Chapter 489: Roman Gift Package

That evening, Richard returned from tutoring at his aunt's.

The gray-robed messenger that arrived this time was nearly as tall as the window frame, holding an iron box in both hands.

Richard pushed the window open. A letter was pressed against the center of the lid, marked with the overlapping symbol of a Torch and Key.

Hermes, Let me first address the aftermath of Rome.

That table has scattered. The people aren't dead—we both saw that—but being alive and remaining at the table are two different things.

When Fortuna was struck down by Nemesis's whip, the wheel cracked straight down the middle.

Over the past two days, investigations have already begun into the false accounts at the Naples Lottery Bureau.

Minerva never called for outside help or paid any price from start to finish. She still goes to work at the Turin observatory as usual.

They are the lucky ones. The rest will have a much harder time.

I must remind you that you probably haven't seen what a collapsed table looks like on the other side of the veil.

After that night, the Roman table went from being our opponent to tempting prey in the eyes of higher entities.

Of those seven, Minerva and Fortuna should have prepared some countermeasures.

You must keep an eye out for those two. As for the rest—aside from Mercury—you can consider them practically non-existent.

That covers business. Now for something personal.

I still haven't figured out why you refused the second seat last night.

That chair is placed to my right. Whenever I'm not around, you will have the final say on table matters.

No one else at the table will fight you for it. After this incident, they hope you take that seat even more than I do.

If you feel your Rank isn't high enough, that is no excuse.

After the team battle, everyone knows exactly who stands where at this table.

"I want to hear the truth. —Hecate"

Richard spread the letter out on his desk and began to think.

The gray-robed messenger was extremely polite. Seeing him prepare to write, it tactfully stepped back outside the window.

To be honest, he had refused swiftly at the time, but only figured out the exact reason after the fact.

To put it bluntly, the second seat was still just a subordinate and a mouthpiece for the chief.

Making decisions on her behalf meant that if he got it right, the credit would go to Hecate, but if he got it wrong, he would shoulder the blame. He had no intention of doing that.

He obviously couldn't write that down.

Richard took out his pen and wrote on the back of the letter.

Chief, The one in the second seat must make decisions for the chief. I don't know where your table is heading, so I didn't dare agree so rashly.

Moreover, the second seat is a position granted by someone else, and I prefer to rely on myself.

"I didn't hide in the back during the team battle. I will continue to take on tasks in the future, and I will still pay my share. —Hermes"

After finishing, he read it over once. It was all true.

Richard folded the letter and tucked it into the messenger's extended sleeve. The gray robe dissipated through the crack in the window.

Returning to his spoils, he first set his old companions on the desk: the Sacred Ibis Bronze Paperweight and the Small Bronze Balance.

He opened the lid and found the box packed completely full. Since he had made the greatest contribution, Hecate clearly hadn't skimped on his share.

That city had scattered cleanly last night, but the divine names, masks, and Divinely Crafted Armament hadn't dissipated with it. The mediums carrying them were still intact.

The earthen basin the goddess of the hearth had hugged all night was a physical object;

the spear in Mars's hand came from some old arsenal on the peninsula;

and Fortuna's wheel had wormholes in its wooden spokes.

These people's divine names had scattered, but the ether steeped in them remained.

That was exactly what the panel wanted: age, origin, and deep saturation in ether.

Richard took out the first item.

It was the hearth goddess's half-broken earthen basin, large and heavy.

The long beak of the sacred ibis tilted toward it.

The account that surfaced was very clean: hearth remnants from an old mansion in Rome, spanning three centuries. It had changed hands four times, and every time the owner changed, the old fire was left behind.

The balance barely swayed on the other side, weighing out a solid and steady portion.

Richard pressed his palm against it.

[Available Points: 3.57... 3.71... 3.94...]

The ether flowed inside along the conduction path. He stopped when he had absorbed ninety-five percent.

[Available Points: 4.13]

This basin might have other uses in the future.

He thought of the fire pit in Donner's backyard next to the Fire Worship Temple Pillar.

He was already quite familiar with the process of splitting fire.

