I loaded the Mysticism panel.

The cleanup operation continued into the afternoon.

The professor corrected each of the dozens of lines one by one.

As the final hook landed, he withdrew his hand from the edge of the basin.

The net that had enveloped the entire city slowly unfurled in Richard's inspiration, silently retreating from every corner of the city.

"alright."

The old professor picked up his teacup, found it was empty, and handed it to Mr. Hutton.

"Another glass, still weak."

"Yes, Professor."

Richard stood by the floating thread of [Hidden Vision].

I counted and examined those dozens of lines that had been caught in the net or erased.

He's looking for someone.

The "real manipulator".

Wentworth said it, Mrs. McNeil said it, that he is the one who hides behind all the poor souls who are pushed to the edge of the knife.

The "external interface" inside the patient's chest cavity was inserted from the side of the curtain.

Wentworth said that the one who would lend a helping hand to the first responder "is probably not on any list."

Richard thought that this time, under Professor Mortimer's city-wide net, that person should finally be exposed.

He was wrong.

The dozens of wires trapped in the net are all just tools.

They were all pitiful people who had been modified, implanted with external interfaces, and whose bodies were clearly connected to the other side of the curtain.

The textile worker in the western suburbs, the unemployed in the south of the city, the thin girl by the canal... there was no such person.

That very "main thread," which should be the thickest, deepest, and the source of all the threads, was not caught in the net from beginning to end.

Richard's inspiration repeatedly scurried through that receding net, confirming it corner by corner.

He's not here; he's probably already left, or maybe he's not even in Briston at all.

A highly knowledgeable scholar who lived through the entire railway era personally laid out a net that covered the entire city.

It works on those dozens of poor, deceived people.

It's ineffective against the person who most deserves to be caught.

Richard placed these dozens of lives on the scales of Briston.

The deaths of dozens of people have brought fear to dozens of families.

The bewilderment of the neighbors, the weeping of the family members when they identified the body.

"She was perfectly fine the day before," is a phrase that is repeated countless times.

All those fears, pain, confusion, and resentment sank to the bottom.

It sank into Briston, a nascent weak point fed by chimneys and industrial accidents.

The solution itself amplified what it intended to suppress.

………………

The site will be closed the day after the cleanup, and the location will naturally be a site that should not be closed.

Richard will be well-informed about his plans this time.

Professor Mortimer wants to join forces with the traditionalist from Gale who "hasn't completely left" to set up a completely sealed barrier.

The same group of people who went down into the pit were the same ones from last time.

This time, Richard wasn't even allowed to bring a camera; he was just made to stand and watch.

"Regarding today's matter," Mr. Hutton instructed him before he went down the well, "you just watch, don't do anything."

"Um."

"There's one more thing. The person the professor is meeting today is someone he knows."

"acquaintance?"

Mr. Hutton reminded you: "When you listen to them talk, some things go in your ears but don't stay in your heart; what you should forget, you'll forget once you get out of this pit."

Richard nodded emphatically.

Inside the core area of ​​the Ninefold Stone Ring, the professor, supported by Mr. Hutton, sat down in front of the silver plaque in the center.

He was still holding a glass of warm water.

This time, a very thin slice of ginger was also soaking in the warm water.

Before Richard left, he overheard Mr. Hutton telling the kitchen that the professor had walked a lot today and needed to warm up.

The professor sat down and first took a sip of ginger water.

After taking a sip, he said something to Hutton beside him.

"Little Hutton, didn't you cut this ginger too thick?"

Mr. Hutton was somewhat helpless.

"Professor, I saw it cut with my own eyes; it was so thin you could see your reflection in it."

"That's because I'm too talkative," the old man continued, rambling on and on.

"You don't need to change it. I've lived to this age, and I can't taste anything in my mouth anymore. You can only blame it, not you."

As they were talking, a breeze picked up at the bottom of the pit.

Buried thirty feet below the surface, surrounded by nine layers of stone, this place should have been an impenetrable haven.

But then the wind picked up, and a strange, inexplicable wind seeped out from the gaps in everything.

Richard understood; the expert had arrived.

The sound came from the wind.

"Professor Mortimer, you're still the same as ever."

"When was the last time we met?"

The old man thought for a moment.

"1892?"

"One eight hundred and ninety-one."

"Oh, 1891," the old man repeated, taking another sip of ginger tea.

"Look, I can't even remember all the years."

I told little Hutton something, and if I repeated it three times, I could recall three different years.

Professor Mortimer said slowly:

"But I still remember that the first time we met was at the Imperial University Library, when you borrowed a book from me."

"That book is called 'Seven Chapters of the Wind'."

"I remember."

"When I handed you that book, you said, 'Professor, I can't understand this book.'"

I said, "If you don't understand it, you don't understand it. Just keep it in your head, and when you finally understand it, it will come to you on its own."

"Um."

Did they contact you about that book later?

The wind fell silent.

After a long time, the wind finally answered.

"I said hello."

"When?"

"The day I dismantled my own body."

The entire core area fell silent.

The experts and professors didn't have to put in much effort to close the pit.

Richard stood in the innermost circle, watching, and gradually began to understand the situation.

The seal itself is still the same as Mr. Hutton's method: engraving, replicating, waxing, and activation.

What professors and experts do is add another layer on top of that system.

The professor is in charge of "reading".

He sat in the chair, holding the ginger water, and meticulously examined the sealing structure, weak points, and wear and tear over the years in the pit, layer by layer.

Then, using jargon that Richard didn't quite understand, he told Mr. Hutton how to fix which part.

The expert is in charge of "pressure".

