I loaded the Mysticism panel.

Chapter 146 Legal Principles (monthly ticket plus 10 updates)

Room number four is located on the second floor, at the far end of the east side.

Richard carried his suitcase down the corridor, and as he passed the doors of several other rooms, he heard rustling sounds of things being rummaged through inside.

The key turned the lock cylinder, and the door was pushed open.

The room wasn't big; it was even narrower than my own bedroom at home.

A brass bed was placed against the north wall, its headboard gleaming from being touched so much.

On the bedside table was a folded note, and underneath it were a pot of hot water and two hard biscuits wrapped in oil paper.

Richard placed his suitcase in the corner.

He walked to the window and pulled the curtains open to both sides.

The window faces east, offering a view of a section of stone wall at the eastern end of Whitcomb village, beyond which lie large groves of low shrubs and rolling hills.

The sun was already setting in the west, and the entire wilderness was dyed a rusty red.

The valley was faintly visible in the distance, and according to the map, that was the direction where Whitcomb Mill was located.

The gun case and enchanted ammo box were left in the backpack, which was placed next to the bedside table, within easy reach.

He placed the notebook and inscription materials in the center of his writing desk.

After taking care of these things, he hung his coat on the hook inside the wardrobe door.

When I got downstairs, there were already several people at the long table.

The first person to see him was a young man dressed in a black priest's robe.

The young man stood up from his chair.

He was slightly taller than Richard, and his golden-brown hair was neatly cut.

Those light brown eyes didn't look away when they looked at people, but they weren't aggressive either.

"Are you Richard Williams?"

"You know me?"

"Mr. Hutton said you'd be here today." The young man extended his hand: "Edmund Wycliffe, St. Peter's Seminary, Scholars."

Richard shook hands with him and could feel that the man's microcirculation had been operating stably for over a year.

He replied in the same format the other person used to introduce themselves: "I'm from Greenwood High School, academic track."

“I know Greenwood.” The prospective clergyman nodded. “I also grew up in Briston.”

"You're from Briston?" Richard asked, somewhat surprised.

"Three blocks from Central Avenue is Road Cornwall, and my house is right behind the chapel on Road Cornwall."

Richard had an impression of that area.

The chapel on Cornwall Road is not large, but it is a very old building.

"Is your father a deacon at the church?"

"He's the parish priest; he's been there for twenty years."

"Before I went to seminary, Mr. Hutton mentored me for a period of time," he continued, "when I was fourteen or fifteen years old."

"The teacher has never mentioned anything about his former students."

"He won't bring it up himself." Edmund smiled. "Mr. Hutton never talks about the past."

Richard silently accepted this statement.

Mr. Hutton almost never talks about his past.

"The year the seminary was recruiting, my father told me to give it a try," Edmund said.

"The admission process for the seminary of the Order of St. Peter is not solely based on academic performance."

With a family background of several generations of clergy and a letter of recommendation from Mr. Hutton, getting in was relatively easy.

"Are these things taught in seminaries too?"

"Teach, but only teach one kind." Edmund said this with some caution:

"We'll discuss the specific category later when we sit down."

Another person stood up behind Edmund.

He was shorter, half a head shorter than Richard.

His brown hair was stiff like a brush, and he wore a suit vest that was clearly a size too small.

"Theodore Hargrave." The boy's voice trailed off with a mining accent: "West Yorkshire, hidden direction."

"I don't have any formal training; I was simply handpicked by Mr. Pembroke from the horse farm."

"Mr. Pembroke?"

"He's a shareholder in my family's horse farm," Theodore explained. "Two of our family members have been minor experts, and he himself is a seasoned professional in the clandestine sector."

"How did he pick you out of the horse farm?"

The boy from the horse farm grinned, revealing two slightly yellowed front teeth.

"When I was twelve years old, I was squatting in the stable helping an old horse give birth."

Mr. Pembrook passed by and asked me if the horse could be saved.

I said yes, and he asked how. I said, "The horse in the womb has legs backwards; you have to turn it around before you pull it."

"You really turned it around?" Richard listened intently.

"It's turned around," Theodore said. "The foal is alive, and the mare is alive too."

"and then?"

"Mr. Pembroke asked me how I knew the legs were backwards. I said I couldn't see them, but I could feel them."

"So he picked you out?"

"He later made several more excuses to make me do something under his nose each time."

The boy from the horse farm recalled: "Once he took a brass whistle out of his pocket and asked me to tell him what was different about it."

Richard understood completely now; this process was similar to the inspiration test that old Big had given him back then.

Mr. Hutton, sitting a little further away with his teacup in hand, began to speak:

"Pembrook and I were apprenticing together in Beijing back then, and we've kept in touch ever since."

"It's a pity that his health has always been poor, so he can't come to this freezing, godforsaken place."

Why would someone skilled in clandestine arts learn from Mr. Hutton?

