Chapter 478: Get Lost!

Richard knew what they were expecting.

Over the past year, he had done quite a lot at this table.

Whenever someone acquired an item of unknown origin, he was the first person they thought of.

Heracles had told him last time, "You sure know a lot of people."

And the fact that he had a Major Adept Scholar standing behind him was known to everyone at the table.

So the other five people at the table had long been calculating.

Dionysus thought: 'This kid has the wildest connections. He might really pull a surprise out of some obscure corner.'

Heracles figured: 'That old professor behind him probably won't take the field himself.'

Scholars, after all, had never been great at head-on combat.

Under normal circumstances, whether a Major Adept Scholar could even handle a Minor Adept Hunter in a sudden encounter was debatable.

But that old professor clearly carried a lot of weight in the circle. He might actually be able to secure some crucial muscle for Hermes from somewhere.

Prometheus thought: 'As long as the external reinforcement he calls in is on par with that puppet of his, that will be enough.'

Nemesis looked at him with some concern, and Richard could read her meaning.

Catherine probably assumed he was also calling upon a family elder, and might have even guessed who it was.

Gerard Ashford, Major Adept Hunter—the name that had been tossed around the circle over and over these past few months.

But no matter who it was, the upper limit of the ruler in everyone's minds stopped at the exact same mark.

No matter who Hermes managed to invite, they couldn't possibly surpass the head seat.

That was a Major Adept of the Abyss Tradition, undoubtedly the absolute ceiling this table could touch tonight.

"I did indeed manage to invite someone," Richard said slowly.

"Who?"

Richard didn't answer. He stood up.

Around the round table encircled by its seven stone chairs, the boundless darkness receded downward.

Richard closed his eyes and began to recite the first line.

"He who walks the path of no return, whose steps match the road he came by."

As these words fell, all the lights in the entire temple dimmed simultaneously.

Heracles lost his balance in his chair, nearly sliding off completely.

Demeter's hands hung in midair, unsure of where to rest.

The liquor in Dionysus's Two-Handled Cup splashed right out.

The flame above Prometheus's head continuously shrank inward.

A three-part honorific name. Everyone at this table knew exactly what that meant.

Beneath his mask, Heracles's mouth gaped wide. He had run through countless battlefields over half his life.

He had only heard someone recite such a three-part honorific name once before. After it was chanted that time, everything along the entire frontline, whether dead or alive, had prostrated itself.

Demeter snapped her head around to look at the head seat; Hecate had already stood up.

Ignoring them, Richard continued reciting his second line.

"He who once returned from the Deep Realm, leading an army."

A path appeared on the marble floor of the temple. It rose out of nothingness, and there was absolutely nothing on it.

The scales above Nemesis's head began to plummet; she simply couldn't hold them up.

"Whose feet have forged paths, whose bones have built bridges, with only his homeward journey forever suspended in the world."

Footsteps echoed from the path. A pair of boots walked out on their own, then assembled into that man with hair like a clump of withered grass.

As soon as he appeared, he looked around and frowned.

"This place looks impressive enough..."

Mid-sentence, he gestured toward the seven stone chairs. "It's just that there are a bit too few chairs."

No one in the temple made a sound.

Heracles gripped his armrests in a death grip, trembling uncontrollably.

Demeter stood up and bowed toward that direction—the kind of bow a farmer gave to a thunderstorm.

Dionysus set his cup aside and lowered his head.

Prometheus's flame shrank until it was on the verge of going out.

He had recently felt that he had mastered the "Foresight" of his divine name mask, yet at this moment, he could see absolutely nothing... And precisely because he couldn't see, it was even more terrifying.

Nemesis lowered her hands, abandoning her effort to support the scales.

She turned to look at Richard, thinking: 'With a connection like this, how could he hold back from saying anything?'

At this moment, Richard was just as tight-lipped as she was.

Because Matthew had told him beforehand, "The moment I enter, don't say a word. Let the head seat see for herself."

Matthew stood in place for a moment.

Only after he finished surveying his surroundings did his gaze land on the head seat.

