I loaded the Mysticism panel.

At nine o'clock on Friday night, Richard closed all the doors and windows tightly.

A sheet of white paper was spread out on the table, and a fountain pen was placed next to it.

The flame of the gas lamp on the windowsill suddenly shrank.

A black cat squeezed through the crack in the door.

"...Madam." Richard stood up.

The black cat strolled to the table, its golden eyes landing on the white paper.

"It's your first time doing this, so I'll be watching you do it myself."

That gentle concern came from a great distance, carried by the black cat.

"I will arrange another caregiver for you in the capital."

"Tonight, just do as I say."

The black cat raised its paw, and several items appeared out of thin air on the table.

Grey-flowered grass, poppy husk, bay leaf, and lichen.

"Take them in this order," the black cat said.

"After you finish taking the medicine, hold the pen in your hand."

"Don't think about 'writing' anything."

"The more you think about it, the more your writing will reflect your own personality."

"Just stay in a daze, and your hand will move on its own."

Richard looked at the piles of herbal powder, feeling somewhat uncertain.

"Madam...where did I 'go' when the automatic book was being written down?"

The black cat twitched its ears.

"You haven't gone anywhere; you're still sitting in this chair."

Those golden eyes glanced out the window, then looked away.

"What goes out is your 'inspiration'."

"Grey clover helps you relax your mind, poppy pods lull you to sleep, and bay leaves guide your way."

"The moss is a bridge."

"Build a very narrow bridge, from your chair to the depths behind the curtain."

"The spirit realm is in the deep realm, and the astral realm is also in the deep realm."

Richard's breathing slowed down.

"Automatic writing sends your inspiration to the edge of the spirit world."

The black cat then explained.

"The spirit world is filled with nothing but 'thoughts'."

"The living dispersed, the dead left behind... sifting away there strand by strand for hundreds or thousands of years."

"All you have to do tonight is reach into that sea of ​​thoughts and grab whatever you can."

It emphasizes:

"Remember, you can only fish for it unconsciously from the sidelines."

"Your bridge is too narrow; if you get too emotional or go too far, it will break."

"The bridge is broken..."

Those golden eyes had lost their warmth.

"You're someone who's never coming back."

Richard felt a chill run down his spine.

"I will protect you," the black cat assured him.

"What's going on? I'll drag you back."

Grey clover tastes bitter.

Poppy shells have an indescribable sweetness.

Bay leaves have a slightly spicy aroma.

The strangest thing is the moss; it has absolutely no taste when you put it in your mouth.

But after swallowing it, a fresh scent, like soil turned upside down after rain, rose on the back of his tongue.

After finishing his meal, he sat back down at the table and held the pen in his hand.

At first, it was nothing.

About five minutes later, his eyelids began to feel heavy.

The things in the four corners of the room slowly faded away.

The table, the wall, the gas lamp... everything was covered in a layer of water.

No, it was something thicker than water, seeping into him and the room layer by layer.

Something was floating on the edge of the well that connected to the deep world.

Strands of light swayed slowly in the thick, sticky water.

Those are the lingering regrets left behind by the dead, forgotten memories, and words left unsaid.

He heard a sound, very far away, very faint.

At first, there were only one or two wisps of sound, and it was impossible to tell whether it was a human voice or something else.

Then the sounds became more and more numerous and denser.

One strand pressed down on another, converging from all directions.

They drifted on that side for who knows how many years, huddled together.

Richard's inspiration was attached to a strand.

This is the fire that an old woman was thinking about on her deathbed—the fire that hadn't gone out in the stove.

He quickly loosened his grip.

Further in, the well wall spirals downwards in circles until it disappears from sight.

Deeper still, a few "stars" hang suspended.

The stars in the night sky twinkle.

These few things stood there, unblinking, fixed in that thick, impenetrable darkness, radiating a light that was hard to tell whether it was cold or warm.

That leads to the Star Realm.

Deeper still, something is moving.

Slow, extremely slow.

