I loaded the Mysticism panel.

The two returned along the same route, tacitly avoiding any conversation in the passageway.

As Richard walked, he mentally processed the images he had just witnessed.

The fighting power of the ghoul in the afterimage far exceeded what he had imagined from the written description.

Iron shuttles, cloth-cutting scissors... those are weapons that are already considered handy in the hands of ordinary people.

A dozen people surrounded a low-level evil creature, resulting in a one-sided massacre.

The two climbed out of the power distribution room, and the night wind blew in, making the front of their clothes flap loudly.

The lowest level of evil caused several deaths and the closure of a factory.

If no one sets a seal, and replaces the silver inscription and wax seal every few years.

The death groan will continue to permeate the surrounding environment, constantly disturbing ordinary people nearby.

Perkins was only slightly affected and was bedridden for two weeks.

This is just a ghoul.

Appendix C states in black and white: In the Mystic Danger Levels, Ghouls are classified as the lowest level.

What is the middle management? And what is the upper management?

The things Mr. Hutton mentioned in class:

The voices described by survivors of the New World pioneers before their disappearance, the large-scale anomalies that occurred after the destruction of indigenous ritual sites, and the government report with its conclusions blacked out.

"We recommend halting further investigation."

What level of information is behind that report?

How many lives were lost in those "expeditionary forces missing" reports that were downplayed in the newspapers?

Richard walked in the shadows of the wall where the moonlight couldn't reach. He hadn't felt afraid before, but now he felt a chill run down his spine.

The vast majority of ordinary people—fathers, Evelyn, the old woman who sets up her stall every morning, students dozing off on the school bus—know nothing about the world behind the curtain.

They didn't know what they were standing on or what was floating in the air.

The two returned to the teaching building, and Mr. Hutton opened the door to an empty classroom.

The main lights were not turned on; only the desk lamp on the podium was switched on.

The light illuminated the two tables, while the rest of the room remained dark.

He sat down at the table, took out a metal box from his bag, and inside were two things.

The first item is a silver coin, the one that was placed in the center of the silver plate when the seal was reinforced.

The surface of the silver coin was covered with a layer of grayish-blue frost.

"This is a byproduct of the sealing process." Mr. Hutton placed the silver coin on the table:

"The silver coins act as a 'filter medium' in the core area of ​​the seal; you can think of them as the scale left on the walls of the pot after distilled water evaporates."

Is it dangerous?

"No for ordinary people, but for you..." Mr. Hutton pushed the silver coin in front of him:

"On the contrary, it is somewhat useful. The ether deposited on it is purer because it has been filtered through the seal."

You can hold it while practicing breathing exercises; it will be somewhat helpful.

"I'll give this to you as compensation for the near-accident."

Richard nodded and did not refuse.

The panel lit up in the corner of my field of vision just after my thumb touched the silver surface.

Available points: +0.03

His heart started racing.

Throughout the entire basement tour, the panel remained lifeless, even amidst the dense ether permeating the air.

But once you touch this old silver coin, the numbers jump.

He already knew the answer, but to further verify it, he conducted a comparative experiment.

The numbers stopped when you placed the silver coin on the table and removed your hand.

It seems the conclusion is now irrefutable.

Antiques that can generate points share common characteristics: they are all quite old and have been imbued with ether or used in mystical rituals.

The ornaments are artifacts from the Eastern Continent, the divination plate is a ritual prop, and the Sphinx oil lamp is a priest's implement.

This silver coin has now participated in a sealing ceremony, has accumulated etheric remnants, and is itself an antique silver artifact.

Years of experience + exceptional immersion = usable.

Old but without extraordinary immersion = unusable.

No age limit but has ether = unusable.

Thinking of this, he took the opportunity to steer the conversation in a different direction.

"Sir, this silver coin looks quite old."

Mr. Hutton was cleaning his chisel when he heard this, and he raised his eyelids slightly:

"You have a good eye; this is an old coin."

"How old?"

"Turn it over and look at the front."

Richard flipped the silver coin over.

The front features a side profile relief of a man wearing a laurel wreath, but his face is indistinct.

"This is... the currency of the old dynasty?"

"Looks like you did pretty well in my history class. I thought you were only interested in Holland."

