I loaded the Mysticism panel.

"What are you guys up to in that corner?"

Curator Weatherby followed the sounds of discussion and crept into a corner.

He glanced down at the Hermit, the Wheel of Fortune, and the Power on the ground.

The weariness on his face was washed away.

Scholars always feel compelled to join in and chat when they see something they can say about.

"Tarot." The old man pulled a soft cloth bag from his pocket.

"I used to play with tarot when I was young."

He unfolded the cloth bag, revealing a deck of cards.

The card was worn shiny, and the edges were frayed.

It's clear that it's been used for many years, but it's also clear that it hasn't been used much in recent years.

"Speaking of which, this deck of cards has a history."

The curator slammed the sign onto the wooden box.

"When my mentor was around ten years old, he was taken on a business trip to Frankfurt by a guide."

At that time, France was still in the midst of a revolution, with beheadings happening everywhere.

The trainees nearby perked up their ears when they heard someone telling a story.

"That year, there was a man named Etheardo, whose real name was Jean-Baptiste Alliet, who set up a stall on the left bank of the Seine."

The curator picked up a card from the pile and placed it on the table.

"This man was originally a barber, then he sold seeds, and finally he made his fortune by telling fortunes for wealthy women."

He gave himself a pen name, "Eteia." Can you guess how he got that name?

No one answered.

"He spelled his last name backwards. Allie backwards is Etella."

The curator's white beard twitched. "That's all the fancy stuff I have."

Bourne laughed from behind.

"But this man has a special skill." The curator placed his hand on the old deck of cards.

"He was the first person in the world to move tarot cards from the gambling table to the divination table; before him, tarot was just for playing cards."

"The French Revolution sent nobles to the guillotine one after another, and even when they were about to lose their lives, a lot of people still went to Etheia for divination."

What are you divining? I'm divining whether my head will still be on my neck tomorrow.

The curator picked up a card and turned it over.

"Later, my mentor told me that at the time, beheadings were happening all over the streets, but Eteia was sitting calmly with a sign by her side."

Cards can't save a life, but when a person is most afraid, they'll pay anyone who can give them an answer, even a false one.

The warehouse was quiet for a while.

"My advisor bought a deck of cards from him back then," the curator said, patting the back of the cards. "To keep as a souvenir."

"This deck of cards has been with my mentor for most of his life, and with me for most of my life as well."

He flipped the cards over, folded them up, and wrapped them back in the soft cloth.

"Regarding divination," he looked up at Richard.

"It can't give you the truth; it gives you the echo of the questions you asked yourself."

"The more specific your question, the more accurate its answer. If your question is vague, it will give you a mirror so you can see yourself in it."

"Understood," Richard said.

"Let's go get some late-night snacks," the curator waved his hand. "Stop squatting in the corner scaring people."

Pritchard chuckled, a rare occurrence for him.

After the discussion ended, everyone suddenly remembered their stomachs.

The students' eyes lit up when they heard "late-night snack".

The side hall was on the second floor above the storeroom, separated from the dampness below by a low door.

The restaurant had already prepared food on the long oak table:

Thick slices of bacon, large chunks of butter readily available, and a basket of freshly baked, golden-brown scones.

A large jug containing warm milk sat on the corner of the table.

Twenty trainees swarmed around them in a flash.

The night's thrilling ordeal had turned into a real hunger pang in my stomach.

Wade Byrne grabbed a scones, ate them in a few bites, and then reached for a second one.

"I'm telling you," he mumbled, his mouth stuffed full.

"That thing with my face standing up just now... when it walked towards me, I suddenly felt a chill run down my spine. What did it say? What was it saying again?"

"It said, 'Give it back to me, I am the real Wade Bourne.'"

Catherine poured herself half a cup of black tea and replied slowly.

"You were lying on the ground, stammering 'I...I...I' for a long time, unable to utter a single complete sentence."

Everyone at the table burst into laughter.

"I was...I was scared!" Bourne said, his neck stiff.

