I loaded the Mysticism panel.

In the picture, the sky is dark red and the ground is scorched black.

The air was thick with large clumps of pollutant, so thick that it almost obscured visibility.

A group of evil creatures are surrounding a flag.

The flag was pieced together from countless sewn leather pieces, varying in color and with crooked seams.

The one holding the flag was a tall, thin, evil creature.

Richard immediately used his extensive knowledge.

He thoroughly explored the entire database in his mind.

But there wasn't a single one that could be used as a support.

"You shouldn't be able to find it in the booklets you have."

Hercules' voice came.

"It's not in the official records either; our field team came up with this name ourselves... Flag Bearer."

He raised his large, fan-like hand and lightly touched the flag in the picture.

"The evil creatures of the Ash Belt have always occupied their own lairs and tore each other apart."

"Those places where death clusters together, the deathly aura seeps out and breeds this kind of superior evil."

"It usually doesn't do it itself," Hercules continued.

"It raises its flag to gather the evil creatures under its banner into an array, and then continuously amplifies its power."

In the scene, the evil creatures surrounding the flag all exuded an aura far surpassing that of their kind.

"The most troublesome part is yet to come."

Hercules' tone turned somber.

"Whether it's its own minions or the enemies strangled by that flag..."

As long as one dies within the flag's coverage area, the emitted etheric pollution will flow back into the body through the flag.

"So that's how it is," Richard thought to himself. "That's how it corresponds to the rank of a higher-level evil being."

Killing its minions is feeding it; the more fiercely you kill them, the faster it grows.

If you stay still, that group of amplified evil creatures will drown you alive.

There was no way to advance or retreat, and the opponent was getting stronger the more they fought.

The only way is to finish the battle quickly and break through the encirclement to kill them at the very beginning.

In the scene, Hercules does exactly that.

Several field colleagues, whose faces were obscured, followed behind him.

The team first got tangled up with the evil creatures under their command.

With the help of his companions, Hercules swung his giant olive wood club and smashed it into the shield array formed by the evil creatures.

With that one blow, the entire shield formation was smashed to pieces.

On the table, Nemesis, the tilted balance scale, its pan wobbled.

After gaining leverage, Hercules's etheric density far exceeded that of ordinary minor masters.

A single swing of the stick can truly create creases in the air.

Richard understood the situation.

That's the weight of a first-class title.

With Hercules' help, Hercules' brute strength had reached the point of mastering ordinary techniques.

In the scene, the evil creature, having lost the protection of the shield array, is in complete chaos.

Hercules moved step by step toward the flag.

The flag bearer tried to run, but Hercules grabbed the flag.

He tore the flag, made of countless pieces of leather, in half with his bare hands.

Once the flag is broken, the flag bearer immediately disappears.

The evil creatures under his command also collapsed like puppets with broken strings.

The people at the table all felt their hearts race.

But Richard's gaze fell on the torn flag.

[Quiet Observation] The still water quietly spread out, sinking deep into the picture, and he saw the flaw.

There are two different breaks in the flag.

One version is that Hercules tore it apart with his bare hands; the cut is thick and rough, indicating that it was ripped apart by immense brute force.

Another one is hidden in the corner of the flag, with a clean and fine break; that is not the work of Hercules.

Richard understood.

The standard-bearer had already been severely injured by something else before Hercules made his move.

The scene continues to move downwards.

After Hercules tore the flag, he did not stop.

He went berserk, and the borrowed ether began to surge outwards.

He wielded a giant club and smashed everything in his field of vision to pieces.

He repeatedly pounded the fallen evil creature with his club, smashing large craters into the scorched ground.

It was a destructive urge devoid of reason.

Richard recalled an old story about Hercules from mythology.

Hera, the queen of the gods, was jealous of him and unleashed madness upon him.

In his madness, Hercules killed his wife and children with his own hands.

The twelve penances that followed were meant to atone for this sin.

The projection above Hecate's torch abruptly stopped.

None of the people at the table paid any attention; they had seen enough of the exhilarating hunt.

Dionysus, still holding his wine cup, gave a perfunctory toast to Heracles.

Richard's heart sank even further.

He combined the two flaws into one.