For this kind of ritual, the older the medium, the better. An earthen basin steeped in hearth fire for three hundred years was much handier than any newly forged bronze.

He wrapped the earthen basin tightly in a soft cloth and stored it under his bed.

The second item was a broken half of an iron spear, just the uppermost section.

When Richard pinched it between his fingers, his fingertips felt slightly numb.

Containing the ether of the Moon Hunting Tradition along with the killing intent of a legion, this spearhead wasn't nearly as well-behaved as the hearth basin.

Richard brought the paperweight over.

"Record the account."

The sacred ibis's long beak tilted over, recording it very slowly.

The spearhead had killed far too many people and evil creatures. It had to be purified.

It wasn't until the balance finished its third round of weighing that the numbness completely dissipated from his fingertips.

Richard wiped the sweat from his forehead and pressed his palm against it.

[Available Points: 4.13... 4.52... 4.87...]

[Available Points: 5.03]

Nearly one point, even more than that earthen basin.

He wrapped the spearhead in oil paper and wound a thread soaked in coarse salt around it twice.

He probably wouldn't touch this thing again, but he didn't plan to get rid of it either. Keeping it in his own hands was safer than giving it away.

If Professor McPhee or his grandfather had any rituals related to Moon-Hunting, he could perhaps ask if this spearhead could serve as a medium.

The third item was a pair of wooden spokes extracted from the Wheel of Fortune.

Illuminated by Still Water, he could barely read anything. The ether was as thin as water vapor.

[Available Points: 5.03... 5.11... 5.19...]

It stopped right there.

[Available Points: 5.23]

Zero point two. Insignificant.

But this thing might be useful as a divination medium.

Richard unscrewed his half-bottle of Starfall Sand.

As soon as the Starfall Sand touched the spokes, the grains naturally rolled over the wood.

Richard raised his eyebrows and placed them, along with the Starfall Sand, into the wooden divination box.

As he put them away, his chest began to grow warm.

On the night of April 30th, the portion of "pocket luck" the lord of the hunt had shared with him completely dispersed into his blood when he chanted the surname Ashford, distributing it entirely.

Now, that luck had grown thick once again.

It seemed Fortuna had shifted luck far too ruthlessly at the end of the team battle. Even though she was shattered by Catherine's whip, some remnants had eventually trickled down.

Furthermore, the other side had paid the price. Richard didn't owe anyone a thing.

‘...This is a good thing. I suppose I'm due for some luck.’

Richard separated the remaining items in the iron box into two piles.

First was Venus's silver mirror. The fine lines along the edge had been worn smooth by hands, yet there wasn't a single scratch on the mirror's surface. Very strange.

A line of small text was engraved on the back of the mirror:

"qui speculatur, et ipse speculatur. (He who reflects is also reflected.)"

Seeing the mirror, Richard's interest was instantly piqued.

This was his first time obtaining a proper medium for the Mirror Tradition.

As for the entry-level artifacts of other traditions, Moon-Hunting had Silver Needles, Web Weaving had silk, and the Hearth tradition had a stove.

Mirror was so obscure that no one had ever told him: you should hold a mirror to get started.

Over the past half year of practicing the Condensed Mirror Method, the mediums he used were all found haphazardly—Copper Dishes, water basins, and, at worst, a teacup.

Now, he finally had a real mirror in his hands.

Richard rested the silver mirror in his palm and tried taking two steps.

He had just reached the Second Stage of the Condensed Mirror Method, "seeking stillness within movement," but he wasn't proficient at all.

Now that he had this mirror, his water surface was far more stable.

He raised the mirror and channeled a bit of non-directional ether into it.

When the ether hit the mirror's surface, a significant amount was swallowed up, and the remaining portion was directly reflected outward.

"...It can even rebound?"

Richard's eyes lit up. Under the amplification of the medium, the effect of his mirror surface faintly brushed against the Third Stage.

Back when Mercury pushed the toll money meant for a dead man's mouth right up to his nose, he had used the Face of the Reverse Envoy to bounce it back.

It had certainly worked, but the price was that the original mask failed on the spot.

If he had held this mirror, it wouldn't have been so troublesome.