"If it were you, and your shadow stood up, its head on your face, and it opened its mouth to take your place, wouldn't you be scared?"

"My reflection." Catherine took a bite of ham.

He stood up, glanced at me, and then sat back down.

"Why?" Bourne's eyes widened.

"It probably thought I was too fierce, so it replaced me. It won't have a good life from now on."

Another burst of laughter followed.

Edith huddled to one side, taking small bites of her scone.

She didn't join in the laughter and chatter at that table, but the tranquility on her face was the first thing she showed that night.

Tonight's experience was something she probably never even dreamed of.

Richard, holding his teacup, watched the lively scene unfold around the table.

After everyone had finished eating, the curator strolled into a side hall.

He walked to the center of the long table, put his hands behind his back, and scanned the group of trainees.

The students stopped talking.

"You have all passed this lesson. Everyone should keep a note of this. I keep my word."

"For the inscription group, Montague and Fisher held their ground, peeling away the shells cleanly."

Montagu bowed slightly but did not speak.

"Catherine." The curator looked at the red-haired girl.

"You've impressed this old man. The Highlanders from Cheltenham are indeed something else."

Catherine nodded.

"Edith." The curator turned to the end of the table again.

"You held it down by the root, and read it down one sentence at a time, steadily."

"Girls from small towns in the north, study hard, you'll have a bright future."

Edith hugged the book in her arms tighter and whispered, "Thank you, curator."

"As for the greatest merit."

The curator's gaze fell on Richard.

Richard.

The voices in the warehouse lowered.

You did two things tonight.

"You distracted the fragment for a while, diverting its initial momentum and giving me time to read the second half of the verdict."

Richard did not speak.

The curator picked up his teacup: "More importantly, you read the name of the fragment as 'load-bearing beam'."

"The reason why the judgment is so effective is partly because you broke that section down for me beforehand."

The trainees at the long table looked at each other.

"That explains why the curator read faster and faster towards the end." Bourne still had something stuffed in his mouth.

"It turns out that Williams was the one who did the dirty work."

"Not hands and feet," the curator corrected him.

"It's a scholar's job. Once you've read enough books, you've read everything that's supposed to be read."

The curator looked at Richard.

"According to the rules, the museum's collection is official property, and I cannot use public property to do favors."

Richard had expected this and was not disappointed.

"But as the curator, I still have some other powers."

The old man stroked his white beard and said slowly:

"In addition to the warehouse full of curiosities on the ground floor, the Albion Museum also has an attached area for ancient books."

Rare ancient books and unique manuscripts are things that ordinary scholars can't even get their hands on.

Even associate professors at prestigious universities have to go through multiple levels of approval to borrow books.

The curator smiled at the young man in front of him.

"Richard, when you come to the capital to study, you can come to my museum anytime you have free time."

"The books in the antiquarian section are yours to look at and read as much as you like, for as long as you want."

He added a sentence.

"Only one thing, you can't take it with you."

Richard's heart skipped a beat.

This borrowing privilege seems less practical than rewarding someone with a rare item.

However, he possessed extensive knowledge, and all the books he read left a mark on his brain.

The words, punctuation, and even the flaws in printing and engraving are all readily available in my mind.

When others enter that library, they read one volume at a time, and after finishing, they remember only three or five tenths of it.

He went into that library...

Reading a volume is like taking that volume and storing it in your mind.

Rare books, manuscripts, and fragments from hundreds of years ago, from the Black Earth River, Persia, the Spice Islands... as long as he comes frequently, sooner or later he will take them all away, scroll by scroll.

This is a goldmine; if used properly, there will be no shortage of knowledge and information to trade at the Divine Salon in the future.

Moreover, this right to freely enter and exit extends far beyond the books themselves.

The curator has given him a convenient opportunity.

From then on, he could freely enter and exit the interior of the Albion Museum based on this one sentence.

The museum is backed by the imperial government.

All the strange artifacts transported from the Black Earth River, brought back from the New World, and unearthed from temples and tombs throughout the Old World will be transferred, replicated, studied, and stored in this museum.

