I loaded the Mysticism panel.

Chapter 161 Return to Sleep (Bonus Chapter 13 for Monthly Tickets)

With a gentle downward wave of her right hand, a crack was torn open in the "floor" of the entire hall.

Richard could feel his shadow slipping into the cracks beneath his feet.

When the shadow falls, he himself falls with it.

The situation was similar for everyone else.

"Please lend a hand!" Mrs. McNeil called out urgently.

At the critical moment, the old woman inside the bone bracelet reached out her arm.

The arm emerged from the bone bracelet, passed through the crack beneath everyone's feet, and pressed the two sides of the crack back together.

Mr. Hutton continued reading his verdict.

"Na, return."

"You are a moving shadow, a mother who longs to sleep."

"You told us this yourself just now."

"You said you've arrived."

"You've waited for thousands of years, waiting for someone to call you back."

The remaining parts of the mother's body also began to falter, and her outline trembled.

Mr. Hutton looked up at Mrs. McNeil: "Your turn."

My work is done.

He couldn't do what was going to happen next.

Scholars can understand others thoroughly, but putting those individuals back in their original positions after understanding them is the work of those in seclusion.

Mrs. McNeill nodded, and all seven spirits stood at attention at that moment.

The wolf inside the silver ring stood up;

The bird in the jade brooch spreads its wings;

The woman in the ebony comb put down her work;

The image in the moonstone pendant raises its hands;

The two throats inside the coral earrings were tuned;

The second hand of the silver chain pocket watch was stopped in the very center.

The old woman's entire arm was still sticking out of the bone bracelet.

With Mrs. McNeil herself added, eight voices overlapped.

"Stollithirenna (Shadow Eater)"

She was reading a text that the church hadn't been able to finish reading hundreds of years ago.

"in Christo te ligo (Bound you in the name of Christ)"

The church harshly called her a "devil," and tonight I will say it again so that she will no longer be called a "devil."

"in sanguine Cuthberti te ligo (Bound by the blood of Saint Cuthberti)"

She is the mother of the Highlands, and she sent a northern saint to take her home.

"in pacem Eirenes ad somnum revertere. (May Elena rest in peace.)"

Elena is the goddess of tranquility; this is a lullaby for a weary mother.

Yae's voice fell.

Each floor was called out by name, and each floor was returned to its original position.

Above this hall, the well, which consisted of countless other halls nested within each other, snapped shut.

The last bit of the mother was also sucked into the deepest part.

That was the mountainous region where she first awoke, below the pre-Roman mountains, the roots of twelve standing stones.

As she sank, she glanced at the youngest among those seeing her off.

The door closed, the seal was complete.

The seven spirits returned one by one to the objects that were on Mrs. McNeill.

The two throats inside the coral earrings sang a final verse.

This is the closing song.

The old woman inside the bone bracelet hesitated as she withdrew her arm.

"Please go back," Mrs. McNeil said softly.

The old woman nodded, and the bone bracelet was fastened again.

"We should go back now." Mr. Hutton pulled out the long thread woven from the judgment from the rubbing and rolled it into a bundle.

Together with Mrs. McNeill, he carefully lifted everyone up and returned the whole sheet to the material world.

Richard blinked.

The gray of the stone walls, the black of the sarcophagus, the bronze of the candlestick bases with nine candles... the colors of the underground stone chamber once again filled his vision.

The candles were all extinguished, but the wicks were still smoking.

Before his eyes, the entire stone coffin was wrapped inch by inch in silver foil, and the iron chains on the stone coffin were tightened again.

A muffled thud came from the side.

Theodore slid down the stone wall and landed on his bottom on the ground.

"We are still alive."

Maggie squatted down next to him, one hand on her knee and the other pressing against her temple.

"Don't speak." She couldn't even open her eyes.

Edmund stood in the northeast corner, his hands clasped together, his lips moving.

He was praying, and Richard didn't disturb him.

The situation is even worse on the outer edge.

Captain Field knelt on the ground as Sarah treated his left leg.

The captain's left leg had an abnormally grayish-white color.

Sarah wrapped that section with a bandage soaked in holy water.

"How is it?" Mrs. McNeil walked over.

"Not bad, I won't die," Captain Field replied through gritted teeth.

His forehead was covered in sweat, which trickled down his brow bone and dripped onto the stone slabs of the cellar.

"How much blood did you burn?" Mrs. McNeil's brow furrowed.

Captain Field lowered his head.

"Two years."

There was a moment of silence in the cellar.

Two years of lifespan—the price of the Blood Burning Path is never an abstract number.

Every drop of blood that burns represents a day cut off from the end of life.

Captain Field was supposed to live to sixty-five, but now he can only live to sixty-three.

Or much less, if it has been burned many times before.

"It's worth it," the captain said himself.

He patted his thigh with his right hand; the grayish-white area under the bandage had stopped trembling.

"It's better than not being able to get home tonight."

The huntress then covered the dent with a dark brown ointment.

