I loaded the Mysticism panel.

Chapter 201 The Silence Technique

This out-of-control emotion and the implied name poured down through the already thinning curtain.

It was this force that sent the person behind the scenes into the pit they shouldn't have been in.

It is this force that is fueling the fire that is burning down the pit.

"The riots above, and the attacks below..."

"It's no coincidence," Mr. Hutton replied, the old man clearly having thought of the same thing.

"They are two halves of the same ceremony."

"The branch office will not publicly intervene in labor disputes." Wentworth gripped his twin swords tightly. "Surface matters are for the police and the military to handle."

"Now that things have come to this, we need to take good care of this half of the ether."

Lieutenant Colonel Ode looked toward the pit's core.

The responder has reached a point not far from the center of the pit core.

"We still have to stop him and prevent him from getting to that point."

Everyone inside the cave started moving at the same time.

White energy rose from Lieutenant Colonel Ode's steel prosthetic arm, the power of the Gale tradition condensed at his fingertips.

Wentworth's enchanted twin swords are already drawn.

Mrs. McNeil took the spirit artifacts out of the suitcase.

Mr. Hutton stood before the inscription altar, ready to decipher the incantation from the first man's mouth.

Just as everyone rushed towards Ying Tong, Ying Tong stopped in his tracks.

He turned to look at everyone and asked a question.

"Should you agree or not?"

The question, once uttered, resonated deep within everyone's chest, echoing up from outside their eardrums.

Inside and outside, reversed.

The silver plate that Mr. Hutton had personally replicated beneath Richard's feet emitted a rumbling sound.

The seal that had just been closed was knocked on from the other side by someone using their knuckles.

After the knocking, the other side asked: Did you hear that?

And everyone present who was inspired did the same thing at that moment.

Their nerves acted before their will, pushing the word "heard" half an inch into their throats.

Half an inch was the distance that Mrs. McNeill saved with that grain of coarse salt.

The pit shouldn't have been broken, but it was "asked a question".

But that one question is enough.

The seal is two-way; asking the person outside the door whether they are willing to respond is itself a spell read backwards.

Immediately afterwards, the entire core area was flipped over.

The 150-foot-thick layer of rock overhead was gone, replaced by a sea of ​​stars.

But no matter how deep the night sky is, there is always a "distance" between the stars.

In this sea of ​​stars, there is no near or far; each star is close to the retina, yet simultaneously suspended at an infinite distance.

They were motionless, so cold that you wanted to close your eyes immediately.

That was the starry sky reflected back from the bottom of some immeasurably deep well.

This is what you see when you stand at the bottom of a well and look up.

"Everyone, don't move."

The old man's voice came from one direction in the cave.

Richard heard it.

But the words that voice spoke changed once they reached his eardrums.

"Am I destined to never get over that threshold in my entire life?"

This sentence came directly from the etheric layer; it was the sentence the old man least wanted anyone to hear at that moment.

In this overturned core area, every word that was suppressed in the heart became a word that was truly spoken.

Richard abruptly shifted his gaze to the side.

Old Big's face was turned toward him.

His lips did not move.

But the words seeped from his chest and were clearly illuminated by the cold light of that sea of ​​stars.

"Senior sister, have I never made the teacher happy even once in my entire life?"

Richard had no choice but to hear it.

He wanted to cover his ears, but he knew it was useless; it wasn't a sound at all.

On the outer edge, Wentworth stood still, holding his twin swords.

Richard had dealt with the head of the inspection team several times.

Richard knew he was cold, knew he was fast, and could see when his twin swords were drawn and when they were put back in place.

But Richard never knew that Wentworth also had such a thought on his mind.

"Old Kai, if I could have blocked that claw for you..."

Wentworth himself didn't even lose his breathing rhythm.

But this sentence has already passed through the minds of everyone who has inspiration.

Next came Ms. Maud, Mr. Spence, the group leader, the second group leader...

That young man, who had just graduated from military academy, had one simple thought in his mind:

"...I don't want to die, I don't want to die, I don't want to die!"

