I loaded the Mysticism panel.

The opening of the door clearly employed occult-related techniques, ensuring that even if someone stumbled upon the place by mistake, they wouldn't be able to open the door.

The space behind the door was much larger than the passageway, and the light from the oil lamp could only illuminate a few steps away.

A silver plate is embedded in the center of this circle.

The silver plate was covered with a thick layer of frost, the same kind of frost as the silver plates in the passageway, but much thicker, almost completely covering the silver plate.

Mr. Hutton walked into the room carrying his briefcase and squatted down about three steps away from the central area.

He poured some holy water into his palm, rubbed his hands together, and then picked up the chisel.

The original inscription has been eroded, and some strokes have become blurred.

The old man used a chisel to deepen the blurred strokes, his fingers not trembling at all despite being over fifty years old.

There weren't many items that needed to be replicated, so the task was completed quickly.

After finishing the replica, he picked up the jar of grayish-white wax, used the tip of his knife to pick out a small piece, and inserted it into the groove of the inscription to repair it.

Richard, with his back against the iron gate, maintained his breathing rhythm and watched the whole process unfold.

He mentally categorized and filed every detail he observed.

The silver plate is the "body", the inscription is the "grammar", and the wax is the "adhesive".

Holy water is probably an "extra insurance" to make sure you don't bring anything dirty back with you.

The logic of the entire system closely matched what he had read in that book on mineral media classification.

Theory has become reality.

About ten minutes later, Mr. Hutton checked repeatedly and, after confirming that there were no problems, put away his tools.

He took a silver coin from his pocket, placed it in the center of the silver plate, and pressed it down with his index finger.

The lips begin to recite.

Richard judged from the shape of his lips that he was reciting a prayer.

The repeated syllables build up and progress, making the tone increasingly heavy.

The frost on the silver plate began to gather towards the silver coin, and finally the entire layer of frost turned into extremely fine dust, which was absorbed clean by the silver coin.

Mr. Hutton finished his prayer on the last syllable.

The moment the seal was completed, the oppressive feeling that had been pressing on one's chest suddenly dissipated.

Richard was about to breathe a sigh of relief.

But then a scene appeared before my eyes.

There were no warnings, and no transition.

The circular room, the silver plate, Mr. Hutton's silhouette in the field of vision... all were stripped of their colors and faded to grayish-white, only to be covered by new images in the next breath.

He saw the textile factory workshop.

Two rows of silk reeling machines were arranged, with densely packed silk threads stretched across the wooden frames. The spools were turning, and the drive belts were moving.

Gas lamps hung from the ceiling beams, casting a dim, yellowish light that shone through the entire workshop in a play of light and shadow.

The female workers sat at their respective workstations, their fingers flying across the silk threads.

The air was filled with the distinctive fishy and astringent smell of raw silk, which mixed with engine oil and clung to the back of the tongue.

Richard's five senses were all hijacked; he was seeing with someone else's eyes and hearing with someone else's ears.

The workshop door opened, and the thing standing in the doorway used to be a young woman.

Its hair was down, covering half of its face.

She was still wearing the white dress she wore when she was put to the coffin, and she was barefoot on the floor with her toenails black.

On the half of his face that was exposed, his pupils were dilated and cloudy.

The first to see it were the female workers at the row of workstations by the door.

An older woman dropped her shuttle, which struck the iron foot of the silk reeling machine with a clang.

The sound echoed through the workshop, and everyone turned their heads.

But they found a dead person who should have been in a coffin right in front of them, with blood on the corner of their mouth and on their white dress.

After a brief silence, screams erupted from different directions.

The female workers began to back away, while two daring male workers grabbed iron shuttles and large scissors from a corner and rushed forward.

The first male worker's iron shuttle struck the ghoul's shoulder, producing a dull thud like metal striking metal.

The ghoul's body didn't even sway.

It reached out, its five fingers spread, and cupped the male worker's face.

As Richard closed his fingers, he heard the sound of a skull cracking.

The male worker was lifted up and thrown, crashing onto the silk reeling machine, breaking several threads.

The second male worker's large scissors pierced the ghoul's back, but only went in halfway.

The ghoul slowly turned around, casually shaking the scissors that were halfway in, and they fell out.

When the attack proved ineffective, order in the workshop completely collapsed.

The female workers rushed towards the back door, shoving and pushing each other; some tripped and were trampled underfoot.

Screams, cries, and the hum of the machines still running idly mingled together.

The ghoul did not chase after the crowd; instead, it locked onto the nearest fallen person.

The head was tilted at an angle that a living person's neck could never reach, and the mouth was open...

At this moment, Richard transformed from an observer into a participant.

He suddenly realized that he wasn't just looking at the scene; he was actually in it.

He is one of the people at the workstation.

He was backing away when he tripped over something and fell to the ground.

My gaze was forced upward, meeting the ghoul's cloudy pupils as it ate.

No consciousness, no malice, no hunger... nothing at all.

Whether you cry, run, or beg for mercy, it won't be any faster or slower.

Physical attacks were ineffective, life force was extracted with extremely high efficiency, and the behavior pattern was driven entirely by instinct... The gap between the dry descriptions in the book and what he saw with his own eyes was several times greater than he had imagined.

He wanted that power.

The ghoul's power is merely a corrupted and flawed product; what he desires is the power within the larger system behind the veil.

Make the inscriptions on the silver plate glow, so that you can bind or even dispel evil spirits.

Thinking of this, Richard surprisingly began to adjust his breathing without any instruction.

Take four breaths, then shift your attention away from the afterimage and back to the area behind your sternum.

Holding their breath for four beats, the warmth within the Sun Seat recombines, serving as an anchor point amidst the chaos of the five senses.

With four exhales, the textile factory workshop begins to fade, and the outline of the silk reeling machine becomes blurred.

He held his breath for four seconds, and the basement reappeared, the silver plate reflecting light and stinging his eyes.

The image shattered, and fragments of the afterimage peeled away from the edge of my field of vision.

Mr. Hutton was about to put his hand on his left shoulder and shake him awake.

Richard turned around, but the old man himself was somewhat stunned.

He expected to see a face contorted with terror and loss of control.

People who are overwhelmed by images of death and sound often experience severe stress reactions after being detached from them.

Vomiting, convulsions, incontinence, and even brief loss of consciousness.

He had seen this situation far too many times, but Richard had not.

Mr. Hutton's hand hung in mid-air, creating an awkward atmosphere.

"you……"

"I'm fine."

"What did you see?"

"The textile factory workshop, what happened after the ghoul entered."

Mr. Hutton's Adam's apple bobbed up and down.

"The full picture?"

"Complete, from the moment it pushed open the door to the moment it started eating."

"How did you get out?"

"I adjusted my breathing rhythm and used the four-fold breathing framework to draw my attention back to the Sun Constellation, and the afterimage dissipated on its own."

The old man sighed and covered his face with his other hand.

"Mr. Hutton?"

"fine."

His voice came through his fingers: "I'm reflecting on my actions."

He removed his hand from his face, revealing an old face filled with lingering fear.

"It was my misjudgment; I thought your current etheric affinity wasn't enough to trigger the afterimage..."

The final stage of the seal reinforcement process involves a brief release of ether, which is when they are most active.

"For most people, that level of release wouldn't have any impact, but your inspiration is on a whole different level than I expected."

He patted the dust off his trouser legs.

"You were subjected to a scene reenactment without any protection, and then managed to escape on your own."

"Or perhaps..." He suddenly stopped, his expression somewhat strange.

"Aren't you scared at all?"

Richard did not answer immediately.

The old man shook his head.

"I don't want to know. Let's go outside and talk about it there."