"Don't lift heavy objects with your left hand for three days." Sarah screwed the cap back on the ointment.

"understood."

Captain Field nodded and slowly stood up, supporting himself on his right knee.

He tried to move his left leg forward half a step, his knee bent, and his brow furrowed slightly, but he didn't make a sound.

He was relieved that his legs could bend.

Captain Field turned around.

Richard.

"Captain." Richard stood up, leaning against the wall. He had just collapsed on the ground from exhaustion.

The captain gestured for him to sit down.

"I held a knife at the age of eleven, and went on my first field mission with my father at the age of fifteen."

By the time I turned thirty-eight this year, I had completed 117 fieldwork assignments.

"I have encountered situations where my body was corrupted by similar non-physical evil entities twice before."

"Both times... were fine?" Sarah replied casually, still organizing the medicine packet in her hands.

"My companion in the first round was an old hermit who used a bronze mirror to force the guy out."

"And the second time?"

"My companions from the second round didn't make it."

The underground stone chamber fell silent for a moment.

"That leg, from that point on, no longer belongs to me."

The captain reached out and tapped his right thigh.

The sound was a dull, wooden sound, not a fleshy one.

Richard was then shocked to realize that the captain had been missing a leg from the very beginning.

In other words, if he lost the other half of his thigh today, he would become a "half-man".

This is truly a hellish joke.

Theodore looked up from the corner.

He had been dozing off, but now he was fully awake, though he wisely kept quiet.

"The bones are still there; the muscles were added later."

The captain had no qualms about this topic: "I was bedridden for about six months that time."

He turned his gaze back to Richard.

"If it weren't for your trick tonight, this leg would have been paired with that one."

Richard was momentarily at a loss for words.

Saying "it is my duty" sounds frivolous, while saying "I dare not accept it" sounds like I'm putting on an act.

He thought for a moment and answered honestly, "I wasn't even sure about that technique myself; it was something I came up with on the spot."

"A temporary postponement." The captain smiled, and the old scar on his brow twitched.

"That would be even more remarkable."

He didn't dwell on that sentence, reached into the cloth bag at his waist, and took something out.

It was a small whistle carved from maple wood.

It was no longer than half a finger, covered with a thin copper sheet, and tied with two owl tail feathers.

Richard glanced at the sentry with his spiritual vision, and saw a faint ethereal fluctuation within it, carrying the traces of blood and fire of a hunter.

This is not a rare item, but simply a keepsake.

The captain introduced:

"Before my father passed away, he left a whistle for each of us four brothers, so that we could help each other out in the future."

"I'm giving this to you... If you ever need anything in the future, all of us brothers will help you."

When Richard heard him put it that way, he didn't refuse and took the whistle.

"Then I'll accept it."

The captain provided the address:

"My family owns a pub in Sheffield called 'Rusty Plow'."

It's just the third street outside the east gate of the steel mill; all the workers in the neighborhood know it.

"My sister-in-law runs the shop."

"Go and show this whistle to my sister-in-law. Everyone in my family who can wield a knife will come to help you."

"...I've got it." Richard nodded seriously.

On the other hand, Sarah's own injuries were slightly better.

She had a diagonal scratch on her right cheek, which extended from her cheekbone to the angle of her jaw.

Blood slowly seeped from the wound, dripping down the jawline.

"It needs sewing." Edmund came over; he had finished his prayer.

The young man took the small roll of cloth out of his backpack and unfolded it.

"I'll do it."

The huntress's expression remained unchanged.

She turned her face to the side so that Edmund could see the full extent of the wound.

"How many stitches?"

"Three to four stitches." Edmund was already threading the needle.

"Let's get started."

Edmund's hands were very steady.

The suture needle is inserted into the wound from one side, passes through the subcutaneous tissue, and exits from the other side.

Sarah didn't move or make a sound the whole time.

Richard watched from the side and noticed that the huntress's right hand was tightly gripping her rifle sling.

She's not made of iron; of course she feels pain, she just won't cry out.

After sewing four stitches, Edmund cut the thread with scissors and wiped it with disinfectant.

"alright."

"Thank you." Sarah turned her face back.

Her expression remained unchanged from beginning to end.

Mr. Hutton looked the most tired of all.

He is almost sixty years old.

The pronouncements during the ceremony were all forced out of the etheric reserves within his body.

He poured out all his reserves tonight.

The consequences were written all over his face: his eyes were sunken, his cheekbones were prominent, his lips were chapped, and he looked like the bark of an old tree that had been drained of moisture.

But he himself didn't care.

He carefully collected the rubbings from the low table one by one and put them into his leather bag.

"Sir, you..." Richard wanted to say something.

"It's nothing," Mr. Hutton waved his hand.

He fastened the clasp on his bag.

"When I get back, I need to proofread today's data again."

"tonight?"

"While the memory is still fresh," the old man said, slowly walking towards the cellar exit.

"Next time someone encounters a similar entity, they won't need to go through all this trouble."