Of course, just like practicing Stone Armor and Silence, these mediums could only act as crutches and trial passes. Ultimately, he would still have to return to casting spells without a medium.

This required long-term planning. He couldn't rush it.

Next was Demeter's little Cloth Bag.

The mouth of the bag was tied very casually with a hemp string. Richard untied it and poured a few seeds onto his palm.

Every seed was plump, though their shapes didn't resemble anything in particular.

A slip of paper was stuffed inside the bag. The handwriting was large and squashed, indicating the writer was not very comfortable holding a pen.

Hermes, This small bag is the only harvest from my field this year that hasn't been tainted.

Growing produce from behind the veil requires a specific ritual and location. You probably can't manage that on your end, so I will teach you the simplest usage.

Bury one in soil (any soil will do, even a flowerpot). Channel a wisp of clean ether into it, and whatever you desire in your heart, it will grow into exactly that.

Think clearly before you transfer the ether. Once it sprouts, it cannot be changed.

Things that are too large won't work. Don't even think about trees or thick vines.

Vegetables and fruits aren't very viable either; they will grow hollow.

Spices are best. Their roots are shallow, and they require little ether.

If you have a yard, pick a corner that is shielded from the wind and faces the sun.

Also, don't be greedy. Bury them one at a time.

—D.

After reading the note, Richard laughed to himself.

This farmer lady, a Minor Adept, teaching him how to plant things sounded no different from a peasant woman selling seeds by the roadside.

He put the seeds back into the Cloth Bag and tied it securely.

In the southeast corner of the backyard at the Ashford Residence, there was an empty plot of land next to a row of holly bushes.

Last year, the butler wanted to build a trellis there, but his grandfather rejected it, saying it would block the light.

Shielded from the wind, facing the sun, three meters square—it was perfect.

Coincidentally, Evelyn was still muttering about how a single vanilla bean in the Imperial Capital cost two shillings and sixpence.

She had calculated that a single batch of crème brûlée would eat up more than half a day's worth of Richard's former tutoring money just on the vanilla.

There was also mint. The jar of honey mint sauce they made used the wild mint growing in their own backyard, which had small leaves and a weak flavor.

Cardamom could work too. He could take some for Grey to appraise.

Richard tucked the Cloth Bag into his inner pocket. He didn't intend to put this into his hidden compartment.

The final item was an unsigned Bronze Seal.

It was something Mercury had 'accidentally' dropped during his retreat. He had dropped a full seven or eight items—at least, that was what Hecate's note claimed...

But when that man left last night, he had picked up the scattered coins from the ground one by one and put them back into his bag. Would someone like that drop anything?

When touched with ether, this Bronze Seal automatically revealed a message: Genoa, Number 11 San Lorenzo Street, second floor, visitors may enter with this.

Mercury had mentioned at the time that anyone was welcome to drop by his place. Richard had assumed he was just being polite.

Looking at it now, he had left a business card for every single one of them.

That was fine too. Business was business. Sometimes dealing with merchants was much easier than dealing with politicians.

By the time all the items were inventoried, the sun had already climbed to the upper edge of the window frame.

Richard pushed the iron box into the corner, sat back down at his desk, and brought up the panel.

[Available Points: 5.23]

He stared at that line of numbers for a while.

At this time last year, scraping together 1.5 points would have made him wealthy.

To upgrade Learning to lv.3, he had drained both the copper coin and the incense burner dry.

Even after draining them, he was still short by zero point zero something. In the end, he had to rely on the Solar Seal to make up the difference.

Back then, he had to mentally calculate every day which items to absorb, which to keep, and which to hold onto to sell for a better price.

Now he had 5.3, and there were enough subsequent channels to accumulate more.

He wondered what the scene would be like in two years when he became a Minor Adept.

So where should he put this 5.3...

He moved his gaze down, landing on the [Spirit] column.

[Spiritual Capacity: 20/20]

[Capacity limit can be increased by consuming points:

20 -> 50: Requires 2 points

50 -> 100: Requires 3 points

100 -> ?: Requires meeting additional conditions (Not yet unlocked)]

In that city of seven hills last night, his ether had bottomed out three times between his entry and his retreat.