Hecate stood before the head seat.

Beneath the Golden Mask, those overlapping eyes were completely revealed for the first time.

The suture line between the upper half of the maiden's face and the lower half of the old woman's face cracked to its deepest point at this instant.

She had known this honorific name earlier than anyone else at this table.

In fact, she had gone to invite him long ago.

That time, after finishing the three lines, the offer she passed across the veil was everything she had to give.

The only reply from the other side was a single word: "Get lost!"

Yet now, the man who had told her to get lost was standing right by her table, summoned just like that by a mere Practitioner.

"Long time no see," Matthew said playfully.

Hecate's hand gripped the back of her chair.

"...You."

When that syllable left her triform voice, the maiden's portion cracked first.

"Hm? What about me?"

"Aren't you on the New Continent?"

"I am on the New Continent."

Matthew spread his hands. "I'm still on the New Continent right now."

"Then how..."

"I pave my own path. I go wherever I want to go."

He took two steps forward.

The path that had risen from the void unrolled forward with him.

Hecate stood before the head seat.

She had set the rules and arranged the seating at this table. As she called on them one by one, everyone had to bow their heads to her.

Tonight, she couldn't utter a single word.

Sitting in his chair, Richard could sense that the layer of ether surrounding Hecate was in complete disarray at this moment.

"I suppose I'll call you Hecate for now," Matthew suddenly said.

Hecate looked up.

"That mask of yours is indeed well-made. The triform goddess governing the past, present, and future."

He grinned. "Still as self-righteous as ever."

"What are you trying to say!"

Hecate's hand tightened on the back of the chair. She was clearly angered but didn't dare lash out.

Everyone present except Richard ducked their heads, pretending they hadn't heard a thing.

"I'm not trying to say anything." Matthew threw his head back and laughed.

"I was simply invited here."

He lifted his chin toward Richard.

"This kid is much more interesting than you."

Hecate's torch silhouette flickered as she slowly sat back down.

...

After the gathering was dismissed, that path was still there.

Dionysus held his cup upside down when he left, only realizing it halfway out.

Heracles stood at the doorway for a long time. In the end, he asked nothing and plunged headlong into the sea of stars.

Demeter walked very slowly.

Before leaving, Prometheus glanced back at Richard.

In that glance was not only awe, but also calculation.

For a Virtuoso to be willing to back him up, this guy definitely had something others lacked.

Nemesis stayed until the end.

As she walked past Richard, a few words floated out: "Come to me if you need anything."

Richard nodded, and she quickly left.

Matthew stood on that path, both hands in his pockets.

"Kid, you should get going too."

Hecate raised her hand to stop him, but under Matthew's gaze, she pulled it back.

After Richard left, only these two fellow disciples remained in the temple.

Hecate withdrew her hands from the table.

"Have a seat," she said helplessly.

"There's no chair for me here." The man kept his hands in his pockets, completely unmoved.

"If you want one, I can arrange it for you right now."

Matthew chuckled.

"After all these years, you're still the same."

"Same how."

"You think everything can be solved with calculation."

Hecate didn't respond. The flames in the temple burned very faintly.

It took a long time before she spoke again.

"How is... Teacher doing?"

Matthew stood on the path, not answering immediately.

"I saw her once last month."

"How was she?"

"She was still sitting in that chair, and the room was still full of mirrors."

"I've broken several chairs sitting on them over the years. I don't even remember which number she's on now."

Hecate's hands tightened on the table.

"Did she... mention me?"

Matthew looked at her, his face full of sarcasm.

"No."

Hecate gave a dry, unpleasant laugh.

...

That same night, in an old monastery at the foot of a mountain on the Apennine peninsula.

This monastery hadn't seen a monk since the twelfth century.

The Papal States had used it as a granary, then as military barracks, and after that, it became nothing at all.

The long table in the cellar had been brought down from the chapel upstairs; the surface still bore the grooves where sacred vessels once rested.

Minerva had set up the ritual here, then sent out invitations to the other six.

With seven chairs, Minerva naturally sat at the very head.

