Chapter 481: A Toast to Good Manners!

Back in his dorm, Richard locked the door. He drew the curtains halfway, then remembered his aunt's advice and left a small gap.

Sitting at his desk, he gripped the pen. He quickly realized which of his abilities he ought to test first.

The ink bottle on the desk was a gift from his aunt, modified by his senior's uncle.

He had previously tried to name it with the Recorder's Pen, but he couldn't alter the ether structure reinforced by a Minor Adept artisan.

Richard finished analyzing it and pushed a name forward.

"Overflow."

The pen grew hot in his hand.

As the name landed, he clearly felt the pen writing on its own.

He only had to visualize what he wanted to write; the moment the nib touched down, the force driving it came from elsewhere.

Once the naming was complete, the little bit of ink inside the bottle surged upward, spilling over the rim and making a mess of the desk.

Fortunately, Richard had the foresight to clear everything else off the table beforehand.

Richard quickly revoked the name and wiped the surface clean.

Afterward, he placed the pen back onto its velvet cushion and stared at it in a daze.

"Crossing Ranks..."

With his original abilities, attempting to name a target of a higher Rank would either bounce right back or barely stick, producing no real effect.

And it only stuck if the target was an unowned object or a willing ally. Otherwise... he hadn't tried, but he guessed the backlash would be severe.

Now, with this pen, his naming range had undoubtedly jumped by a massive margin.

He wasn't sure exactly how much, but at the very least, a Minor Adept wouldn't be a problem.

...

At exactly nine o'clock that night, Richard sat on the floor and turned the lamp down to its lowest setting.

The Shadow surfaced from behind the veil.

"You don't need to fight tonight."

As the thought crossed over, the featureless head tilted.

"I know you can fight," Richard consoled it.

"Thanks to you last month, the two of us working together almost slaughtered that horse for meat."

He reached out and stroked the edge of the black mass.

"But not tonight."

Once the Mask of the Reverse Envoy activated, the original mask would become unusable, and the Caduceus would dissipate along with it.

Furthermore, three wisps of spirit were embedded within the Shadow. If something went wrong, his vitality would suffer a severe blow.

On top of that, Minerva was a Major Adept of the Star Map tradition.

When that Star Map spread overhead, everyone in the venue would be locked onto.

Every single person... and perhaps the Shadow as well.

"Hidden Curtain."

The name landed.

The Shadow's edges dissolved, spreading out in all directions along the textures of light and shadow on the floor.

Amplified by the pen, it permeated the entire room.

If someone were to push the door open right now, they wouldn't see anything unusual on the ground.

"This is what you'll do tonight," Richard said.

"Don't attack, don't solidify your form, and don't do anything proactive."

"Just watch."

Watch whose shadow looked wrong, who was shifting their stance, and where they were moving.

Watch to see what he would show up as on that Star Map.

Richard lay down. Regardless of what was on his mind, Wild Sleep swept him into a clean, deep slumber as usual.

By the time he counted to seven, the sea of stars receded.

When the starry sea vanished completely, the first thing Richard felt beneath his feet was a slope.

Layers of tuff stacked upward, forming an ash-white hill.

Richard lifted his head and saw six other hills rising in the darkness.

Seven hills in total. The Seven Hills.

Every hill featured colonnaded archways, old altar walls, severed aqueducts, and empty streets.

The city lacked a complete boundary. Its walls broke off in segments in the distance, and beyond them lay a bottomless black.

The Tiber River flowed out of the blackness and vanished right back into it.

The moment Richard spread out his Still Water, the city beneath him bit down on it.

The city was asking him: Who are you, and by what right do you stand here?

Extremely fine starlines rose from the seven hills, weaving into a net that shrouded the entire city.

Minerva sat on the highest steps of her hill.

"State your names."

Her voice was not loud.

But the words traveled along the ridges of the seven hills without a single syllable dissipating.

Hecate stood to Richard's front left.

The light from her torch cast onto the ground, half of it swallowed by the city of seven hills.

She did not state her name, but after she channeled the power of her divine title, the seventh star on the Star Map in the sky automatically lit up.

Next was Dionysus.

Tonight, he had strapped his Two-Handled Cup to his waist. He stood straighter than usual, and his star flared to life.

Heracles's star illuminated as well. It was the most blinding of all, almost scorching a surrounding patch of starlines white.

Demeter's star shone next. Its light was steady, like a lantern resting on a windowsill.

Behind Prometheus stood that two-meter-tall dark bronze puppet. The puppet remained utterly motionless as his star brightened.

The scales of Nemesis tilted above her head, and her star flickered twice before stabilizing.

All six stars were lit. Minerva's gaze fell upon the very last person.

Richard stood to Hecate's back right. From the moment he entered, he had been calculating.

Calculating the ether density of the city beneath him. Calculating where exactly the roads between the seven hills led. Calculating whether that chart in the sky reflected the person or the name.

He planted his Caduceus upright. The two golden serpents intertwined head to tail, twisting into a single form.

'The messenger enters no roster,' he said in his heart.

The Star Map above paused for a split second, but the seventh star never lit up.

Sitting on her own hill, Fortuna frowned.

Minerva asked, "Well?"

Fortuna stared at it for a long time. "Still unreadable."

Silence fell over the city for a moment.

Mars's breathing grew heavy again. "What do you mean, unreadable?"

He felt that things had spiraled out of control from the very start.

"Exactly what it sounds like." Fortuna rested her hands back on her lap, and her Wheel of Fortune slowed its rotation.

"He has no place on the Star Map."

"Then where is he standing?"

