving the word.

Hecate lifted her chin. "Continue."

"Dionysus, you start."

The Two-Handled Cup below the ivy mask swayed, looking a little embarrassed. "Sorry, I couldn't get anyone."

Hecate was both surprised and unsurprised. "Not even one?"

"Right, not even one," Dionysus said candidly.

"I know quite a few people. You could grab a handful of guys who'd call me brother at the tavern anytime."

He set his wine cup down on the table.

"Among those acquaintances, quite a few are willing to cover my tab, and a few would speak up for me. But if I asked anyone to follow me into a deathmatch, I reckon not a single one would be willing."

Dionysus spoke with a hint of melancholy. "Friends made while soaking in wine all scatter the moment they sober up."

Hecate made no comment. She turned to the next person. "Heracles, what about you?"

A muffled response came from beneath the Lion-Mouth Mask. "I don't have anyone either."

"You don't either?" Hecate's tone shifted.

"Don't you have a squad of elite Hunters?"

"You're right. If I gave the word, plenty of brothers in my squad would be willing to come with me."

"Then why didn't you call them?"

Heracles shifted his legs.

"Because there isn't a single Minor Adept among them; the highest are just Senior Practitioners.

"You said yourself that dying in this battle means dying for real. Calling them over wouldn't be much help, and it would only add to our casualties."

He paused here and scratched his head, looking a bit sheepish. "Actually, my wife is a Minor Adept of the Secret path."

Several people at the table looked at him in surprise.

"Her brain works better than mine, and she has a lot more Spell Formulas at her disposal.

"If she went to that battlefield, she might be of greater use than me."

"Then why didn't you ask her?"

Heracles clenched his fists.

"Last month, I went home and found that my daughter had already learned to climb onto a stool by herself.

"If I bring her mother onto that battlefield in two days, and only one of us comes back, or neither of us comes back, then..."

He stopped there. "So, I couldn't bring myself to ask her."

Hecate nodded, pressing the matter no further.

"Demeter."

A soft sigh came from beneath the terracotta mask. "No, I don't have anyone either."

"Why?"

"I am a farmer. In my life, I have dealt mostly with the soil.

"Among everyone I know, there is no one willing to die for me."

Hecate knew her old sister's situation well.

She had merely been asking out of routine. She quickly skipped to the next person.

"Nemesis, it's your turn."

The situation finally took a turn here.

A line of text surfaced on the tilted scales: "I have one on my end."

"Who is it?"

Hecate nodded silently in her heart. She hadn't expected that at the crucial moment, three Minor Adepts would prove less reliable than a single Practitioner.

"It is an elder in my family. He is a Minor Adept Hunter of the Moon Hunting Tradition."

Hecate offered an approving word of encouragement and promised that appropriate compensation would be provided afterward.

Richard searched his mind for candidates.

That elder was likely the one Catherine had mentioned who failed to break through to Minor Adept, or perhaps it was that Minor Adept uncle.

"Prometheus, what about you?"

The man in the red-gold mask spoke steadily. "I will bring something on that day."

"You're bringing reinforcements?" Several people at the table were confused.

Prometheus explained, "My master is a craftsman, and likewise not adept at frontal combat. He has provided me with a puppet for support."

He projected an image: a two-meter-tall armored puppet, forged entirely of dark bronze, its armor plates completely etched with inscriptions.

"This advanced puppet's combat strength is at least equal to a Minor Adept Hunter.

"Under the control of an expert, its combat strength could even approach that of a Major Adept."

Heracles immediately sat up straight. "Approach a Major Adept?"

Prometheus didn't overstate it.

"Yes, only approach. In an actual fight, it can hold out for half an hour at most.

"After half an hour, my Ether will run dry.

"If my master were operating it, it could display the true combat strength of a Major Adept."

"What was the price?" Hecate asked.

Prometheus replied, "I mortgaged the workshop's production capacity for the next several years."

"Working for free, then?" Dionysus gave a low whistle.

"It's worth it. If I die, there won't be a 'next several years.'" Prometheus didn't seem to mind.

Hecate finally looked at Richard, a faint trace of anticipation in her words.

"Hermes, do you have anyone?"

The entire table looked toward Richard, everyone's eyes burning bright.