It resembled a giant whale slowly turning over in the deep sea.

Richard's gaze had barely shifted in that direction when inspiration began to throb.

He stood at the wellhead and looked down. As he looked down, his footing gave way, and he almost fell in.

Quickly retract your inspiration and go retrieve the things floating in the shallowest depths.

The black cat crouched on the corner of the table, its golden eyes fixed on the boy without blinking.

Richard's lamp is now very dim.

Multiple layers of concealment and protection kept the light of his beacon very dim.

No one noticed this tiny, dim flame among the things floating and hanging in the well.

But if Richard sinks too deep, that little spark will fall into the well on its own.

The black cat stood guard at the well, its ethereal form resting lightly on the well's edge.

Those bigger things at the bottom of the well, if they want to climb up along Richard's line, they have to get past this first.

With it, Richard could extend his inspiration to the edge of the well, sifting out strands of ideas that floated to the top.

The more Richard tried to make money, the more he could feel his inspiration changing.

He read and wrote more documents in one night than he usually deciphered ten documents in a single day.

Inspiration, washed by this sea, surged forward at breakneck speed.

He filled one page with handwriting, then started on another.

The vast majority of it is noise.

Broken sentences, circling symbols, endless repetition...

However, there were a few things mixed in that made it somewhat understandable.

His hand wrote down a tune.

It's an old funeral ballad, only half of it, the other half is broken.

Next came a line of crooked numbers.

It seems to be a debt someone was keeping in their heart even on their deathbed.

He owed someone two pounds and seven shillings, and never paid it back before he died.

The next part is the incantation halfway through.

Only halfway through, leaving people scratching their heads; looking at just this half, they can't seem to pull off anything.

His hand wrote down another string of latitude and longitude coordinates.

It was a sailor who drowned at sea, and the last thing he saw was the surface of the sea where he had sunk.

There's also a counting rhyme to lull children to sleep, which stops counting to seven.

These things, individually, are not worth much.

You can save them up and give them to people in the guild; you can get some money from them.

In a daze, Richard "saw" a shadow drift past the edge of the well.

The shadow was so thin it was translucent; it looked like a dead person.

It wasn't going anywhere; it just swayed slowly by the well.

Richard recalled the things he had deciphered.

After a person dies, their shadow, or Shute, remains in the underworld and continues to exist.

This is the "vessel" through which the deceased travels on the other side.

The faint echo floating near the wellhead is probably the lingering sound left behind by someone who died long ago.

It didn't recognize Richard, and Richard didn't touch it.

Separated by a thick, sticky layer of "water," neither side touched the other.

Richard had a vague feeling that he had a different understanding.

All of what he pulled up were echoes.

Focus on the echo, not the main body.

Touching the true form... an existence that can maintain a clear consciousness deep within the veil of the spirit world is definitely not something he can touch.

Richard's handwriting filled one page, then he moved on to the next.

At one point, his hand suddenly stopped.

Then, it wrote extremely quickly.

What falls onto the paper is no longer a series of punctuated sentences.

It was a series of overlapping sounds, which he carefully copied down one by one with his hands.

Each strand was very light and weak.

This is the cry from the heart of someone who is afraid of death.

"Don't let me die."

"Don't let me die."

"Don't let me die."

……

One strand pressed down on another, densely covering most of the page.

Richard felt a sudden tightness in the back of his head.

This stuff is different from the shallow material scattered around the wellhead.

The shallow material was scattered, each strand separate from the others.

This whole "Don't let me die" sentiment is united as one.

Tens of thousands of strands twisted together, coalescing into an unyielding and powerful will.

Amidst this overlapping exclamation of "Don't let me die," his hand suddenly stopped.

Then it wrote another sentence.

This sentence is different from the tens of thousands of strands mentioned earlier.

It was clear, loud, and carried a condescending tone.

It was as if someone stood on top of everyone's heads and shouted.

"The archers are right above you."

Richard copied down this sentence.

The black cat's golden eyes suddenly widened.