One possibility is that Hercules' true strength might still be somewhat lacking compared to killing a high-ranking evil being;

Another, even more serious, consequence... Hercules is already being affected by that mask.

The price of Hera's envy has begun to gnaw at him.

His uncontrollable excitement, his surging ether, his irrational rage... these were all the price the mask paid.

"Good idea," Prometheus said first.

The voice beneath the crimson mask was neither hurried nor slow.

"Lord Hercules' strength is truly enviable."

His words were well-considered, only praising the strength.

This "fire thief" has a keen eye; he probably didn't miss those two broken edges.

He simply noticed it but didn't point it out, which was typical of his composure.

"Just lucky," Hercules waved his hand dismissively.

Beneath the lion's mouth mask, the excitement hadn't completely subsided.

"A few of my teammates helped me tie it down first, and I just finished it off with that last hit."

This last sentence wasn't against my conscience.

It's true that I'm strong, but not to the point of deceiving myself.

Hecate withdrew the view from above.

"You have all seen what Hercules brought."

Her girlish voice was clear and bright.

"The evil creatures in the Ash Belt are becoming increasingly restless."

The golden mask turned toward Demeter.

"Demeter, you should show us too."

"Hercules showed you power; now you will show you production."

Richard had a general idea of ​​the intricacies of Hecate's arrangements for tonight.

First, the newly rich Hercules showed off his "power," then Demeter showed off her "production."

One represents martial arts, the other literary; one represents strength, the other gentleness; both demonstrate the amplification that can be obtained by using the divine mask.

Demeter raised her calloused hands from her knees.

She took things out one by one from a coarse cloth bag that was about half her height and stacked them on the table.

Several small earthenware jars sealed with wax, rolls of oiled paper, and a dozen tightly clenched paper twists.

The desktop was quickly filled with her clutter.

With this display of power, the expressions of the people at the table became more serious.

"I'm guarding the fields," Demeter said slowly.

"After putting on the mask that the chief prepared for me, I can urge this field to grow faster."

Richard had his own guesses.

What the other side is guarding is definitely not an ordinary field.

Most likely, it's a weak point that she's tended to for many years, or a sacrificial site that's already abundant.

Demeter opened the largest roll of oiled paper.

Inside were all sorts of seeds, spores, roots, and dried leaves, big and small, black and yellow, all neatly arranged.

She went through them one by one, saying little, only the name and purpose.

"Silent Fern".

She picked up a small handful of dark green, fern-like spores.

Richard's inspiration came to him immediately.

The Silent Fern—that's what he's been searching for lately.

The fog bell is ultimately a substitute, which means his "silence" technique remains usable, but only at the level of being usable.

"This thing has reached the edge of the deep realm; it's hard to find through legitimate channels."

"I can grow it here, and the yield is stable."

She continued.

"Multi-eyed black moss." A clump of black, moss-like stuff.

"Spirit Realm Pomegranate Seeds." A few dark red seeds.

"Whoever eats it will form a pact with the spirit world, and can be used as a medium for sealing or pursuing."

Demeter continued to move down.

"Soul-soothing poppy." A handful of deep red, almost black, fine seeds.

"Spells for calming the soul and putting the spirit to sleep are all useful. Crush the spirit and sprinkle it around the deceased to calm the restless spirit."

Richard's mind drifted back to that night at Black Ditch. If only he had had this thing back then...

"Narcissus of the Underworld." A few shriveled, grayish-white bulbs.

"A medium for guiding souls and communicating with spirits; those with high spiritual sensitivity might wander into the wrong place at night if they carry it."

"The root that corrodes the bones." A section of dark, slowly wriggling root.

"It can gradually erode away the residue at the etheric level. If you have items that you shouldn't keep, you can use it to deal with them."

She reported here and picked out an ear of wheat from that roll.

The ear of wheat was swollen and bulging, each grain so full it seemed about to fall off.

But when she pinched it with two fingers, the ear of wheat shriveled up and became empty.

"Abundant wheat." She placed the shriveled ear of wheat back on the table.

"It grows extremely fast, with very full ears of grain, but it's hollow when you pinch it."

