I loaded the Mysticism panel.

Before dawn, a horse-drawn carriage was waiting in the east of the slag heap alley.

Richard's suitcase had already been packed and placed at the entrance to the living room.

A large suitcase, filled with clothes, books, notebooks, and all sorts of oddities;

A suitcase containing necessities for the journey, mostly food.

Rogers moved the suitcase to the back of the carriage.

Margaret stood at the living room doorway, her apron still on.

Evelyn ran out of the house, holding a cup of hot milk.

"elder brother."

"Want some?"

"……drink."

Richard took the cup of hot milk.

A spoonful of sugar was added to the milk, just like the one my sister made for the cat last time.

Richard finished his drink in one gulp and handed the cup back to his sister.

"Let's go," Rogers said from the doorway.

"Um."

Richard turned around.

Margaret was still standing in the living room doorway.

Richard walked over and stopped in front of his mother.

Margaret didn't say anything, but simply reached out and smoothed out a fold that had risen up on her son's collar.

"...Call home when you arrive."

Richard straightened his back.

"Mom, I'm leaving."

Evelyn stood at the living room doorway, holding the empty cup.

She waved to her brother.

"Brother, don't eat all the almond cookies at once."

"……good."

Evelyn's eyes lit up.

She held it in, held it in, until Richard got into the carriage, then turned around and ran back into the house.

………………

The train station during wartime was different from usual.

Three iron railings were erected at the entrance.

Two military policemen stood in front of each iron railing.

The military police had their pistols tucked into their waistbands and armbands hanging on their left shoulders.

The armband has a red background and is embroidered with an eagle with outstretched wings.

The queue stretched from the entrance all the way to the steps outside the square.

Most of the people in the group were young people in casual clothes, carrying small cloth bags on their shoulders with hemp rope tied at the top.

They were all conscripts going to the front lines.

At the other end of the line were officers in military uniforms, nuns in black dresses, and government workers in suits.

There are fewer people here, so you can walk faster than on the other side.

Richard carried the briefcase and followed behind his father.

Rogers placed his suitcase on the stone steps and took the telegram out of his coat pocket.

"The special train attached to the back of the military train, board with your ticket."

"Um."

Rogers walked to the iron railing at the entrance.

He handed the telegram to the military police.

The military police glanced at him, then at Richard.

"...Mr. Williams?"

"He's my son," Rogers said.

The military police nodded.

"That way," the military policeman pointed to the other end of the line, "the military passage."

"it is good."

Rogers turned around and beckoned Richard over.

Richard walked over with his briefcase.

The military police took his suitcase and he went through a security check at the iron gate entrance.

"Platform 4, the innermost special train."

Thank you.

Richard stepped over the iron railing.

On the other side of the iron bars, Rogers remained standing still.

He couldn't bear to leave even after his son's figure had disappeared from sight.

Inside the station, the military train was already stopped on the tracks, with each carriage covered by a canvas cover.

Sentinels stood on either side of the carriage door, their rifles fixed with bayonets.

Richard followed the guide and walked along the platform to the innermost part.

At the very end of the military train was a passenger car.

The carriage wasn't large, with six seats, four of which were empty.

Two middle-aged men in black wool suits were sitting there; their attire suggested they were government officials.

Richard sat down in a window seat.

Outside the train window, there was a group of people on the platform.

At the front of the military train, the conscripts had already boarded the train.

As the last person boarded the train, he glanced back at the platform.

A woman was standing outside the platform when the conscript waved to her.

At 8:50, the whistle sounded.

Outside the car window, the forest of chimneys in Bristol slowly receded into the distance.

Passenger traffic on wartime railways decreased day by day.

I'll probably be back during a long holiday.

………………

The train entered the capital city in the afternoon.

Ashford's servants stood at the exit. Richard got into the car and looked out at the bustling scene.

Military control in the capital is much looser than in Briston.

Shops on the street remained open, and posters were still up at the theater entrance.

The flower vendors, shoe shiners, and ice cart vendors were all there.

The newspapers report daily battles on Heimers Island, but the Imperial mainland is separated from it by a strait and most of the western continent.

This fire will most likely not reach this area.

Life goes on as long as it doesn't burn.

Drinking parties, dances, gatherings, horse races—enjoy yourself as you please.

Others risk their lives in battle, while you spend money to have fun.

People always need to find a place to vent their inner unease.

The carriage turned into the old residential area in the west of the city.

The iron gate opened, and Richard entered carrying his suitcase.

The house was very quiet, almost too quiet.

The butler came out to greet them.

"Young Master Richard."

"The master left a few days ago, saying he went to France."

"It was in a rush; even the staff had to pack our luggage."

Richard asked, "Where are Cousin Vincent and the other uncles?"