The first time was when he recited Matthew's honorific name; that city refused to let the sentence fully land;

The second time was when he helped the others change factions and take on Roman names;

The third time was Mercury's string of price quotes, coupled with that crucial Face of the Reverse Envoy.

All three times he had to grit his teeth and push through, relying on the meager stock in his Spiritual Capacity. This underscored the importance of Spiritual Capacity. High-purity ether was stored there, which had an amplifying effect on Spell Formulas and incantations.

What if his Spiritual Capacity had been fifty last night?

‘...Adding these two points is necessary. I just don't know what the conditions will be for going above 100 later.’

His fingertip tapped down.

[Spiritual Capacity Limit: 20 -> 50]

In that instant, his Micro-circulation seemed to suddenly expand, feeling deeply hollow.

Richard pressed a hand to his chest. Through his shirt pocket, he could still feel the warmth of the Sphinx Lamp.

Fifty points of pure ether.

In terms of ether reserves alone, he was infinitely close to the threshold of a Minor Adept.

[Available Points: 3.23]

He had three points left over. His Learning had also reached 70% of Lv4, and it was time to think about a breakthrough, so he would save them for now.

He tidied up his desk, leaving only the silver mirror out so he could grab it at any time.

......

In another hall, False Flames illuminated a room full of fake fires and empty cups.

Two more severed heads had been added to those hanging in the darkness above this month.

Loki sat in the seat of honor, holding a very small crystal that projected an image outward.

"This is a live echo of the table for Rome and Greece. I paid a high price for it."

"How high?" Freyja asked.

"More expensive than that dish of yours."

The shadow spread out in the center of the hall.

The tuff rock of the city of seven hills stacked up layer by layer.

The Tiber River flowed out from the darkness and back into it.

The furrow encircled the seven chairs and closed. Inside the projection, the ether field churned.

Loki laughed halfway through watching.

"Excellent!" He threw a leg over the armrest.

"The Greek table devoured the Roman table."

"Them getting devoured isn't a good thing for us, is it?" Tyr asked.

"Eating them just makes them fatter."

Loki stated it as a matter of fact.

"We originally intended to eat this sheep. Now, this sheep went and ate another sheep."

"Tell me, does that not count as a good thing?"

No one in the hall answered. They didn't understand where Loki's inexplicable confidence came from.

The projection continued playing until the path by the Tiber River was paved out.

Loki's leg slid off the armrest.

Those three segments of the honorific name were replayed word for word in the live echo.

When the first sentence fell, the heads hanging from the ceiling of the hall all turned in unison.

When the third sentence finished, all the False Flames inside the Hall of False Oaths simultaneously shrank.

The living half of Hela's face turned completely white.

Tyr pressed his single hand against his knee, but he couldn't support himself.

Freyja pushed her dish away.

Loki sat in the seat of honor, silent for a long time.

Then he smiled.

"Everyone." He spread both his hands.

"Don't panic."

The rule is set right there: Masters are not allowed to step directly onto the field.

"Look for yourselves. Did that entity ever strike from beginning to end? No. It was merely passing by."

"It paved a path. Paving a path doesn't count as entering the field."

Furthermore, who stands behind our table? The lord of the hunt.

"The lord of the hunt is already preparing to advance to Master. You all know this in your hearts."

"So when it comes down to it..." His words flowed smoother and smoother.

So smoothly that he was eventually nodding along to himself, gesturing in the air with one hand.

Lillian sat in Skadi's chair, quietly watching him the entire time.

Her gaze shifted away from Loki, falling back onto the still-playing projection in the center of the hall.

That envoy stood with a staff, walking right into the middle of the Roman Legion, his shoulders perfectly straight.

She had only seen that person adopt this posture in two places.

One was the abandoned house behind Greenwood's main building. The other was an impossibly blurry newspaper.

Her fingers tightened over her skirt hem, secretly worried for her friend.

She had merely won three displacement battles, yet she already had to rely on a blizzard to hide herself.

If he won this match, the entire Theogony Salon system, including the various major backers that might exist behind it, would take note of this envoy.

Loki was still speaking from the seat of honor.

