I loaded the Mysticism panel.

The silver line beside the lectern was now gleaming.

Richard glanced down using his hidden spiritual vision.

Behind the curtain, on that shallow beach, as soon as his words about "Milos" fell to the ground, something took shape there.

That was a scale.

The rusty iron beam weighed down a pile of gold coins on one end and straw sandals on the other.

Both sides are wobbling, and the weight is not in the center.

The affirmative side's argument that "facts outweigh stance" ultimately boils down to this half-iron, half-rusty scale, where neither side can crush the other.

Richard knew it perfectly well.

The true skill of a scholar lies in "convincing oneself, even when one cannot convince oneself."

Mr. Williams.

Bolton spoke, his Northern accent slower than before.

"You quoted the Athenians from Milos."

"You want me to admit that the weak can only endure."

"But you've forgotten what happened to the Athenians after Milos said those words."

Bolton raised his voice.

"They were completely wiped out in Sicily."

"Athens began its decline from that day on, and within decades it collapsed into the empty shell we read about in textbooks today."

"You're using Milos as a token...are you cursing us?"

There was a very soft gasp in the lecture hall.

Richard's inspiration followed the silver lines and looked towards the other side of the curtain.

The scale beam made a "clunk" sound, and the gold coin end was lowered by half an inch.

The weight was still moving, but it began to veer towards the straw sandal.

The patterns on the Roman gold coins that were originally floating at the bottom began to fade.

He just quoted Vespasian's saying, "Money has no smell."

The smell was brought out when Bolton’s “Athens Downhill” pulled it in the opposite direction.

Richard took a breath.

This is the rule for academic debates; his aunt had told him about it before the competition.

One allusion can establish something, while another allusion can bring it down.

Whoever roots deeper, their "thing" will be more solid.

"Opposition, continue."

Bolton didn't look at the audience; his gaze was fixed on Sir Mueller.

"The affirmative side presented three arguments today."

"One is statistics bureau data, one is Crassus's army, and one is Milos."

"Statistics Bureau data." The boy held up one finger.

"Seventy percent of the routes are by sea, and thirty percent are by unscrupulous merchants, but the statistics bureau never counts 'who decided on the sea routes' in its data."

"Of the seven members on the Wartime Trade Committee, four were directors of the three major banks: cotton spinning, flour, and transportation."

"They shut down Shanghai Road and then sold the switch keys by attaching them to their own bonds."

"You call this the pillar, I call it 'closing the door and opening the door, collecting tolls from both sides'."

The group of middle-aged men in suits changed their expressions upon hearing this.

"Classus." Bolton held up a second finger.

"The affirmative side says he paid for the army out of his own pocket, but they didn't say how he died."

"He was surrounded by the Parthians in Kare, his head was cut off, and molten gold was poured into it."

The Parthians said, "You've been thirsting for gold your whole life, now you can drink your fill."

"Was Crassus a pillar of the state?"

"He ate this pillar as if it were food, and in the end, he was filled with gold and died."

Bolton's gaze finally settled on Richard's face.

"You're lending this person to back up the trading company... you're lending a dead man filled with gold."

The steelyard behind the curtain clattered again.

The gold coin started to sink, and it sank very quickly.

Below it appeared a bronze bottle with a long beak, filled with molten gold, with its mouth facing the scale pan.

The phrase "the death of Crassus" came into being when the curtain fell, and it took on this form.

Richard knew he hadn't laid a good foundation from the start, and by this point he was already at a disadvantage.

The tilted scales behind the curtain cannot fool the judges.

But falling into a disadvantageous position is not the same as losing; he still has one last move to finish the game.

"Three minutes to wrap things up," the host announced.

"The affirmative side goes first."

Richard walked to the podium.

"Mr. Bolton talked about the night his father collapsed, the two pennies his mother had under her needle, and the pound of flour in his house."

"I deeply regret it."

His tone slowed down.

"But I'd like to ask the judges to take a look..."

"These are all matters concerning the Bolton family."

"A family's affairs may be supported by sympathy, but not by the law."

Several judges in the lecture hall nodded very slightly.

"What we are debating on stage today is whether those who profit from war are parasites or pillars of the nation."

"National laws are not established for one country alone; national laws must account for the entire territory."

Richard's gaze swept across the room.

"It's true that Mr. Bolton's mother paid two pence a night."

"But within the Empire, there are still tens of millions of mothers tonight."

"A female factory worker in the northern part of Manchester earns twelve pence a night."

The flour in her house was produced from factory orders, supplied under wartime contracts.

"The widow of a naval lieutenant in Portsmouth, whose husband sank at Dogg Beach last month."