"He's not here either." The butler brushed the coal dust off his clothes.

"Young Master Vincent set off two days earlier than the Master. Other family members either went on field missions or were too young to attend military academy for intensive training."

Richard had a plan in mind.

When the war broke out, every able-bodied member of the Ashford family, a hunting family, was conscripted.

Upon entering the room, the butler opened the door.

"The master said that you should be careful in everything you do when you are alone in the capital during the war."

"If you need to go out, please let the household know, and we will prepare a carriage to take you."

"understood."

The butler left and closed the door behind him.

Richard put his luggage away.

On the table was the glass jar from the Royal Hotel, containing the almond cookies my sister had rushed to make.

Richard unscrewed the lid of the jar, took a piece, and put it in his mouth.

Crispy, thin, and sweet with slightly charred edges.

My sister's cooking skills have improved again.

My aunt will only return to university in Beijing in September, and there are still more than two weeks until the start of the new semester.

He's been free these past few days.

If you're free, then you have somewhere to go.

………………

The next morning, Richard told the butler to prepare the car and head to the Albion Museum.

As usual, there was a long queue in front of the museum.

The line was shorter than it was during the Black Soil River Grand Exhibition, but it wasn't deserted either.

A newly erected wooden sign stands at the entrance, with words painted in red:

"The Spice Islands and Southern Lands Special Exhibition is now open."

Richard showed his identification and entered through the side door.

Inside the side door, several museum guides were carrying brochures and hurrying towards the exhibition hall.

Upon encountering him, everyone stopped in their tracks.

"He's here!"

A tall, thin man wearing round-framed glasses put down his pen and shouted towards the exhibition hall.

"Mr. Williams has arrived!"

Several heads popped out of the exhibition hall, as if they had seen reinforcements.

Richard was completely bewildered by this scene.

"What happened?"

"Today's event has just as many people as the one at Black Soil River."

The tall, thin man put his glasses on the bridge of his nose.

"The curator has piled more work onto us."

"You have a mouth that can talk a mile a minute; if you hadn't come, we would have talked until our throats were hoarse."

Before the words were finished, footsteps were heard from deep within the exhibition hall.

Curator Weatherby strolled out with his hands behind his back and spotted Richard from afar.

"Good, good, good!" The white-bearded old man was overjoyed.

"I was just saying, who knows, maybe one day you'll come over."

"The same old rules apply once you arrive."

Curator Weatherby walked up to him and gathered his beard to his chest.

"Today, several of the museum's veteran staff members couldn't speak fluently about the Spice Islands segment."

Snake gods, human sacrifices, skin-changing sorcerers… they had a wealth of historical origins to tell, but their explanations were dry and uninteresting to the guests.

He gestured with his chin toward the row of glass cases in the exhibition hall.

"It's time for you to show off your storytelling skills again today."

Richard had already anticipated this, so he didn't refuse.

"Then tell me."

Do the work first, then you can make demands later.

The tall, thin man next to him relaxed and stuffed the stack of picture books in his arms into his hands.

"The main hall is the most crowded area, but the curator has reserved it for you."

The special exhibition on the Spice Islands is now located in the main hall that was originally the site of the Black Soil River exhibition.

The layout of the main hall is completely different from last time.

The scene at the Black Soil River was extremely solemn.

The entire hall resembled a hollowed-out pharaoh's tomb, with its gray-black stone and half-open coffin lid, and cabinets piled high with cold gold and bronze artifacts, making one instinctively tread lightly.

The Spice Islands, however, were a different story.

The museum hung pieces of dyed cotton cloth from the dome, creating a sense of depth and mystery reminiscent of a tropical jungle inside.

At the base of the wall were imitation coconut and banana leaves, their green color appearing dull.

The Sphinx that was squatting in the center of the Black Soil River Grand Exhibition Hall has been moved.

Now, standing in the center of the hall is also a stone sculpture.

It was a multi-armed deity, sitting cross-legged.

Seven or eight arms stretched out from his sides, each holding a different object.

They are a curved sword, a severed head, a small drum, and a string of prayer beads.

A long string of sculpted heads hung around her neck, from her chin down to her navel, each head bearing an expression of terror.

The deity stuck out its tongue and stepped on a tiny person crawling on the ground with limbs outstretched.

Compared to the Sphinx with a missing nose at the Black Earth River, this angry-looking deity is much more frightening.

Along the base of the walls on both sides, there are still rows of chest-high glass cabinets.

The serpentine bronze vessel is coiled up, its forked tongue flicking out;

The sacrificial knife was engraved with ferocious patterns, and its blade was curved into a crescent moon.

The drum, covered with leather, had a taut, shiny surface.