Richard began to hypnotize himself.

He didn't know which sentence he was referring to.

He dared not think about it.

The newly applied grain of coarse salt under the tongue was crushed by the teeth.

The moment the grains of salt grazed his tongue, he pulled himself out of that sentence.

He almost managed to get those words from his chest to his throat, and from his throat to his lips.

Richard's back was covered in cold sweat.

This is the real "response".

Behind the curtain, under the watchful eyes, confess the softest words in your heart.

This is the first thing to do in responding to.

With each additional person who acknowledges a statement, the name at the bottom of the pit is etched deeper into the legend.

But the crisis is not over yet.

The shadow came to life at his feet, striking the same pose as it had in Nail Alley.

Raise both arms from the sides and slowly bring them together towards your neck.

Richard's trachea was being tightened inch by inch; the feeling of suffocation was real, his lungs began to lack oxygen, and his vision went black.

Richard bit down on the grain of salt under his tongue.

That slight salty, astringent pain pulled him back from the feeling of suffocation.

He recalled that night in Whitcomb, when he innovatively reversed the direction of "Breath Healing" and pushed the etheric repair medium onto the shadow beneath his feet.

The shadow itself is something on the etheric level, and healing has a stronger effect on the shadow than on the physical body.

Richard took four breaths and, during the third cycle of exhalation, pushed the ether within the Sun Constellation towards his feet.

The shadow that was choking him was steadily supported by the healing warmth and pressed back to the ground.

His trachea loosened, and air flowed back into his lungs.

Richard gasped for breath, steadying himself by holding onto the edge of the light lock.

The responder was still walking step by step toward the center of the pit.

Worse still, that question of "yes or no" caused some things within the core layer to begin to be "called out by name".

Those things emerged from the shadows beneath the starry sky, from the cracks in the stone slabs, from every unseen corner.

Some of them were birds with their necks snapped, some were children without faces, and some were just wriggling black shadows.

They range from the lowest level to the lowest level of evil creatures, and none of them are particularly strong on their own.

But their numbers are staggering.

In just a few breaths, the entire core area turned into a scene of utter chaos.

None of these things that are called by name are physical entities.

The hunters' silver lead bullets, enchanted axes, and enchanted knives could only barely scatter a small piece of them before they quickly gathered back together.

"It's all fake!" The female team leader with a scar on her brow bone fired a shot.

The faceless child was scattered, but immediately reassembled: "Only extra ether can scatter it!"

"We don't have enough ether!" someone cried out in despair.

Richard stood in the innermost circle, watching the chaos unfold.

The response group is a decoy to lure the hunter into making a move.

Flipping over is a distraction, temporarily trapping everyone in their own battlefield.

The chaotic dance of demons is a drain on resources, forcing the hunters to gradually deplete their precious ether.

The person who answers will walk to the center of the pit when everyone is busy with their own problems and give that final "yes".

As a medium, Mrs. McNeil was the first to break free from the illusion.

She opened the suitcase, and seven spirits lined up in front of her.

The flipping brought everyone under the veil, but it also strengthened the power of the mystical side.

She raised her hand, and the seven spirits emerged in seven separate groups.

The wolf spirit that was living inside the fang pendant was the first to rush out.

It opened its mouth and spat out strands of golden threads, blocking the illusory figures that were approaching the innermost circle.

The woman weaving the net, who was sleeping inside the wooden comb, sat with countless invisible threads in her hands.

The threads wrapped around the responder's ankles, wrists, and neck, locking him in place inch by inch.

With each step the responder took towards the pit's core, the lines were tightened a little more.

The old woman inside the bone bracelet remained motionless, silent, and with her eyes closed.

She is the anchor point of the entire event, firmly connecting the flipped-up core area with the other side of the material world.

With her there, people won't be completely lost.

Mrs. McNeill herself held the moonstone pendant in front of her and walked toward the responding head, who was entangled by the net-weaving woman.

"Can we talk?" the medium asked.

She wanted to use moonstones to negotiate and buy time.