"That's enough!"

Its voice went directly into Richard's mind.

As Mrs. Mary raised her hand, the hand holding the pen stopped.

The thick, sticky layer of "water" around us slowly receded.

The table, the wall, and the gas lamp that had been pressed down—each element became clearer.

Richard suddenly snapped back to reality.

A dull ache spread up the back of my head.

He looked down at the piece of paper.

Several pages long, mostly filled with incomprehensible gibberish.

But the middle half of the page was filled with overlapping phrases like "Don't let me die."

At the end, there's a solitary line: "The archers are right above you."

"These..." Richard's voice trailed off, "What are they?"

"Fragments of the spirit world." The black cat nodded.

"Most of it is noise, scattered thoughts floating on that side."

"For those few items that you can glean some meaning from, McNeil will cash them out for you."

"But these two." Golden eyes fell on the large half-page.

"Someone on that side twisted tens of thousands of strands together into one."

Richard stared at the area marked "Don't let me die."

"Tens of thousands of strands," he murmured.

"Tens of thousands of people are afraid of dying at the same time, and they all want the same thing," the black cat said.

"When these things come together, they become a strong will in the spirit world that cannot be dissipated in a short time."

After finishing his work, the black cat squatted on the corner of the table, its golden eyes scanning Richard.

"You've probably been practicing silencing techniques lately, haven't you?"

"Yes." Richard's eyes lit up as he remembered what his aunt had said earlier.

"Is there anything you don't understand?"

Richard outlined several of his current challenges.

The black cat slowly tapped its tail tip twice.

"Your vacuum is easily dissipated because you only 'explode' but don't 'lock' it in."

Richard listened intently.

"The principle behind the Silence technique is very simple: it involves creating a pool of 'stagnant water' around the target."

"Once the water dies, the ether can't be transmitted, and you've got the target under your control."

"The vacuum you just exhaled is so vibrant."

"Once it dissolves, the external ether seeps back in, and the target recovers."

Richard pondered silently.

"Mr. Reeve's genius lies in 'locking'," the black cat continued.

"He not only spat out the stagnant water, but also 'stitched' the edges of the stagnant water shut."

"Using the Silent Fern to cast a spell will automatically seal the gap for you; that's the significance of the medium's existence."

But if you're separated from the medium, you have to manipulate the ether yourself to sew it, which requires a lot of practice.

"Thank you, Madam." Richard was immediately enlightened.

"Practice this technique slowly, don't rush."

The black cat stood up and squeezed out through the crack in the window again.

That's all for tonight. McNeil will contact you if there are any further plans.

Only after the person left... or rather, the cat left, did Richard finally have a free hand to look at the panel.

The progress of the three skills of [Perception], [Critical Thinking], and [Knowledge] is increasing.

Richard was somewhat surprised; he had originally thought that the automatic book would only increase [Perception].

When you immerse yourself in the spiritual realm, it's no surprise that your perception increases rapidly.

However, critical thinking and knowledge also surged forward.

However, the automatic book-keeping system is not only "collecting" but also "discerning".

Tens of thousands of thoughts drifted across that sea, and the very act of discerning was growing [contemplation].

And everything he copied down was a "document" he had never read before.

[Knowledge] also increased accordingly.

Richard mentally reviewed the progress of the three items.

[Knowledge] lv.3, almost 70%;

He had been helping out in the editing team during this period, which was cultivating his critical thinking skills.

With the addition of the automatic note-taking task, the progress of [Critical Thinking] has now exceeded 90%.

At this rate, he should be able to reach [Critical Thinking] level 3 by the end of the month.

The three aspects of wisdom are almost complete.

With all three of these in place, he's about to experience more than just an "inner awakening."

First, the seed's planting conditions require that all three intelligence attributes reach level 3.

In addition, once the four physical attributes and the three intellectual attributes all reach level 3, the [Spirit] attribute can also unlock new functions.

Just like last time, critical thinking is a key; once it's unlocked, everything else is unlocked.