The volume of transit passengers is staggering.

Clement's supply chain for leftover stock is on the verge of collapse.

However, if he were to try to compete with others in the open market for rare and unusual items through other legitimate means, his current financial resources would be far from sufficient.

Now, he has at least one more line of work: museums.

As long as you can come and go freely, you can always find an opportunity to sneak in some points.

"...Thank you, Director."

Richard bowed deeply.

Curator Weatherby hummed in agreement, clearly pleased.

"Those who read should cherish books."

The old man stroked his white beard and turned around.

"Judging from your appearance, you really cherish books."

Just before leaving, he turned back and added another sentence.

"The upstairs library has good lighting, is quiet, and no one will bother you."

"It's much better than that dilapidated building where you Classics Department students argue all the time."

The old man laughed and went out the door.

In the side hall, the trainees immediately started chattering away.

"Access to the library's stacks anytime?!"

"My God... Mr. Pendleton, is this... is this real?"

Pendleton, who was holding a cup of hot tea, nodded upon hearing this, and his gaze towards Richard changed.

"The curator's words are very valuable," he said slowly.

"I've only been inside that library twice."

Montagu frowned but said nothing.

Catherine glanced at Richard, her gaze filled with deep envy, and something else entirely.

Edith, clutching her ever-present book, asked softly, "Williams... are there any books on natural history in that archive?"

"It will happen," Richard smiled. "When I get in, I'll keep an eye out for you."

………………

It was late at night, and Richard sat in the Ashford family's carriage that was taking him home.

There weren't many people on the street.

The wheels rolled over the stone road, making a series of thuds that made people drowsy.

But Richard wasn't sleepy at all.

Available points: 3.81

My walking experience points are almost full, and I'll be able to advance soon.

Once all three intelligence attributes reach level 3, the seed can be planted.

Once all seven physical and intellectual abilities reach level 3, new items will be unlocked in the [Spirit] ability.

What will the new "Spirit" feature be?

Richard leaned against the carriage, gazing at the bright streetlights outside the window.

The training program eventually comes to an end.

On his first day in the warehouse, Richard had already harvested everything he was supposed to.

The next evening, the museum called the trainees into that storage room again.

Richard wasn't distracted much this time.

There was nothing worth reading in the storeroom the next day.

After the smoke dissipated, the strange objects in the room sank one by one, the seal closed again, and the seeping ether broke.

Richard went down and took a look around, but the number on the panel didn't change at all.

He wasn't too disappointed; he had already gained enough this time, and one shouldn't be too greedy.

When it was time to leave, the curator escorted the trainees one by one to the wide stone steps at the entrance of the museum.

"Gentlemen." The old man stood at the top of the stone steps, his white beard swaying wildly in the evening breeze.

"Your studies are now complete. You will be entering the preparatory course for the Department of Classics this fall, and you will all be classmates from now on."

He scanned the group of young people.

"The news of war in the Old World is being reported in the newspapers every day."

The war hasn't even started yet, but the academy system is already bustling with activity.

"From now on, those of you who go on to undergraduate or graduate studies will likely be working for the academic system while simultaneously pursuing your studies."

"This lesson is to give you a preview of what kind of job you'll be doing in the future."

The students listened, their expressions becoming more serious.

"I won't say any more."

The curator's solemn expression dissipated.

"Go back and rest. School starts in September. I have a few elective courses at Imperial University. See you then."

He then gestured with his lip in Richard's direction.

"Richard, come over more often when you have time. I'll keep that bucket of milk warm for you."

The students laughed and joked again, and then walked down the wide stone steps in twos and threes.

Richard stood on the stone steps, watching the group of people disperse into the July sunset over the capital.

He set off from Briston at the end of May. Although he was confident in himself, he still had something on his mind because things were not yet settled.

Looking back now, the Cicero Cup was the first ticket to entry, the training was the second, and the signature was the third.

He stepped through each and every door.

When he returns in September, he will be a student at Imperial University.