The wind, flowing along the nine layers of stone rings, pressed the entire pit firmly against this side of the curtain.

The two chatted casually as they worked.

"Professor," said the wind, "have you heard of Haimers' well?"

"I've heard about it."

"Where did you hear that from?"

"The Mirror." Professor Mortimer scratched his thinning hair. "I saw it in the corner of page seven."

"Go to the Mirror to get information?" The expert was very surprised.

"I read the Mirror, as well as the Morning Star, Northern Literary Review, and Women's Family Magazine... The last one sometimes has recipes, which I have my nanny follow."

"She doesn't do it right, but the less right she does it, the more I can taste what it should taste like originally."

Something resembling laughter gently wafted out in the wind.

"Professor, you're still the same."

"I've lived to this age, I can't keep up with all the fuss anymore."

The old man took a sip of ginger water.

"Your old friend on Heimers Island has fallen, why didn't you go and rob him?"

"I'm too lazy to go."

"Too lazy to go..." the professor chuckled.

"Are you really too lazy to go, or are you just afraid to go?"

Upon hearing this, everyone present couldn't help but feel a chill for themselves.

The old professor is really daring. If he angers this expert, he might be fine himself.

Those small fry who followed along will surely be swept away by a gust of wind.

Fortunately, the expert did not get angry.

"Yes, we have them all."

The wind was still for a while before it answered.

"Professor, there are children here, so there are many things I cannot say."

"I know," the old man said slowly.

"I'm not trying to trick you into telling me anything, I'm just asking."

When you meet an old friend after decades, they'll always ask you something you're willing to answer.

The wind stirred slightly.

"If you're asking about the passing of that old friend from Thrace, I can say a few more words."

"Then tell me."

The wind's words made everyone in the core area unconsciously slow down their breathing.

"He wasn't murdered."

"Hmm?" Professor Mortimer raised his eyelids slightly.

"He...starved to death."

Richard stood inside the innermost circle of light locks, silently recording this information.

He had initially thought that the fallen Grand Master on Heimers Island had been assassinated.

They were either set up or wiped out by someone of a higher power.

He never imagined that a great master who could guard the scars of a thousand-year-old ritual would "starve to death."

Professor Mortimer held the ginger water, waiting for the wind to carry on his lecture.

"He guarded that trench left by the Thracians a thousand years ago for over a hundred years, and he has long since drained all its nutrients."

"Over the decades, he has sacrificed thousands of lives for the scars, but instead of getting fatter, the scars have become thinner and thinner."

Professor Mortimer held the ginger water in his hands.

"Everyone outside says it's a fertile field."

"You can't see into his bones from the outside," Feng continued.

"He has guarded that piece of land for so long; that land is like his lifeblood."

Replacing it is like taking himself apart and rebuilding himself from scratch; at his age, he can't do that anymore.

"Staying put on the spot will make you live a little longer than walking, that's all."

"Those two old friends are now fighting over that piece of land, and what they're fighting over is that ready-made skeleton."

"The earth cannot support a great master, but a person can transform it."

Professor Mortimer held the ginger water and didn't speak for a long time.

"...Can't all the old lands be sustained anymore?"

"About that, maybe another fifty years. Optimistically, eighty years."

"Those few who are still clinging to their old lands and refusing to leave will, one by one, starve to death in the very places they have guarded for hundreds of years, just like that man, Haimer."

Richard suddenly remembered the conclusion he had drawn earlier.

The trend of becoming an expert continued to rise at this time:

"The new vulnerabilities you predicted have emerged one by one over the past fifty years."

"Those old friends in the Old World will all liquidate their old lands and exchange them for new lands in the last fifty years."

"Fertile fields cannot grow solely on factory accidents."

Richard's chest felt as cold as if someone had stuffed a block of ice into it.

It seems that war is unavoidable, which is indeed an extremely important struggle for interests for these experts.

"professor."

The sound of the wind softened, becoming almost like it was confiding in an old friend:

"I don't belong to the side of 'grabbing new land'."

"I guessed it."

How did you guess?

"If you belonged to that category, you wouldn't have helped us seal this pit today."

The wind stirred slightly again.

"...That's true. My main body is currently in the New World, and there aren't many places here that I can protect."

"This pit is one example, and there are several other old weak points in this area to the north. I can't cover the ones further away."

"Um."

"When the fire starts burning in the Old World, it's best to move your students away from the edge of the battlefield."

"I'm getting old," Professor Mortimer sighed. "I can't move many of them anymore."

"Move one if you can."

The professor held the ginger water and didn't speak for a long time.

"...May I ask you one last question?"

"Ask away."

"What do you plan to do when the fires of the Old World start burning?"

The wind stopped for a very, very long time, so long that everyone thought it was gone.

"...Professor," Feng said finally.

"Um."

"The village where I was born is in this area."

The old man remained silent.

"My body is so badly damaged that no one recognizes it anymore."

"When I look in the mirror, I can't see myself; all I see is the wind."

"But I still remember that village."

"Where is the village?" Professor Mortimer asked.

"Fifty miles away from the pit."

"What's your name?"

"Call me..." The wind paused for a moment. "I won't tell you."

"If you knew, you would want to protect that village."

The old man held the ginger water and didn't speak for a long time.

"...Okay," he said. "Everyone mind their own business."

The final inscription sealing the pit fell at this moment.

Richard's breathing broke free from the forced rhythm.

The wind swept through the core area one last time.

"Professor, I'll treat you to a drink next time we meet."

You don't have a tongue.

"I'll treat you to a drink, I'll just watch from the side."

The old man smiled slowly.

"Okay, see you next time."

The wind has completely died down.