Richard was a little puzzled, but he didn't ask.

The third person to speak was a girl with red hair braided into two thick braids, a few light freckles on her face, and an average appearance.

She was wearing a thick wool dress and was huddled next to the fireplace, seemingly very cold.

"Maggie McPhee, I'm a local from Gale Heights, a scholar."

She only gave a brief explanation of her basic information and then remained huddled up and motionless.

When Richard heard the other person say that she was a native of Gaelic Heights, he thought of another red-haired girl.

Maggie might know the last name Blackwood.

After the four newcomers exchanged pleasantries for a while, the senior members at the other end of the table began to chime in.

Mrs. McNeil was the first to speak.

"Sit down, sit down, what are you all standing for?" She gestured for everyone to sit down.

"The boss left us a pot of hot ginger tea. We can have a cup to warm our stomachs while we're on the road."

The innkeeper came over from behind the bar carrying a tin pot, with plenty of ginger slices and coarse sugar in it.

Richard picked up his glass and took a sip.

The spiciness of the ginger hits your throat first, followed by a sweet taste.

With that one bite, the chill that had been building up inside me all the way was released quite a bit.

"I will lead this mission," Mrs. McNeil said, placing her hands on her knees.

"Although everyone calls me Mrs. McNeil."

She added specifically:

"But actually I'm not married. The title 'Madam' is just a professional one. Don't actually go looking for my husband."

The people around the table chuckled.

It wasn't dinner time yet; the clock on the bar was stopped at 5:20.

The four newcomers were put at one table, while the senior members' table was moved to a small round table on the other side of the fireplace.

"Getting to know each other is important."

The boy from the horse farm was the first to speak.

"Of the four of us, whose background is the most unique?"

His words immediately enlivened the atmosphere.

"What do you think?" the freckled girl looked up.

"I think it's from the church." Theodore gestured with his chin in the direction of the prospective priest.

"The three of us are all more or less connected to officialdom, academia, and folk guilds, but I've never seriously been involved in the church."

"What's there to be curious about?" Edmund didn't find it offensive. "Ask away."

"Let me ask you something first," the boy from the horse farm put down his cup. "In your seminary, do you teach serious mysticism, or just theology?"

"Teach, but only one type," Edmund continued, elaborating on what he had just told Richard: "Specifically..."

"What is taught in the seminary is 'ritualistic mysticism'."

"Ritualized?" Maggie asked, somewhat puzzled.

"The 'mysticism' you talk about in daily life, including divination, clairvoyance, spells, and sealing, has been translated into an extension of a set of worship rituals in our seminary system."

Edmund spoke with such intonation and rhythm that he actually sounded quite like a pedagogue.

"You say 'divination,' we say 'revelation of sacred objects.'"

"You say 'vision,' we say 'the Holy Spirit is present.'"

"You say 'sealing,' we say 'saints' protection.'"

"You speak of 'rituals,' we speak of 'sacraments.'"

"The specific operational details are not much different; only the names have been changed."

Theodore bluntly remarked, "Isn't that just the same thing in a different guise?"

"Form is more important than content." Edmund did not deny it: "But form itself is very important to the church."

"Why?" Maggie asked.

"Because we must follow the law," Edmund said, getting to the heart of the matter. "The Church cannot admit to practicing 'mysticism,' it can only admit to practicing 'faith.'"

Richard understood what the other party meant.

"You mean the church isn't allowed to openly engage in mystical activities?"

Edmund glanced at him, his gaze now showing a hint of approval.

"This is a problem left over from history."

He moved the chair forward a little more.

"More than four hundred years ago, Henry VIII broke with the Roman Catholic Church, declared the state church independent from the Catholic Church, and became its head."

"Everyone who has been to school knows this," Theodore said.

"The version in the textbook is that Henry VIII turned against Rome in order to get a divorce."

Edmund continued, "What's not written in the textbook is another event that happened at the same time."

He didn't keep us in suspense.

At the same time, Henry VIII launched a "Great Dissolution" of all monasteries in the country.

"The big disbandment?" Maggie peeked out from under her thick sweater collar.

"In two years, more than 800 monasteries across the country were forcibly dissolved."

Edmund said, "The land, property, and collections were all confiscated by the royal family."

The clergy were dismissed, those who resisted were executed, and the few who remained were all transformed into institutions directly controlled by the royal family.

"Over eight hundred?" Theodore instinctively started calculating. "How much wealth would that be?"

"At that time, it represented nearly a third of the nation's land wealth," Edmund said.

"One-third..." The boy from the horse farm gasped. "No wonder."

"The textbook explains that the reason for the separation was 'the Reformation' and 'the fight against corruption'."

Edmund continued, "Both of these reasons are valid, but there is a third reason that is not written in the textbook."

He stopped and let the people present figure it out for themselves.

"A seal?" Richard realized first.

"Yes." Edmund nodded: "Of the more than eight hundred monasteries, dozens are located at important sealing nodes."

