(See Chapter 195)

At three o'clock on Wednesday afternoon, Richard arrived at Donner's shop right on time.

His first task was wiping down the shelves, followed by oiling the bronzeware.

He also had to listen to his boss, nursing two injured hands, grumble that Richard had written the descriptions on the display cards far too thoroughly.

"You still don't get it, kid. If you write the descriptions so rigidly, the customers won't have anything to ask."

"In the antique trade, telling a good story is half the battle."

"Isn't that just scamming people?"

As evening fell over Flower Moon Street, there was more hammering than conversation.

A new wooden board had been nailed to the lintel of the tailor shop at Number Two, while the manager at Number Ten was up on a ladder, fitting a new pane of glass into his display window.

When Richard stepped out of Donner's shop, a black cat was waiting for him. He immediately understood what it meant.

Over at Madam Marie's house, the copper plate on the door remained as dull as ever, reflecting no one.

Richard pressed his hand against the spot where a doorknob should have been, and the copper yielded, turning soft.

"Sit."

The smoky voice drifted from behind the high-backed armchair in the deepest part of the room.

A faceless porcelain doll emerged from the shadows carrying a tray and served him tea.

"Donner won't be able to hold a magnifying glass for three months," Madam Marie said.

"You held the tongs for him all night."

"He was the one who caught the fire," Richard replied.

"He caught it, but you held the tongs." She pushed the saucer forward.

"I invited you here tonight for more than just a thank you."

"Regarding what happened last week, they miscalculated Corbin."

"They deleted the word 'on-site' from the summary because they found it to be an eyesore."

Her indistinct face seemed to form a smile.

"People in this line of work spend their whole lives wrestling with words. Deleting his word was like smashing his gravestone right in front of him."

Richard suddenly felt the urge to laugh, but caught himself halfway.

"Why that pillar?" he asked.

Madam Marie counted them off.

"There are exactly twenty-nine registered high-grade supernatural items within the Empire's borders.

"The one held by the Montagu Family is backed by a Virtuoso of the Solar Tradition;

"For the two held by the Adams family, anyone wanting to lay a hand on them must first go through the Northern Greater Region;

"Moving any of the items in the museum's sealed vaults requires the signature of the Deputy Minister, followed by the joint signatures of two professors."

"And there's no need to even mention the Church's seven. Touch those, and the very next day you're declared a blasphemer."

She spread her hand over the armrest.

"That leaves only the pillar in Donner's backyard.

"No family, no Academy, no diocese... none of that. It has been able to remain here on Flower Moon Street for so many years simply because I am here."

The room went quiet for a moment.

From down the street, two people cursed at each other in Iberian, only to burst into shared laughter right after.

"However, what they truly want is not just the pillar,"

Madam Marie continued.

"They pushed hundreds of ordinary people into the walls.

"If I were to intervene... decades of my reputation would be reduced to nothing overnight."

Richard nodded; he had already realized this.

"There's an even more ruthless angle to it," she said.

"If the pillar were actually stolen away, the order of this street would collapse that very day.

"Once the fire leaves, I am the only one who can suppress it."

Richard understood. "So, the moment the fire leaves, you'll be forced to sit here on this street. You won't be able to leave for even a single day."

The mirrors in the room reflected one another, yet not a single one reflected a person.

The smoky voice let out a soft chuckle.

"Little Richard, every single one of the top Major Adepts standing at the pinnacle of this Empire has a rope tying them down.

"Some ropes are tied to a family, some to an Academy, and others to the Church."

"My rope has no one holding it. If I want to go to Manchester today, tomorrow I will truly be in Manchester."

"Thus, someone doesn't want me to be able to move."

"Why?" Richard asked.

"Because over the next six months, there are things that need to be done."

She stopped there.

Richard didn't press further. When people chose to stop speaking, you stopped asking.

"I can still leave this street."

She drew her hand back from the armrest.

"The entire game that night was overturned by the 'splitting of the fire.'"

Richard picked up his cup of tea, which had already gone cold.

"Madam, will my name also end up written down on a certain page somewhere?"

"It will," Madam Marie answered bluntly.

Richard nodded and drank the tea.

"Then there's nothing to be done about it."

"That is why I invited you here today—to introduce you to someone."

Donner was helped inside by a porcelain doll. As he walked, his two arms hung limply; no one dared to touch them.

Mrs. MacNeil followed close behind.

"Donner, take the inner chair. Don't let the doll touch his hands."

The doll holding the tea tray retreated to the corner and stood motionless.

"Who are we inviting today?" Mrs. MacNeil asked.

Madam Marie stood up from her chair, and all the mirrors in the room turned in unison.

Originally reflecting one another, every mirror surface now faced the eastern wall.

"He who walks the path of no return, whose feet are one with the path from whence he came."

As the first line fell, Richard smelled soot.

It was the scent of coal smoke on a winter morning in Briston, mixed with the faint odor of damp wool.

He saw the door to the seventh house at the end of the alley. There was a white scuff mark on the lower edge of the doorframe, kicked there by Evelyn when she was eight years old.

His mother called his name from inside, meaning he had returned late again.

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

Donner's bandaged hands twitched on his knees; he seemed to have seen the earthen wall outside the City of Yazd.

