I loaded the Mysticism panel.

Richard stood inside the innermost circle of light locks and glanced down at his chest.

The silver ring and eagle hook, suspended by a leather rope, were both icy cold.

They've been dormant ever since the site was sealed off.

As for his [Perception], he secretly glanced at the panel.

With the progress of [Perception] lv.2, I rushed up all the way.

After continuously observing two beings whose ranks are countless levels higher than their own, the progress has reached nearly 60% in the past half day.

He did nothing.

He just stood there, watching and listening, breathing in the breeze and occasionally being swept by a gaze.

But the ability to "see" and "hear" is itself the best nourishment for the skill of "perception".

………………

Richard obtained an introduction from Mr. Hutton the day before Professor Mortimer returned to the capital.

He brought the ebony box to the old professor.

The location was still Hutton's office.

"Professor." Richard pushed the box to that side.

"I have something that I cannot appraise myself, and I would like to ask you to take a look."

Professor Mortimer put down his glass of warm water, stretched out his trembling hand, and pulled the box toward him.

He first looked at the temporary seal on Aresgar.

He glanced at it but didn't say anything. The seal was too hastily made, so hastily made that it wasn't worth a second look.

Then, his gaze fell on Hecatega's seal.

The old man chuckled.

The laughter was dry and hoarse, like seeing the handwriting of an old acquaintance, or reading a sentence in a schoolchild's homework that shouldn't appear at that age.

Richard waited for the old man to explain why he was laughing.

Professor Mortimer did not explain.

After he finished laughing, he examined the box for a while and then slowly began to speak.

"This is a traditional part of net weaving."

Richard's heart skipped a beat.

The pre-Roman altar in the Ash Belt is a testament to the tradition of net weaving;

That bronze mirror, with its shallow relief of the "line of fate" along its edge, also reflects the weaving tradition.

"You must have already consulted the oracle," the old man said confidently.

"...occupied."

"What did you draw?"

"Fully opening it is a dead end."

Professor Mortimer chuckled again.

"But you didn't figure out 'why it's a dead end,' did you?"

Yes, he didn't figure out why.

The Tower of Trigrams only provides the result, not the reason.

This is the boundary of his divination service; if he asks any further questions, the backlash will come.

"Professor, could you...?"

"What's the rush?" Professor Mortimer waved his hand. "Let me explain."

He tapped the box lightly with his fingertip.

"There's a very simple misunderstanding in our line of work."

"Many people believe that things sealed inside boxes are meant to 'come out and bite'."

"...Isn't that right?" Richard asked.

"The kind that comes out to bite is the lowest grade."

The old man continued to explain: "The easiest way to seal something that bites is to carve an inscription that looks like an iron cage."

"The really troublesome ones are the ones that don't bite."

Richard felt a chill run down his spine.

"What do they eat if they don't bite?"

"Eat the 'tone'."

The old man gently flicked the air around the box with his fingertip.

"Let me give you an example. Have you ever held a tuning fork?"

"...I know what it is, but I've never actually handled it."

"If you tap a fork, it will make a consistent sound."

Professor Mortimer gestured to indicate his fame.

"It won't make a sound unless you knock on it."

But if you tap a fork with a similar tone next to it, it will make a sound on its own.

"This kind of thing is a tuning fork."

Richard suddenly understood.

"It won't come out," the old man continued. "It's just waiting inside the box, waiting for someone to move the ether around it."

"You'll need ether to break its seal, right?"

"……want."

"When you read its inscription, shouldn't you let your inspiration connect with it?"

"……yes."

"The moment the ether moves and the inscription is read, the fork cracks."

Professor Mortimer tapped the table twice rhythmically.

"It makes a sound, and inhales a wisp of your scent."

"It makes a second sound, and it draws in two strands of your breath."

"When it rings for the tenth time, your own etheric cycle will be in sync with its tone."

The old man stopped and brought his trembling hands back to his knees.

Richard broke out in a cold sweat.

"What should I do then?"

"Have you recently seen or learned any methods to 'calm down' the ether?"

This must be referring to a silencing technique; he wasn't surprised that it was discovered.

"...I've seen him." Richard answered honestly.

"I did recently read about something that could temporarily 'stop' etheric activity in a certain area."