"He's standing right there." Fortuna pointed vaguely across the distance.

"I can see him, but the Star Map cannot."

Standing on his own Stone Tablet, Richard found his palm lightly sweating against his staff.

The Mask of the Reverse Envoy pressed against the edge of his thoughts, never once activating.

Since walking into the venue tonight, he hadn't planned on using it at all.

Using it would disperse the staff, and the messenger would no longer be a messenger.

He certainly hadn't made up the phrase 'the messenger enters no roster'—that rule was older than anyone present.

Combined with the bonuses from his Perception advancing to Lv5, his presence on the etheric level had become utterly ambiguous.

Minerva fell silent for a moment.

"It doesn't matter. Whether you state your name or not, you are still in this city."

"Outsider!"

When that word struck him, Richard felt a wave of rejection.

The seven hills simultaneously recognized that he didn't belong here.

The stone-paved road beneath his feet sank slightly, as if the jaws of the city had snapped shut.

He tried pushing ether down toward his feet. The two small wings affixed to his boots stood up, but with extreme difficulty.

'This place doesn't recognize me,' he told himself.

Standing in this city, he was an outlander who could scream himself hoarse and still not be understood.

Up ahead, Hecate spoke up.

"Since the names are all stated, it's time to invite my external assistance."

Heracles shifted forward, twirling the Giant Olive Wood Club a half-turn in his grip.

"Chief."

"There's no rush," Hecate said.

She turned her head, her overlapping eyes settling onto Richard through her mask.

Richard understood. He took a step forward, finding it even more strenuous than he'd anticipated.

He closed his eyes.

"Walker of the path of no return, sharing steps with the road he came from."

The moment the first line left his lips, Richard's throat abruptly seized.

This city refused to let the sentence land intact.

The tail end of "no return" was bitten off by a section of ruined wall; half of "road he came from" was ground away as it echoed through the market ruins.

Richard forcibly pushed his Condensed Mirror Method to its absolute deepest state just to force the final syllables out of his throat.

But that push was ugly. It sounded like a blade scraping against stone, so ear-piercing that everyone heard it.

The city of seven hills fell silent for a second. Then, someone laughed. It was Venus.

When she laughed, the city's ether tilted in her direction, as if everyone ought to sit down and listen to her speak.

"You chanted that with such difficulty..."

Her voice was light and airy, yet pitched perfectly for everyone to hear.

"An outsider is just an outsider. You can't even invite someone through the door without looking pathetic."

Heracles immediately tightened his grip on his Great Club.

The smile on Dionysus's face faded.

Hecate didn't turn around, but the flames of her torch violently surged upward.

Richard said nothing. He was busy trying to suppress the coppery taste of blood in his throat, preparing to recite the second line.

But just before he could open his mouth, a single footstep echoed from the bottomless darkness beyond the seven hills.

Richard opened his eyes.

At the end of the Tiber River to the east, a path paved itself out of the gloom.

That path didn't ask Rome for permission.

The world was simply meant to have such a road—one stretching all the way here from every place of no return, no turning back, and no end.

Upon that road, someone sighed.

Matthew stood with both hands shoved in his pockets. He lifted his head to look at the entire city of seven hills, reciting his own honorific title.

"...He who once led an army back from the Deep Realm."

As the line dropped, every street in the city of seven hills simultaneously gave way. The black waters of the Tiber River parted to the sides.

"Whose feet have become the path, whose bones have become the bridge, leaving only the long road home suspended in the world."

When the final syllable struck, the entire city began to bow.

On Rome's side, the hand of the Goddess of the Hunt slipped from her bow.

Above Fortuna's head, the Wheel of Fortune stopped spinning.

The smile froze on Venus's face, as if someone had clamped a hand around her throat.

Her laugh just now would have sounded like mere mockery to the ears of the low and mid Ranks, but to a high Rank, it was gross disrespect!

An honorific title was more than just an incantation.

It was a signpost and a statement of status; it was a truth already acknowledged by the entire veil.

It didn't matter what you thought in your heart; you could even be hostile.

But you could not interject your own disdain while the name was being called.

Because doing so was tantamount to using your own name to clash against a much higher one.

The layer of warm light surrounding Venus violently retracted. She wanted to erase that airy half-sentence of mockery.

But it was too late. That hint of a laugh had already collided with the path paved out from the Deep Realm.

The next instant, the warm light curled backward.

A cracking sound echoed across the hill. The mask on Venus's face fractured from the corner of her lips down to her jaw.

"Urgh!"

She vomited a mouthful of blood onto the stone steps, bright red and scalding hot.

The entire city of seven hills fell terrifyingly silent.

Venus propped herself against a pillar with one hand, pressing the other deathly hard against her chest.

Matthew looked at Venus, his face utterly expressionless.

"Little girl, it seems you aren't very well-mannered, are you?"

Venus raised her head, blood still dripping from the corner of her mouth beneath the crack in her mask.

She wanted to speak, but the moment she opened her mouth, the metallic taste of blood welled up in her throat again.

This time she forcefully swallowed it back. Everyone heard her muffled groan.

Heracles suddenly broke into a wide grin.

First came a scoff, then a low, uncontrollable chuckle.

He hoisted the Giant Olive Wood Club over his shoulder. Beneath his Lion-Mouth Mask, his eyes gleamed with terrifying intensity.

"Well said!" he cheered, using his two freed hands to clap forcefully.

Dionysus unhooked the Two-Handled Cup from his waist. He raised it toward Matthew in a solemn toast, then took a long swig himself.

"A toast—to good manners!"