The flour in her house was made with relief funds, which came from wartime bonds.

Richard laid his hands flat on the podium.

"Mr. Bolton talks about his family, and I can talk about others."

"The laws of the country are based on 'my home,' and they will change their face every day."

"Today she is Mr. Bolton's mother, tomorrow a factory worker, and the day after tomorrow an officer's widow."

In the end, no one can stand firm.

Richard's gaze fell on the other side of the podium.

"When calculating accounts, we must consider all aspects, including both the parasites and the pillars."

"The suffering of one family cannot be used to judge the fate of the entire nation; one can only speak for one family."

"The affirmative side maintains its original argument: 'Profiting from war' should be analyzed in detail and clearly distinguished."

"Distinguishing them relies on numbers."

"complete."

The lecture hall fell silent.

Richard's inspiration swept across the other side of the curtain.

The steelyard was still tilted, but the weight was being moved toward the center line.

The bronze bottle filled with molten gold slowly faded.

Several ladies in the first few rows of the public gallery lowered their eyes.

The Bolton family wasn't the whole area; they could understand it.

"The opposing side concludes."

Bolton stood in front of the podium.

The boy's face turned pale, and he took out the unfinished handkerchief from his pocket.

"...Mr. Williams mentioned two companies."

"That's right."

"My family's household can't compare to the entire region he described."

"But my mother won't stop her injections tonight."

The boy placed the handkerchief on the podium.

"The opposing side insists on its original argument."

"complete."

The applause this time was noticeably weaker than when Richard finished speaking.

After the judges whispered among themselves for a while, the host made the announcement on stage.

"First round of the preparatory group."

"Richard Williams, the affirmative side, has a verbal score of 8.8 and a declarative score of 8.9."

"The opposing side, Sinclair Bolton, scored 8.4 points on his remarks and 7.9 points on his declaration."

"The affirmative team leads by 1.4 points and wins."

The applause began steadily.

Richard stood up and bowed slightly to the speaker opposite him.

Bolton returned the greeting.

As the boy walked past Richard, he squeezed the unfinished handkerchief in his pocket.

"...Mr. Williams"

"Um."

"Those last two houses of yours."

"Is it true?"

"certainly."

Bolton smiled at him.

"When I come up again next time, I won't mention the handkerchief again."

The boy turned and walked off the podium.

Richard stood behind the podium, his eyes slightly closed.

He won, he won because of his skill.

There was no place where he won in his own mind.

mundus vult decipi (People are happy to be deceived)

ergo decipiatur (Then, let's lie.)

Montaguena's debate was scheduled after Richard's, and the topic was "Is imprisoning enemy expatriates a form of self-preservation or an act of injustice?"

Montagu drew the affirmative side.

The woman opposite him was Rose, an undergraduate student from the same university.

Richard found a seat and sat down.

Before Montagu came on, Catherine also sat down in the empty seat next to Richard.

The red-haired girl took a notebook out of her handbag and handed it to Richard.

Richard took it; the page was covered in tiny print, listing the contestants from various universities who had registered for this year's debate week.

And their respective families' positions in the wartime supply chain.

Richard glanced at it and raised an eyebrow.

"Why are you compiling this data?"

"Just in case..." Catherine seemed confident: "It's better to be prepared."

Richard understood.

Nemesis, the goddess who senses "excess" and "imbalance".

With the help of this goddess, Catherine can see through the bias and scheming in her opponents' words at a glance.

In order to exercise this power, she must first know where the other party's "bias" lies.

This notebook is used to guide the "direction".

Montagu came to power.

Richard returned the notebook to Catherine and turned his gaze to the debate stage.

Montagu's speech wasn't particularly passionate, but his composure carried its own weight.

"Distinguished judges, the Empire officially declared war on August 4th, and the Enemy Nationals Act was enacted on September 1st."

Our position today is: inter arma silent leges (in wartime, the law remains silent).

After Hannibal crossed the Alps, the Romans captured the Carthaginian descendants who remained in Rome...

When they were all driven out of the mountains, regardless of generation or how many years they had been registered citizens, they left behind this line of words.

Along the silver line of the debate stage, a section of protective wall rose out of thin air on the other side of the curtain.

The stones were stacked neatly, and the legion flag was stuck on the top of the wall, with the insignia of the Sixth Legion, "Eagle of Victory," inside.

As the audience listened, they leaned forward slightly.

This is how the thickness of the ether is reflected in the debate.

But the undergraduate female student on the other side is not to be trifled with either.

As Montagu sat down next to Richard, his composure silently cracked.

"The judges only gave me a 'narrow margin' as the winning decision."

The blond youth shook his head and chuckled:

"Those who can stand here are all truly capable."