"That makes things easier."

Professor Mortimer pushed the box toward Richard again.

"You don't need stronger power to deal with things that 'live by resonance'."

"Break its seal, and first use your method to create a small patch of 'stagnant water' around the box."

The old man drew an invisible circle around the box with his fingertip.

"In that small patch of stagnant water, no matter how thin your etheric flow is, its fork cannot hear it."

Richard stood by the table, repeatedly going over the method in his mind.

Silence, creating a vacuum.

Reading inscriptions in a vacuum, seeping out in batches.

This perfectly matched his stress fatigue method for dealing with the Sphinx lamp, and the "temperance" and "star" he divined.

The divination only told him that it was feasible to do it in batches.

Now the professor has filled in the gaps in explaining why phased implementation is feasible and what needs to be done first when implementing phased implementation.

Richard stood up straight and gave a proper bow.

"Thank you for your guidance, Professor."

Professor Mortimer gave Hutton a lot of face.

He didn't stop there, and took another sip of the ginger water.

"Since you've brought this to my door, and I haven't opened anything like this in years, I might as well give it a good workout."

The old man brought the box to his face.

"Stand closer and look carefully."

"……yes."

Richard's breathing unconsciously slowed down.

He quietly took out his notebook and pen.

Although he was knowledgeable, he habitually prepared notes.

Mr. Hutton glanced over and nodded in satisfaction.

Professor Mortimer's fingertips touched the first layer of imprint.

"This layer is the 'silent knot' of the traditional weaving technique."

"The Celts used it to seal the mouths of sacrificial animals, so that they would not utter names they should not during the ceremony."

"Its core inscription is written here."

The old man tapped it lightly with his fingertip.

"To break it, we need to start with the 'crack' at the 'closed' point."

With a flick of his fingertip, the "knot of silence" that had been an integral part of Richard's inspiration dissipated on its own.

The pen practically flew across the notebook.

"The knot...the closure...an extremely fine slit...the beginning of the stroke..."

His fingers ached from writing, but he had only memorized half of it when the old man had already built a second layer.

"This layer is a 'reverse read lock' added by later people."

"To prevent people from reading it the way it should, let it remain a spell even when read backwards."

Professor Mortimer flicked his finger.

The second layer fell apart, and the dismantling of the third layer began.

"The third layer is the 'linked knot,' where one knot is nested within another. If you untie the one on the surface, the one inside will grow back on its own."

"To break it, you must first find the 'mother branch'."

"The mother branch is the only one that doesn't grow daughter branches; it's the least noticeable one."

Professor Mortimer touched a spot among the dense inscriptions with his fingertip.

"here."

Richard looked over and saw that the stroke was indeed the least noticeable in the entire seal.

If the professor hadn't pointed it out, even if he had thoroughly examined the seal, he still wouldn't have been able to tell the difference between it and the other strokes.

With a flick of the finger, the mother branch snapped.

The whole layer of "connected branches" is like peeling an onion, layer by layer, pulling itself inward.

Richard's pen stopped on the paper.

He stopped writing; continuing would have been futile.

[博闻] He carefully preserved every inscription and every explanation he saw and heard with his own eyes.

Richard was about to add a note to his notebook when the old professor spoke without looking up.

"For someone in your class, it's already quite good that you can remember 'what a 'silence knot' is'."

Professor Mortimer's fingertips touched the innermost layer.

"However, it's good that you're willing to keep this in mind."

"Those who are willing to remember, even if they can't remember everything and there's a blank space, they know in their hearts, 'There's a piece here that I haven't filled in yet.'"

"When he rises in rank someday, he'll come back and fill that gap himself."

"He felt he understood everything after reading what he didn't want to remember, and that part of understanding was all he could understand in his life."

Richard listened with his head down.

By the time the seventh layer of overprints had completely dispersed, the danger posed by the box in the inspiration had decreased to a level that he could handle.

Professor Mortimer pushed the box back in front of Richard.

Ares's hastily applied temporary seal remained untouched; the object was still sealed.

Richard rewrapped the box, layering it with oiled paper and then coarse salt.

He looked up after receiving half of it.

"Professor, I'd like to ask you something."

"You just broke this seal, from beginning to end... you hardly touched 'itself' at all."