Mr. Hutton made a joke to lighten the mood before continuing his explanation:

"This silver coin was produced by the mint in the late period of the old dynasty. It's an old item from before the constitutional monarchy, which is more than three hundred years but less than four hundred years old."

He put the knife, wrapped in velvet, into his leather bag.

"These silver coins were passed down along with the seal back then."

The predecessor who set up the seal used silver coins from the same period as the medium. The silver was of high purity and had undergone a ritualistic process. Every year after it was passed down, the same batch of coins was reused to reinforce the seal.

After forty-three years, the deposits on it have become increasingly thick.

"So these silver coins themselves have become extraordinary artifacts?"

"Barely," Mr. Hutton said, fastening the clasp on his briefcase.

"It's far inferior to a true extraordinary artifact. A silver coin that's three or four hundred years old has participated in a sealing ceremony for decades, so the amount of ether that can be deposited is very limited."

It's more than enough to assist beginners in practicing breathing techniques, but that's about it.

He spoke casually, but Richard memorized every word.

As for any benefits to his spiritual practice, he didn't really need them; his progress in the breathing technique was already on track.

The greater value of this silver coin lies in its points.

He put the silver coin into his pocket, his fingers rubbing its cool surface.

The second thing doesn't look very interesting.

A small section of grayish-green withered grass stem, about the length of a little finger, with both ends dried and yellowed.

"Grey clover." Mr. Hutton pushed the clover stems under the light.

"It is a plant that usually grows in areas contaminated by ether. Occasionally, a few of them will sprout out of the damp crevices outside the seal."

The processed fibrous tissue retains trace amounts of ether, which can be used as a medium for spellcasting.

He closed the tin box and tapped the lid lightly twice with his fingers.

"The environment beneath the Greenwood foundation, with its continuous low-concentration ether permeation, is a breeding ground for plants."

Besides grey clover, there are also mycelia, mineral crystals, and salts precipitated from limescale—all extraordinary resources.

"Is there a market for these things?"

Mr. Hutton didn't explain it very clearly.

"Yes, in certain circles."

Richard didn't press the matter further.

The old gentleman drew the boundaries very clearly:

I've already taught you what I can. As for how that circle itself operates, you don't need to know right now.

"So, what can you do with gray clover?"

Mr. Hutton pulled an old piece of paper from the side pocket of his purse and unfolded it under the light.

The instructions were written in small print, a style completely different from the coded language in the book's appendix—straightforward, clear, and unencrypted.

"You can use it to do a little trick." The old man handed over the paper:

"In our line of work, it's called 'fog wall,' and it's not exactly a proper technique."

"The Fog Wall spell can cause temporary sensory confusion to the target, lasting about five to ten seconds."

The sense of direction, vision, and hearing will all become disoriented simultaneously, equivalent to being blindfolded and spun around in place dozens of times.

"What about extraordinary people?"

Mr. Hutton shook his head: "Any professional with proper training can easily handle this, but it's more than enough to deal with a clueless thug."

Richard took the paper and scanned its contents.

The steps are indeed simple: break off a small piece of gray clover, crush it in your palm, and blow a breath on it using the exhalation rhythm of four breaths.

The ether remaining in the gray clover fibers is activated by exhalation, forming a sensory interference field in front of the palm.

The effective range is approximately three meters, and the duration depends on the practitioner's proficiency in breathing techniques.

"Grey stamen grass is a consumable; it diminishes with each use."

Mr. Hutton gestured to the length of the blade of grass: "This one I'm giving you can be used eight or nine times, enough for self-defense."

Richard folded the paper and put it in his pocket along with the gray clover.

"Thank you, sir."

"Don't thank me." Mr. Hutton stood up and fastened his purse.

"You are not allowed to tell anyone anything you saw today, including the location of the seal, the entrance, and the structure of the silver inscription."

He added, "Family members are also not allowed."

"I know."

Mr. Hutton walked to the classroom door carrying his briefcase.

"Williams, you did much better than I expected today."

He turned to the side, the lamplight only illuminating half of his face:

"Your breathing faltered for a couple of beats when it was caught up in the reverberation, but you pulled yourself back to your senses."

Fearful but not run, chaotic but able to tidy up... more important than talent.

He pushed open the door, and a gust of cold wind rushed in from the hallway:

"But don't be too brave."

"In our line of work, the bravest people are usually the first to die."