Mrs. MacNeil closed her eyes.

At the age of twelve, she had opened a door and seen the woman sitting in the mirror before her, stepping onto this path of work forever.

"His feet have become the path, his bones the bridge, leaving only his homeward journey suspended eternally in the world."

A road appeared on the eastern wall.

Footsteps echoed from the road, and for that half-second, Richard didn't blink.

He watched as a pair of boots took two steps on their own. Then, trouser legs and a coat spontaneously grew from them... and finally, a face.

The face pieced itself together very slowly, so slowly that he could count the order of its assembly.

By the time it was fully formed, the person standing there was a man with hair like a clump of withered grass, his face and neck sunburned a deep red.

The moment it stepped out, it glanced around and furrowed its brows.

"Teacher, you still have this many mirrors in your room," he said.

"Every time I come here, I have to count how many of me there are first."

The moment this figure arrived, Richard suddenly felt an intense desire to go home.

The thought came completely without reason, startling even him.

"Matthew," Madam Marie said. "Rein in your path. I'm not the only one in the room."

The man let out a sound of realization and scuffed his foot on the ground twice. The smell of soot in Richard's nose vanished.

Madam Marie introduced him, "Matthew Carrick, the ninth student to study under me."

Richard stood up.

[Erudition] automatically flipped to a specific page.

Mr. Hutton had spoken to him about this in his office once before.

(See Chapter 195)

At the time, Mr. Hutton had classified this man in the "extreme minority" category.

"Mr. Carrick."

Matthew waved a hand at Richard.

"Call me Matthew. My comrades over there called me 'hey' for twenty years. If you suddenly call me Mr. Carrick, I'll think you're trying to peddle me something."

As it spoke, it looked Richard up and down.

The scrutiny was completely blunt, making no effort to hide itself.

Sweat instantly pricked the back of Richard's neck.

The [Visage of the Apostate] hovered at the edge of his thoughts, waiting only for him to reach out.

After finishing the inspection, Matthew grinned. "Teacher, this kid is pretty well-behaved."

Richard slowly sat back down.

"You must be curious, so I'll just say it myself... I belong to the Labyrinth Tradition."

The moment that tradition landed in Richard's mind, [Erudition] flipped itself open.

He had previously sought out Mortimer to decipher some things related to the Labyrinth Tradition, and back then, it had only yielded a maxim that sounded a lot like nonsense.

(See Chapter 342)

"Sir..." Richard was just about to ask.

"You want to ask how a Hunter ended up walking this tradition, and why I didn't take the paths of Moon-Hunting, Gladiator, or Gale."

Richard closed his mouth.

Matthew leaned back against the chair, which let out a very undignified creak.

"It would take three days to explain, and there's a part in the middle I don't really want to talk about."

As it said this, the slight smile on its face vanished.

"But if you really want to hear it..." He jerked his thumb toward the window.

"They have it in the bookstore on the street. Two pence a copy, and it sounds better than me telling it myself."

From the side, Donner spoke up in a muffled voice. "He must be talking about that book, 'A Man's Great Expedition'."

"I read up to the fourth volume. He was trapped alone in a valley for over a month, surviving by chewing on grass, and finally fought a bear with a knife."

Matthew's face fell.

"That bear was actually a terrifying evil creature. I couldn't beat it at all back then. The book went through a little bit of... artistic processing."

"The book said you split the bear's head open within three moves," Donner said.

"I know." Matthew threw his hands up.

"The guy who wrote it was a gentleman who had never stepped foot outside the Imperial Capital.

"He came to talk to me once. I spoke for an hour, and when I finished, he told me that what I talked about wouldn't sell."

"Oh, right, to make it sell better later on, he even added a fiancée for me."

Beside them, Mrs. MacNeil burst out laughing, then hurriedly pressed the back of her hand against her mouth.

"It and that Virtuoso who uses poison gas walked completely opposite paths."

Madam Marie directed this sentence at Richard.

"That guy cut all his Anchors. Once he cut them, he had no way back."

She turned to Matthew.

"Matthew refuses to cut even a single one."

"Which path do you walk?" the man suddenly asked Richard.

"Mirror."

"Mirror." Matthew turned his head to look at Madam Marie.

"Teacher, since when did you start taking in people who do this kind of delicate work?"

"He is not my student."

"Oh?"

"He walks his own path. I just left a mark on his Ring."

Matthew let out a chuckle and asked no more.

"Kid, don't be nervous.

"Me putting on this appearance isn't scary, it's just exhausting."

"...Exhausting?"

"It's exhausting to put together." It tapped itself with a finger.

"Every time before I enter a room, I have to think it through first: which side is that scar on my face? Where do I put my left hand when I speak? When I laugh, do I make a sound first, or do I grin first?"

"You've read in books that a Virtuoso leaves behind their physical body."

"I have." Richard nodded.

"The books say, 'Living as power itself, where nothing belongs to oneself anymore.'"

"The books put it rather politely."

The man lifted his chin.

"To put it bluntly, once a person reaches that step, they are nothing more than a road, a gust of wind, a well."

"I am a road."

"The way I look right now... I'm not actually putting on an act for you."

"I am putting it on for myself."