I loaded the Mysticism panel.

"They starved to death."

Nemesis repeated those two words to himself, and the scales tipped even more sharply.

"A master of all trades, the kind of person who guards the scars of a thousand-year-old ritual."

"Yes." Richard nodded.

None of the people at the table said a word.

"The land he guarded, he himself drained of its nutrients."

Richard picked out the parts of what he had heard and shared them.

"Thousands of lives have been sacrificed in there over the decades, but the scars haven't grown thicker; instead, they've become thinner and thinner."

He's too old; moving to a new place would be like tearing himself apart and rebuilding himself—he can't recover.

"Staying put on the spot will prolong your life a little longer than walking, that's all."

"So he doesn't move because he can't move."

Dionysus put down the two-handled cup.

"Now, the two who are trying to take his well," Richard continued.

"What they seized wasn't just the land itself, but the existing skeleton beneath the ground."

Richard leaned back in his chair and calmed his breathing.

Demeter's terracotta mask remained hanging down throughout.

But beneath the mask, his eyebrows twitched several times.

When she entered the temple, she regarded the few things on the table as a brood of chicks surrounding a mother hen.

But now there's at least one chick with something in its beak that even she might not be able to casually say.

On the main seat, Hecate's golden mask was always facing Richard.

After she listened, the three distinct tones overlapped.

"As Hermes said, let me add a sentence for you all."

Her mother's voice began with a gentle tone, but something else was hidden beneath.

"The one who weaves the rope is the winner among the two on Heimers Island."

He excels at planning and had his eye on this wellhead long ago.

That one is currently pulling the wellhead into his own hands.

"The harvest wasn't very smooth," the old woman said, her voice lowering.

"A fertile field that has been nurtured for a thousand years and has just been vacated for sovereignty can never be easily harvested."

The whispers that have echoed underground for millennia must be rewoven, one strand at a time, into the rope the winner must weave back into.

"That's all for the intelligence."

Hecate absorbed the three timbres, and the torch and key solidified again above her head.

She did not immediately announce the end of the event.

The golden mask swept over the faces of the seven people on the table, one by one.

When his gaze fell upon the drooping sheaf of wheat on the seventh chair, he paused for a moment.

When his gaze fell upon Ares's deathly gray, broken shoulder, he paused for a moment.

"I have something important to announce tonight."

Everyone at the table sat up straight.

"As you may recall, I said that once all seven chairs are filled, the gathering will move into its second phase."

Hecate's voice was clear and bright, typical of a young girl.

"Tonight Demeter is seated, and for the first time, all seven chairs are occupied."

"Starting from the next gathering," Hecate said, enunciating each word clearly.

"I will make a mask for each of the six people here."

The table was very quiet.

"You have all seen this picture of mine."

Hecate raised her hand and touched the edge of her golden mask with her fingertip.

The two halves of the girl and the old woman swayed under her fingertips.

"Most of my power comes from it."

"Your names were decided for you when I scattered the tokens."

"The mask is made so that the wearer can draw upon the power of the lineage associated with that name."

"How much you borrow depends on your own rank and your own foundation."

Her mother's voice continued to add to the melody.

"A mask can't magically grant you abilities."

It is a pipe that carries the knowledge of that name that has been buried for thousands of years, and guides a strand of it to you.

The deeper you dig your own well, the more water you'll draw in.

Upon hearing this, those present began to imagine the parts of themselves that resonated with the name of God.

"Let's get down to business," Hecate said, as if she could read the minds of the people at the table.

"Once you put on the masks, your individual promotion speed will be faster than it is now."

How much faster it is depends on the individual.

Those of lower rank will get a taste of its benefits first, while those of higher rank will realize its true significance.

Dionysus picked up the amphora again.

"Chief, this mask... how much effort would it take you to make just one?"

"It's not about doing it," Hecate replied quickly.

"We're adjusting each one; we have to adjust it according to the individual's constitution."

If the adjustment is off, or the pipes are connected incorrectly, more than just power will be introduced.

"Once all six of you have crossed the threshold of minor proficiency..."

"Once we have a gathering, we can move on to the third stage."

No one at the table responded.

"The next gathering is in mid-June," Hecate said, ending the conversation.

"Everyone is familiar with the way to leave."

"Close your eyes and count to seven."

Richard closed his eyes.

one two three.

The outlines of the seven masks receded in my mind, layer by layer.

Four, five.

A pipe, drawing a wisp of something that has been buried for thousands of years to you.

The more you attract, the darker and longer your shadow will become on the other side of the curtain, won't it?

six.

He thought of the Sphinx lamp, and of the still very young shadow beneath his feet.

Borrowed power must always be repaid.

seven.

The sea of ​​stars has dispersed.

The temple was empty.

Most of the suspended starry sky has faded away, leaving only the marble ring around the main seat.

Two women sat across a round table, one wearing a gold mask and the other a ceramic one.

Demeter's peasant hands fidgeted restlessly on her knees.

Hecate spoke first, but this time she didn't use the usual three-part overlay tone.

She only used that part of her mother's voice, gentle and familiar.

How did you feel about tonight?

Demeter knew what she was asking.

"Good."

She held back all the complaints she had in her heart under that one sentence.

What a joke! A whole table full of chicks surrounding you, the old hen... If those old ladies heard this, they'd laugh their heads off.

"Just that one sentence?"

Hecate found it interesting.

"You sat there all night, and all you said was 'It's fine'?"

"That's really nice." Demeter rubbed her calloused hands on her knees.

"Then tell me, what's so good about it?"

Demeter cried out in distress beneath her mask.

Her mind raced.

Of all the dishes at this table, the ones she could praise the most...