Even if it's just for half a minute, giving the hunters a chance to catch their breath, it would be helpful.

The person who responded stopped in their tracks.

"Yes," he said.

The medium's mind stirred.

"What do you want? What did that thing at the bottom of the pit promise you? Perhaps we can talk."

"Yes," the first responder replied.

"Stop," Mrs. McNeil said, staring at him. "We'll send you out, back to your old life."

"Okay." That was the first response.

"Stop right now."

"it is good."

"Tell me, who ordered you to do this?"

"it is good."

Mrs. McNeil's expression changed.

The first person answered her every question; he agreed to every single one.

But the recitation of his true name continued uninterrupted.

He promised everything, while doing the exact opposite.

His promise was so scareful it made people uneasy.

"It's no use." The medium took the moonstone pendant back. "He's not someone you can reason with anymore."

"He just agrees, he agrees to whatever you ask."

The negotiations failed.

Mr. Hutton had by then broken free from the inscription that had judged him.

The old man, supporting the inscription platform, pressed the revived inscription back down with a common judgment.

He then looked up and stared at the real name that was being read aloud by the respondent.

"I'll break his spell." Mr. Hutton's voice was still a little weak, but he straightened up.

My academic background came in handy at this moment.

Mr. Hutton began to analyze the response formula that the Responder was reciting.

He didn't touch the real name itself; he dismantled the outer layer of its operating structure.

The old gentleman read the judgment aloud, section by section.

Each time a passage was recited, the rhythm of the chanting in the responding man's mouth was interrupted by a beat.

As for those phantoms that are summoned by name, each time a corresponding judgment is read, that phantom is banished back to its original place.

"...in a name that should never have been uttered, return to the place where you belong."

After Mr. Hutton finished reading a sentence, the faceless child in the deep pool silently dispersed and never returned.

"It worked!" the team leader shouted.

Mr. Hutton's face grew paler and paler.

There were too many phantom images summoned by the first responder.

The old man's speed in reciting the judgment could not keep up with the speed at which the phantom was summoned.

Moreover, each time he recites a passage of judgment, he is overdrawing his already meager reserves of ether.

Ms. Maud and Mr. Spence, on the outer ring, had already begun their work near the two innermost stone rings.

The first response flipped the ring, affecting all five activated rings within the entire nine-layered stone ring.

The fifth ring of light flashed briefly as he landed.

Maud was making up for that flash.

The aperture of the fifth ring stabilized again.

Mr. Spence's methods were different from Maud's.

He dug a new auxiliary trench on the outside of the sixth ring trench.

"It's too late to make up for it."

"It will disrupt the circulation as soon as it comes in, so I need to add another diversion channel."

"Are you in time?" Maud asked.

Spence's voice was brief: "You keep an eye on the fifth ring, leave the rest to me."

Maud hummed in agreement and returned to the edge of the fifth ring.

"Inspector."

During a break in reading the verdict, Mr. Hutton called out, "Could you just step in and interrupt his recitation head-on?"

Wentworth has broken free from the illusion of "Old Kay".

The inspection team leader gripped his enchanted twin blades tightly, switching his four breaths to the explosive rhythm of the Blood Burning Path.

Wentworth didn't say anything, and rushed towards the responding leader.

But just as he was about to rush to the leader of the response team...

The person who responded raised a hand.

He didn't look at Wentworth; he didn't even turn his head.

The hand pressed down slightly in Wentworth's direction.

A dead silence.

Within that extremely small area, all the techniques and breathing rhythms were completely disrupted.

Wentworth's Ether Burst was abruptly interrupted.

If the loop is interrupted during the outbreak, it will spin in vain and, in turn, devour the user.

Wentworth froze three steps away from the response, his face flushed red.

Richard stood in the innermost circle, observing everything.

On the other side, Lieutenant Colonel Ode used Gale to precisely target and eliminate the phantoms that were approaching the innermost circle one by one.

He seemed to be waiting for something, gathering his strength for a more crucial moment.

Wentworth was about to suffer a major blow.