Her mask had deep eye sockets, with an incredibly fine Star Map engraved on its forehead.

The silhouette of an owl hovered above her head, and beneath it hung a faintly glowing short spear.

"The news has been verified." Fortuna was the first to speak.

Her mask was the simplest—a plain, unadorned disc with nothing on it. The Wheel of Fortune suspended above her head slowly turned.

"Let's hear it," Minerva said, looking at her.

Fortuna placed her hands on the table and briefly introduced the information on the six people. When it came to a certain person, she placed extra emphasis on him.

"Hermes. Most likely on the Scholar path. Tradition unknown, presumed to be texts.

Even though he's only a Practitioner, he's actually the most troublesome."

Minerva looked up.

"How so?"

Fortuna tapped a finger against the tabletop.

"He only reached Signature last year. His resonance ranks fourth, and his mask shadow manifestation landed even earlier than two Minor Adepts."

"But the most crucial point is..."

She paused.

"Spit it out," Minerva urged.

"Our thread reading him got cut off this May."

Silence fell over the table. Mars slammed his palm against the tabletop.

His mask was made of iron, marked by a deep gouge that ran from his brow bone down to his jaw.

Above his head hung a spear and a round shield bearing a wolf's head emblem.

"What do you mean, 'cut off'?"

"Literally just that," Fortuna explained.

"We can read the Ranks of everyone at that Greece table, who they called for backup, and what stage their resonance has reached."

"But this one guy alone... since this May, we simply couldn't peer into his shadow anymore."

"What do you mean, 'couldn't peer into it'?"

Fortuna thought for a moment. "It's like reaching out your hand, only to find you're just touching your own hand."

Mars snorted.

"You can't even read a Practitioner?"

"I don't know," Fortuna said, leaning back in defeat.

Sitting at the very head, Minerva was actually the one who spoke the least at this table.

"Continue."

Fortuna went on to introduce the opposition's external reinforcements.

When she brought up the situation of Demeter's three Minor Adepts, Venus chuckled aloud from the side.

"All three of them, and not a single one managed it?"

"Not a single one."

"Then their table is down three for three."

"Don't get ahead of yourself." Fortuna pulled her hands back from the table.

"Hecate called someone in."

Minerva looked up.

"Who?"

"A Major Adept of the Abyss Tradition from the Rus Empire. Her business stretches far and wide; you've all probably heard her name. Her ties with Hecate likely go back more than ten years."

The table went quiet.

"And then?" Minerva asked.

Fortuna started to stammer.

"Hermes also called someone."

"Who."

"...I don't know."

Mars's head jerked up.

"You don't know again?"

"I simply don't know," Fortuna said helplessly.

"Our thread only read one thing."

"What thing?"

Fortuna raised her hands, barely managing to sketch out the shape.

"A path."

The lamps inside the cellar began to tremble.

"What path?" Venus asked.

"I can't describe it. The thread read up to that point and then shrank back on its own."

"It didn't dare delve any further."

No one at the table spoke.

Fortuna lowered her hands.

"The last thing I read were three terms."

"Path of no return, Deep Realm, returning with an army."

Mars sprang up from his chair, which toppled over behind him.

"A Virtuoso!"

"Yes."

"Impossible." Mars couldn't believe it.

"The rule is clearly that Virtuosos cannot directly participate in the battle for seats."

"It could just be a bluff." Venus started racking her brains.

"He just recited a three-part honorific name. Who doesn't know how to recite an honorific name?"

"Reciting an honorific name and actually summoning a Virtuoso are two different things. How do you know they actually managed to call him?"

Fortuna turned her head.

"Because after reading those three terms, we couldn't glean any more information."

Venus's self-consolation ground to a halt.

"When?"

"Tonight."

Minerva finally spoke.

"Everyone sit down."

Mars stood rooted in place, unmoving.

"Mars!"

Heavy breathing sounded from beneath the iron mask. He picked up his chair and sat back down.

Minerva interlaced her fingers on the table.

"Let me tell you all something first."

"I never wanted to fight this battle to begin with."