Gesturing wildly, he calculated how much the Greek table had lost tonight; how Demeter's field wouldn't be able to grow anything; the price paid by that Major Adept of the Abyss; the price of the labyrinth tradition Virtuoso stepping in, and so on. He calculated it all with perfect logic.

Looking at him, Lillian suddenly felt that this entire table was just a theatrical play from start to finish.

The person in the seat of honor was the actor, and the severed heads on the ceiling were the set pieces.

She, along with Tyr, Freyja, and Hela, were all just props pushed onto the stage by others.

As props, they had won a few matches. But in the end, whose pockets did their share fall into?

‘Kill someone at the table, and take their seat.’

Thinking of this rule, Lillian reached her hand into her cuff and touched that needle, her resolve growing increasingly firm.

After the meeting dispersed, she returned to the attic.

The bell by the Vltava River had just struck its twelfth chime. The titmouse on the windowsill remained completely motionless.

She sat on the edge of the bed and flipped open her notebook to the very last page.

The dried, pressed four-leaf clover was still there, with a letter tucked beside it.

‘If one day, we...’

‘...Before then, I must first replace the person sitting in that high chair,’ the girl murmured in her heart.

Elsewhere, the rainy season of the Black Earth River had yet to arrive.

An inverted pyramid hung suspended in the deepest reaches of the veil, pointing downward, its base facing up.

The entity inside slept very restlessly. The Black Earth River Master had been sleeping restlessly for a long time.

Ever since the night of May 30th, the lord of the hunt had been constantly groping for that leash. It was estimated that to advance to Master, he would have to drag it out to serve as a shield.

This made the Master increasingly anxious, increasingly desperate to find that person.

"Lord Priest, I can help you."

An androgynous voice drifted over from the other side of the pyramid.

Priest. No one had called it by that title for over a hundred years.

Those who knew it used to be a tomb-guarding priest were either of the same Rank, or had been buried in the ground for many years.

The Black Earth River Master opened its pupil-less eyes. Shadows began to gather, instinctively trying to reveal that person.

The speaker did not allow themselves to be seen.

"I know what you are hiding from. Every time the lord of the hunt's horn blows, you have to shift deeper."

"I also know what you are looking for—where those three syllables came from."

The darkness inside the pyramid began to throb. The Black Earth River Master sat up.

"Who are you?"

"I sit at the head of a table, using a name from our Black Earth River."

"The mask I wear... the priest would draw it on Papyrus every day. After drawing it, he would stab it with a knife, stomp on it, and burn it."

"It burned for thousands of years, yet it never burned away."

Inside the inverted pyramid, that patch of darkness fully awakened.

"...Apophis."

"Concealment. I can provide it," the voice said with great confidence.

"Investigation, I can also provide. I am a Scholar of the Abyss. These happen to fall exactly into my area of expertise."

The Black Earth River Master reined in its petty tricks. Since the visitor was a Major Adept of the Abyss Tradition, it couldn't easily push the other party around.

"What do you want to trade with me?"

"We'll talk about that later."

The people at the table in the Black Earth River's sun hall also learned of this matter an hour later.

Apophis sat at the head of the table. He never said much.

With the name Apophis, all one had to do was torture the other divine names of the Black Earth River to gain resonance.

Therefore, the other six people at this table had each been tortured by him until they hated him to the bone.

But none of them were capable of acting against him. That was enough.

Today he made an exception. He stood up and recited those three segments of the honorific name right in front of the entire table.

"He who walks in lightless lands, breathing as one with the shadows."

When the first sentence fell, the shadows of the people at the table all started growing restless.

"He who once used a mirror to reflect the names of all things."

When the second sentence fell, the young man sitting at the very bottom, who had just joined, slid off his chair. Propping both hands on the floor, he began to vomit.

"Flesh sealed tight, bones inscribed, leaving only a shadow that forever blankets the world."

When the third sentence finished, a gaze draped down from the deepest reaches of the veil.

No one at the table could lift their head.

Some pressed their foreheads against the tabletop, while others dug their fingers into the cracks of the stone.

That young man vomited a second time. Afterward, he sprawled out motionless beside his own filth.