Her terracotta mask tilted slightly towards the main seat.

"Don't just look at the benefits, everyone."

"A borrowed harvest is illusory."

"Things that are forced to grow still don't have the same effect as those that grow naturally."

Richard listened, mentally connecting this statement with Hercules's earlier performance.

Hercules' power surges, but he will be consumed by his blood rage.

Demeter's harvest is plentiful, but the effect is diminished.

Everything borrowed must be returned.

"These..." Demeter vaguely gathered the things scattered on the table.

"These are just some I specifically picked out. I have dozens more in the library, but I can't bring this many tonight."

This seemingly casual remark carried more weight than the whole table of seeds that had just been laid out before.

Demeter was far more intelligent inside than she appeared outwardly.

She felt that this meal was even more interesting than the last one.

Last time, a brood of chicks surrounded the mother hen; this time, there was an extra half-grown, wildly charging rooster.

Of course, the old hen is still Hecate.

Hecate, of course, had no idea what her best friend was thinking; she simply continued with the plans for the evening.

Having laid the groundwork, it's time to get to the main event of this gathering.

"You have all seen what Demeter brought."

"Now, let's get down to business tonight."

"The Mask of Godhood".

Everyone at the table sat up straight.

Hecate raised her hand, palm up.

The outlines of a torch and a key flickered on her golden mask.

Four masks appeared out of thin air in the center of the table, slowly rotating as they hovered above it.

Each one is different.

One was crimson gold, one was deep purple, one was silver-white, and there was another… Richard’s breathing slowed when he saw his own.

It was a bronze mask with a pair of outstretched wings cast on its surface, and two snakes coiled around the wings.

The golden-winged serpents, the symbol of Hermes.

"Before I hand over the mask to you," Hecate's three-part chord resounded.

"Let me make things clear to everyone first."

"I've clearly stated the power that the mask can provide. I've also clearly stated the price that the mask comes with."

She raised her hand and gestured towards the four hanging masks.

"A mask cannot give you power out of thin air."

"It is a tube that carries a thread of the understanding of that divine name that has been buried over thousands of years to you."

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

Richard sat in his seat, weighing Hecate's words in his mind.

The rhetoric is still the same old thing.

She acknowledged the risks and clearly stated the price, explaining the costs in detail.

But she explained the consequences and shifted the blame back to the person wearing the mask.

If you're not drawing enough water or are losing your way, it's because your own well is faulty; don't blame the pipe.

This person in charge never lies; she only misinterprets.

"There's no need for you all to be overly cautious," Hecate's old woman said in a lower voice.

"We are a group of people, growing together."

Her golden mask spun around, scanning the six people at the table one by one.

"Harming you will do me no good at all."

"With the help of the mask, the promotion will be faster than it is now."

This benefit is for everyone to share; the faster you leave, the more solid my position will be.

"Alright." Hecate stopped using the triadic melody and only used that segment of her mother's voice.

"I've said everything I needed to say."

She raised her hand and gestured towards the silver mask.

"Nemesis".

The silver-white mask floated across the center of the table and stopped in front of Nemesis.

Nemesis caught it.

She held the mask in her hands and looked into it.

Hecate's mother read it aloud for her.

"The goddess of retribution, the keeper of the scales, the one who holds the whip and the reins."

"The power of Nemesis is the ability to perceive 'excess' and 'imbalance'."

"Those who overstep the bounds cannot escape her scales; the whip can be used for punishment, and the scales can be used for accounting."

Nemesis held the mask, remaining silent.

"The price." Hecate's mother's voice turned somber.

"The goddess of retribution must not be allowed to lose her balance."

"Wearing this mask will drive you to feel an urge to 'set things even'."

"What is owed must be repaid, what is received must be repaid; any imbalance must be punished."

Even if doing these things will be detrimental to yourself.

"Every favor you do, every humiliation you suffer, will leave a mark on your mind, forcing you to find a balance."

Catherine stared at the mask in her hand.

While others are debating whether or not to wear it, she feels she absolutely must.

Richard watched as Catherine raised the silver mask and slowly covered her face with the decorative mask that had been covering her.

The moment the other person put on the mask, their aura became completely unfamiliar.