Ares praised him for his courage in losing his hand?

Dionysus praised his promotion as resounding.

Prometheus's fire barely uttered a word all night, while Nemesis's scales swayed back and forth...

Well, that leaves only Hermes.

"That... Hermes," Demeter began, "he was the most dazzling one tonight."

"Um."

"Look at him, he couldn't break that seal himself, so he asked a senior for help."

He didn't hide anything; he spoke frankly and openly.

But when he spoke, he made sure to include the senior's name perfectly, not omitting a single word.

Demeter became more and more fluent as she spoke.

"And he praised your seal, which made people feel good, but those in the know can immediately tell which side is truly superior."

This kid has high emotional intelligence; at such a young age, he knows how to handle things perfectly…

Demeter.

"...His phrase 'the appraisal fee is determined at the discretion of the appraiser' was also well-chosen; it made him seem valuable without making any absolute statements..."

"Demeter," Hecate's voice grew a little louder.

Demeter stopped.

"If you keep praising her, I'll start to suspect that you've got a crush on her."

Demeter was mortified under the mask.

"I'm just saying... you asked me to tell you where it is."

"Alright," Hecate said, a hint of amusement in her girlish voice. "Let's get down to business."

Demeter placed her hands on her knees.

"As for the mask, I told the person on the table that it will be some time before it's ready," Hecate said.

"Um."

"Actually, I can do it right now."

Demeter was somewhat puzzled.

"Pushing it back is the excuse I came up with."

Hecate pulled the pool of black water back to the center of the table.

The shadowy figures of the people at that table were reflected in the dark water.

Her fingertips landed on the phantom of Ares.

"I want to switch to him."

Demeter felt somewhat uncomfortable upon hearing this.

She is a gentle person, and when she hears about a change in personnel, her first reaction is always to speak up for the other person.

"Hecate..." she began to persuade.

"His arm is broken, and he's having a hard time right now. Replacing him at this time... isn't that...?"

"It's because of his arm that I need to get it replaced."

Hecate's fingertip touched the phantom of Ares.

"Didn't you notice? That deathly gray ring around his severed shoulder is a consequence of the [Moon Nail - Reflection] technique, which extended his life."

The remnant had nowhere to go, and turned into heat in space.

He couldn't control it himself, and even with Hermes's remote guidance, he only managed to control half of it.

"He's just an injured person, let him recover..."

"Demeter, this is not a charity hall."

Hecate took her words back.

"A hunter lost his main arm, and the stump is still decaying inch by inch."

At his level, simply raising him won't bring him back to where he is.

"He knows it in his heart too," Hecate said in an old woman's voice.

"Look at him tonight, all he has on the table are the scraps left over from the last Ashes."

He can't produce anything new; this seedling of his has withered.

Demeter remained silent.

"There are six chairs at my table besides myself."

Hecate continued to light it.

"I have to plan for each one."

A withered seedling occupied a chair. Once the mask was made, he couldn't borrow that power and couldn't advance.

"If one person falls behind, it will slow down the progress of the whole table."

"You've already... found someone?" Demeter sensed something was amiss.

"Yes," Hecate answered crisply.

"A skilled hunter, I've met him a few times. He has a solid foundation and is also quick-witted."

I plan to have him wear the 'Hercules' mask.

Hercules!

Demeter was well-informed, and she knew perfectly well what the word meant.

The names of gods are divided into different ranks.

To put it bluntly, the name of God is just a container. Over thousands of years, layers of understanding have settled down, solidifying it into an anchor.

The longer it sits, the more people recognize it, and the thicker the container becomes.

The more someone draws in, the stronger the resulting stream becomes.

Demeter's own sheaf of wheat was positioned slightly above the middle.

Grains and Mother Earth govern prosperity and decay, life and death; their containers are thick enough.

However, the scope of his duties is too broad, and his power is scattered across the fields, the harvests and the famines, the mothers and daughters, and the four seasons. Each strand that comes out is a separate strand, and he cannot condense it into a sharp force.

There are very few that are truly in the top tier.

Demeter nodded silently to herself.

Athena is one.

Wisdom, war, skill, and the protection of city-states—these elements are intertwined, yet their intertwining is remarkably clear.

That was a name with such special meaning that it was almost unique, and all those with ambition envied Athena.

Then there are Apollo, Artemis, and others, whose roots are deep and whose intentions are pure, embodying light, prophecy, and the hunt.

Hercules, without a doubt, was also among the first-class.

Demeter even felt that Hercules was more adept at "borrowing strength" than Athena.

Athena is indeed a goddess.

Born a god, he stood on Mount Olympus from birth.

That wisdom and martial prowess are difficult for ordinary people to grasp and utilize effectively.

But Hercules was different.

He was originally a human, half-human and half-god, the illegitimate son of the God-King.

Of all the demigods, he was the most tireless and the most powerful.

Born in Thebes, he was hated by the Queen of God from the moment he was born, and two poisonous snakes were strangled to death in his cradle.

All his great achievements were earned through his own hard work, one by one.

He was poisoned by the blood of the centaur, and his flesh began to fester inch by inch.

The pain was so intense that he piled up a pyre on the top of Mount Ota and set it on fire.

The fire burns away the mortal body, ultimately leading to godhood.

This is "Hercules," the ultimate in strength and endurance.

The container was so thick and heavy, and the meaning was so pure and concentrated.

To pair such a title with a well-established elite hunter...

Demeter sighed beneath her mask.

When divine beings borrow power, they always emphasize "compatibility".

"You're... trying to use the title of 'first-class' to hook up with a 'first-class' person."

Demeter understood what the other person meant.