Apophis stood at the head of the table, entirely unmoving.

That gaze lingered on him for three seconds before withdrawing.

The hall was quiet for a long time.

"Everyone." He sat back down.

"From today onward, our table has gained a new ally."

No one responded.

When the gathering dispersed and that gaze had fully retreated, only then was the young man helped up from the floor...

A few people slowly raised their heads and exchanged glances, silently understanding each other's meaning.

Last month, someone from the north had passed along a message.

At the time, it sounded like a brainless provocation—a clown whose table had just been flipped over, desperately grasping at straws.

Now, that provocation rang out in their minds once again, and it was much clearer than it had been last month.

Of course, they weren't stupid. They had to make a few backup preparations—such as the Greek table, for instance.

They were well aware that Apophis proactively contacting that Master was definitely because the news from the Greek side had made him feel pressured.

Thus, that same night, the house by the sea in southern Franc received the intelligence.

After reading the letter delivered by the Black Earth River table, Hecate sat in front of her loom for a long time.

"Apophis... also approached a Master?"

"I just don't know to what extent this Black Earth River Master can interfere."

"The war outside is growing more and more intense, and the old rules are increasingly losing their binding force..."

Thinking of this, Hecate let out a long sigh.

Only then did the gray-robed messenger make a timely appearance, handing over Richard's reply.

She glanced at it casually and set it aside. She didn't find this answer surprising at all.

"...I don't know where your table is heading in the future."

The sentence was written very politely, but the meaning was quite clear: I don't trust you.

He didn't trust her, yet he was still willing to take on tasks, pay his bills, act as a guarantor for four names in the city of seven hills, and invite the honored guest who paved a path from the Deep Realm into the city gates.

This child separated public and private matters flawlessly.

She reached out to the loom and touched a specific thread.

The first time she touched this thread, she had felt a pool of water that reflected nothing.

At the time, she had retracted her hand and probed no deeper.

This time, she reached her hand out and felt nothing at all, only a blank emptiness.

Hecate opened and closed her fingers in midair.

Forty-one ceramic hammers were each in their place. The warp threads were stretched perfectly taut, except for that single one.

The thread was naturally still there. She could see it hanging on the loom, but her fingers could feel absolutely nothing.

She tried a second and third time, pulling the tension of the entire loom tight. All the other threads trembled, but that one remained completely still and silent.

Hecate pulled her hand back.

She had seen many methods of hiding. Some used supernatural items to conceal themselves, some relied on family seals as shields, and some simply erased their names from all registers.

She could dismantle all of these hiding methods. The harder they tried to hide, the heavier the traces they left behind.

But not being able to touch it was another matter entirely.

That meant this person no longer really resembled 'someone who can be read' on the other side of the veil.

She recalled that scene in the city of seven hills: Minerva's Star Map rolled out to cover the whole city, and six stars lit up one by one, but the seventh star didn't.

Fortuna turned her wheel on the hill and said, "I can see him, but the Star Map cannot."

At that time, she merely assumed the rule about envoys not entering the register was taking effect. Now it seemed it was more than just that.

Hecate stood up and walked to the potted plant by the window.

A pair of scissors rested right next to the pot.

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

This time, she couldn't even be bothered to reach out and grab them.

The woman began to laugh, laughing until laugh lines creased the corners of her eyes.

How was she supposed to snip it?

She couldn't touch that thread, and besides, she needed Hermes to remain at this table.

She had scattered more than a dozen Clay Tokens back then, yet she had only brought in two people.

Of those two, one had already rapidly grown to the point where she could no longer read him, and the other was not to be underestimated either.

Hecate refolded the letter, tucked it into her sleeve, and sat back down in front of the loom.

The team battle and the traitor situation were resolved for now.

But the matter of Hermes had been placed squarely in front of her ever since the team battle ended.

Meanwhile, in the dormitories of Imperial Capital University, at 2:40 in the morning, Wild Sleep jolted Richard directly out of the deepest level of slumber.

The leaves of the old sycamore tree outside the window rustled. The wind came from the west.

The moment Still Water spread out, he sensed several spirits standing on the windowsill.