There were also several cups that were worn smooth and oddly shaped, with blackened metal rims around their mouths.

Just like last time, the real stuff is locked in the warehouse.

The Spice Islands event was marked with signs for "Serpent God" and "Living Sacrifice".

The more terrifying something is, the more alluring it becomes.

As soon as the event started, a large group of people rushed in.

Richard has already consciously entered a working state.

He cleared his throat and pointed to the multi-armed goddess standing in the center.

"The first thing you'll see when you enter is definitely her."

The people surrounding him looked in the direction he was pointing.

"If you can't remember my name, I won't force you."

All you need to remember is... she's in charge of 'destruction'.

"Destruction?" A young gentleman in a top hat raised an eyebrow.

"Yes, destruction." Richard's voice wasn't loud, but it was enough to command the crowd.

"The string of heads hanging around her neck, if you count them, there were fifty in total."

A chuckle rippled through the crowd.

"What she wants is blood." Richard's tone turned serious. "And not just any blood."

He led this group of people down the glass case.

He stopped in front of the drum covered with skin.

"This drum seems quite ordinary to everyone," Richard said, pointing vaguely.

"But the drumhead isn't actually covered in cowhide, nor is it made of any common animal hide."

A skinny boy who was squeezed in front immediately asked, "What kind of skin is that?"

"Human skin!"

The smile on the skinny boy's face froze.

"In the subcontinent, there are priests who specifically target people who have just died, and while the skin is still warm, they peel it off and stretch it into a drum."

Richard spoke at a measured pace.

They believe that when a person is alive, all their breath and fear remain in their skin.

A drum made from such a stretched leather can summon the gods with a single strike.

"This...this is too..." The young gentleman in the top hat shook his head, unable to continue.

Richard then strolled over to the strange cups with metal rims.

"Now look at these cups."

"They are also made from human skulls."

Upon hearing this, a woman in the crowd immediately hugged her child tightly.

Richard continued his explanation:

"They would choose a deceased person who had been blessed in life and take his skull."

Polish it, wrap it with metal edges, and use it to hold offerings and libations.

They believed that by borrowing the deceased's vessel, they could communicate with unseen beings.

"That dead man...does he want to?" A little boy's voice trembled beside him.

Richard looked at the child and laughed.

"Good question."

He crouched down to be at eye level with the child.

"Over there, nobody asks that question."

Why?

"Because there are some people who, from the day they are born, are never asked whether they want to be."

At this point, Richard straightened up.

The people in that circle all had somewhat indescribable expressions on their faces.

There was shock, discomfort, and a touch of curiosity about being suspended in mid-air.

Richard's tone turned somber.

"There are rules on that side of the subcontinent."

He stretched out his hand and drew a few horizontal lines in the air.

"A person's destiny is predetermined from birth."

The highest rank is that which is in charge of sacrifices and communicating divine pronouncements;

Below that, there were those who fought wars; below that, those who traded; and at the very bottom, those who farmed and worked the land.

"Each of these four classes has its own way of life, and each should keep to their own duty, and they should never disrupt this order in their lifetime."

The son of a farmer is born to be a farmer, the son of a priest is born to be a priest.

Richard drew another line heavily beneath the four horizontal lines.

"Besides these four categories, there is another type of person who doesn't even qualify as a category."

"Not considered high-ranking?" the young gentleman in the top hat asked curiously.

"Not really." Richard nodded.

"Burning corpses, skinning animals, cleaning latrines, tanning hides... all the jobs that are tainted by #039#039 are done by these people."

"The four classes above all felt that these people were filthy to the bone."

Some people in the crowd marveled at the sight.

Every word Richard uttered weighed heavily on people's hearts:

"Their children are not allowed to go to school, and they are not allowed to draw water from the public well even if they die of thirst on the roadside."

The woman holding the child turned pale.

"Is this...is this how a human being lives?"

"That's just fate where they are," Richard replied softly.

"They'll never be able to turn their lives around, life after life. They're like this in this life, and they themselves believe it will be the same in the next."

Richard paused.

"The altar needs blood, enough to fill it with #039贱#039's life, so naturally it's picked from the bottom."

Sending them to the altar was, in the eyes of the upper class, no different from slaughtering livestock.

"Those inexhaustible bones..."

Richard gestured with his chin toward the bone cups.

"While alive, they are the mud beneath the feet of the upper class; when dead, they are offerings on the altar."

"From birth to death, they never had a moment that belonged to themselves."

The people gathered in the main hall remained silent for a long time.

The woman finally couldn't hold back any longer and quietly withdrew from the crowd, pulling her child along.

Richard watched her departing figure, knowing that these things were too heavy, too heavy to bear in his mind.

But he insisted on telling the story.