"The monastery that originally housed Whitcomb Mill happened to be one of them."

"After the monastery was dissolved, the priests were driven away, some were executed, and some fled to the other side of the river."

"No one is in charge of the seal."

"Free-range?" The boy from the horse farm scratched his head.

"Yes." Edmund nodded. "It's been there for about twenty years."

"Nothing's happened in twenty years?"

"Several minor incidents occurred over the past twenty years, but they were all suppressed by the locals."

The church and the royal family are engaged in a war of words at the same time, and neither is willing to take the lead.

"The church says we've already been dissolved by you, so why should we continue to manage it?"

"The royal family said we don't understand that stuff, so your people should do it."

"After twenty years of back-and-forth negotiations, a compromise was finally reached."

"The church is allowed to reorganize, but only under the banner of the state religion, and can no longer call itself Catholic."

"Large-scale reconstruction of monasteries is not permitted, but a small number of 'religious orders' may be retained, with strict limits on the size of each order."

"The duty of these religious orders is to take over the 'special tasks' that the monasteries were responsible for before the Great Dissolution, including the maintenance of the seals."

"Isn't that great?" Theodore still couldn't understand: "They just changed their name and kept working."

"Theoretically it sounds good," Edmund said, pointing out the most practical problem: "But religious orders belong to the church, so where do their funds come from?"

"……church?"

"The church lost a large portion of its resources during the mass dissolution and can't even take care of itself."

"The royal family allocates a portion of its budget to the religious order each year."

"Since the money comes from the royal family, the royal family has the right to interfere in the affairs of the religious order."

"The religious order is a church organization, but it takes money from the royal family."

"Treating both sides is the same as ignoring both sides."

"..." Theodore finally understood the most contradictory aspect of this system.

"Therefore, the maintenance of seals like Whitcomb Mill has been repeatedly changed hands amidst wrangling between the two sides."

"The royal family is not allowed to use tax revenue when the church is being maintained."

"When the royal family wanted to send someone to maintain order, the church refused to disclose the details of the ceremony to outsiders."

"The maintenance is becoming increasingly perfunctory."

"The loss of control over Whitcomb's seal this time was actually the result of this tug-of-war."

"Therefore, the task of maintaining the seal this time has been handed over to the folk guilds."

Mrs. McNeil was in charge of this mission, and Ms. Sarah was an outside helper she had personally recruited through her connections.

The academy system sent Mr. Hutton as an advisor, the military provided armed support from Captain Pyfield, and the church sent me to observe.

"Just observation?" Theodore astutely grasped the word.

Edmund then clarified:

"I am indeed here to observe and learn. The religious order sent me, so naturally I have to write a report for the religious order, but the content of the report will not be related to what happened at this table tonight."

"How so?" Maggie asked.

"Tonight is for the newcomers to get to know each other," Edmund said. "I'm treating this as my private time."

"Okay then," Theodore readily agreed. "I'll treat tonight as my private time too."

"Me too," Maggie replied.

The hostel owner brought out the first dish from the kitchen: mushroom soup.

The conversation among the newcomers naturally stopped when this pot of soup was served.

The next dish, roasted lamb leg, is the signature dish of Whitcomb Hostel. It's crispy on the outside, tender on the inside, and incredibly fragrant.

The side dishes were roasted potatoes and cabbage salad, plus a basket of freshly baked crusty bread.

The group of seasoned drinkers drank some local malt whisky.

Since none of the newcomers were drinking, Mrs. McNeil specifically asked the innkeeper to give them another pot of ginger tea.

The second pot of ginger tea was served; it was darker in color and had more sugar than the first pot.

The boy from the horse farm took a sip and squinted his eyes.

"Ginger, sugar, and tea from the highlands," he commented. "None of these three things are respectable."

"What's wrong with you?" The freckled girl suddenly became unhappy.

"Things from your Highlands are all too harsh," Theodore said.

"Our Yorkshire tea makes you sleepy, while your Highland tea makes you want to go out and fight."

"So, do you want to have a fight?" Maggie rubbed her hands together, eager to get started.

"I'd like to," Theodore said frankly, "but I won't go looking for a fight with you."

Why?

"Your dad is a hunter, your mom is a hunter, your brother is a hunter, and your aunt is a hunter."

Theodore counted on his fingers:

"If I punch you once, all four of you in your family will come and punch me a hundred times. My family doesn't know any hunters. Who am I supposed to call for help?"

"So I won't hit you." He concluded, "A sensible person won't do anything foolish."

When dinner was over, Mrs. McNeil stood up.

That's all for tonight.

"Go back to your rooms, everyone. The two experienced hunters will arrange activities for you tomorrow."

We'll meet at this table at 7:00 AM for breakfast. Everyone, please go to bed early tonight.

"Good night," the newcomers said almost in unison.

"Good night," Mrs. McNeil replied.