"I have read in books that the most difficult thing for scholars to do when appraising rare objects is to remove the dangers within them without damaging the value of the object itself."

Professor Mortimer chuckled.

"Young Hutton, your student has hit the nail on the head."

Mr. Hutton looked slightly pleased, but quickly suppressed it.

Professor Mortimer held the ginger water and leaned back in his chair.

"Once you get up here, you'll understand that all the work we scholars do is just one thing from beginning to end."

"Just one?"

"look."

The old man emphasized that one word very heavily.

"Once you understand something, it's no longer 'mysterious'."

"Once you're no longer 'mysterious,' it can't do anything to you."

"This is what is known as 'mysterious fading'."

Richard's breathing softened.

The mystery faded away.

The more you understand it, the less "mysterious" it becomes;

Upon reaching the very top, all the extraordinary fades away.

Professor Mortimer smiled:

"What I need most right now is new fun, and I had a lot of fun opening this box of yours today."

"……happy?"

"Hmm, the people who run it are very interesting."

The old man took a sip of ginger water.

"If you ever see that person, please pass on a message for me."

"...What did you say?"

"Tell that man: 'Old Mo is asking you, is this seal a copy of Chapter Three of his 1887 paper?'"

Richard was stunned.

"……Yeah?"

"More or less." Professor Mortimer nodded. "He changed seven inscriptions and hid two turning points, thinking I wouldn't notice."

"You noticed?"

"How could I not recognize something I wrote myself?" The professor swung his cane and gently tapped Richard's head.

…………

It was already evening when I got home.

Evelyn, wearing her checkered apron, stood facing a new dish in the oven, looking distressed.

"Brother! You're back just in time." Without turning her head, she said, "Come quick, something terrible has happened."

Richard's heart skipped a beat.

He had been thinking about the seal the whole way, his nerves still on edge, and rushed into the kitchen.

"What's wrong?"

"Mr. Rabbit..." Evelyn pointed at the baking pan, her voice trembling, "It collapsed."

Richard looked down.

A row of gingerbread rabbits sat on the baking tray, each with a round, bulging belly, their eyes drawn crookedly with icing.

The one that Evelyn knighted and called "Mr. Rabbit" (5th edition) did indeed collapse.

Its round belly deflated, its two long ears drooped limply to one side, and its whole face was covered in a blob of frosting.

"It was originally the smartest one in the litter."

Evelyn looked mournful.

"I added an extra spoonful of sugar to make it sweeter, and then it... melted."

Richard stared at the collapsed, mushy gingerbread rabbit for a long while.

"...Please accept my condolences; it was sacrificed for sweetness."

"Stop being sarcastic!" Evelyn slapped his hand.

"I now seriously suspect that it might collapse if too much sugar is added."

"Very likely." Richard nodded: "Too much sugar will cause the skeleton to collapse."

He remembered the ebony box.

Everything in the world should be done in moderation.

"Then I'll put less sugar in the next batch."

Evelyn made a note in her notebook with a cake drawn on the cover.

"Reduce by half a spoonful, too much and it will become soggy, too little and it won't be sweet enough, you have to find that...that perfect balance."

"Temperance," Richard blurted out.

"Huh?" Evelyn didn't understand.

"I say, this is called moderation."

Richard picked up the collapsed Mr. Rabbit and put it in his mouth.

"Not too much, not too little, just right."

"Sigh...that was just a failed experiment! I kept it for research!"

"It's collapsed," Richard mumbled. "It should be laid to rest."

Mother Margaret walked in from the other end of the living room carrying an empty teacup and glanced at the brother and sister who were fighting.

"Oatmeal porridge for dinner again," she said.

"Mom," Evelyn protested immediately, "I've been roasting rabbit all afternoon!"

"A rabbit is a rabbit, and porridge is porridge," Margaret said, picking out vegetables.

Richard picked up the bowl of warm oatmeal porridge his mother had prepared and sat down at the table.

Outside the window, it gets dark late in early spring.

He finished the last mouthful of porridge in his bowl, then reached for the other rabbit that hadn't collapsed in the plate.

"That's just the Rabbit Knight!" Evelyn reacted quickly, slapping it again. "It's still alive!"

"It will die in the line of duty sooner or later."

"That's not your turn!"