I loaded the Mysticism panel.

The debate week has entered its third day, and the Iliad Building is bustling with activity every day in different ways.

It was lively, but Richard didn't have a show for himself that day.

He had just finished breakfast when his aunt intercepted him at the entrance of the cafeteria.

"You're not performing today."

Isabella shoved a roll of oil paper into his hand.

"Perfect timing, come with me."

Richard recognized it immediately upon handling it; it was the flag material from the flag bearer.

"The professor agreed to take a look?" He was somewhat surprised.

"I'll take it." Isabella remained indifferent.

"The debates started on Monday, and several professors who usually travel around came back."

Isabella led him toward the Petrie Building.

"Professor Mortimer is here too; we'll be blocking him if we go over there now."

When they arrived at the office door, the aunt raised her hand to knock, but a sound came from inside first.

More than one person.

Her hand froze in mid-air, and she exchanged a glance with Richard before knocking on the door.

"Come in." It was the old professor's dry, hoarse voice.

Pushing open the door, I found that Mortimer wasn't the only one inside.

The old professor sat in an old armchair.

On the desk by the window sat an old teapot with a chipped spout, steam still rising from the spout.

Beside the teapot sat someone Richard knew all too well.

"Why!"

Mortimer took a sip of his tea, a look of relief spreading across his wrinkled old face.

"This tastes just right."

"Professor, if you like it, I'll get you another one later," Phillips said with a grin.

Richard stood at the door, looking at his tea friend.

Phillips looked up, saw him, and greeted him, "Hey, Richard!"

"...What are you doing here?"

"I told you before, I wanted to join in the excitement of Debate Week."

Phillips put the pot back on the table: "I just didn't tell you when I was coming."

Richard shook his head and chuckled.

Who would have thought that instead of joining the fun in the Iliad Building, this guy would first rush into Professor Mortimer's office.

"Little Phillips's pot is really quite good."

Old Mo sipped his tea.

"It slowly pushed those little bits of sweet, sour, and bitter taste back onto my tongue."

"I can taste it."

Richard's gaze swept across the desk and he noticed two glass jars at Phillips' feet.

"What is that?"

"I'll tell you later," Phillips said with a grin.

Isabella gave Mortimer a slight bow. "Professor."

"Oh?" The professor looked up. "Young lady, who are you?"

Richard's heart tightened.

Isabella's expression remained unchanged:

Isabella Ashford, Associate Professor, Department of Classics.

"Oh... Ashford..." the old man said, holding his teacup. "Gerrard's side?"

"Yes."

"Is your mother's name...?" The old professor frowned, trying hard to recall.

"What was it called again? Let me think... it's a name related to flowers..."

"Professor, you taught my mother before," Isabella reminded her. "Her name was Rosemary."

"Oh." The old man nodded slowly. "Rosemary, I remember now."

Richard stood behind his aunt without saying a word.

The professor certainly didn't really forget.

Pretending to be confused is a very useful shield.

Once the shield is raised, all those who beg him, urge him, or try to pry something from him will be wasting their time in front of this shield.

"Professor," Isabella said, no longer bothering with pleasantries.

"You promised last time that you would take a look at the piece of flag material in Richard's hand."

"Did I promise that?" the old man asked, holding his teacup. "Did I promise something like that?"

"You just published a paper revision proposal in the department last month."

Isabella pointed it out expressionlessly.

"You changed three inscriptions on the overprint of 'Silence Knot' and 'Reverse Lock' and hid a turning point."

The old man's hand holding the teacup stopped.

"You can revise this kind of paper so clearly."

Isabella looked at him: "You said you didn't agree to what happened last week."

Phillips stood to the side with his head down, holding his teacup and not daring to move.

Mortimer slowly sipped his tea: "Isabella, you're just like little Hutton."

"One thing kept me occupied writing letters, which took four days; another thing kept me occupied taking things apart, which took two weeks."

The old professor shook his head: "You people have almost worn my bones down."

"I don't want to grind it." Isabella placed the roll of oil paper on the desk.

"You only open this door a few times a year, how am I supposed to find you?"

The old professor grunted in response, then turned to look at Richard without saying a word.

Isabella winked at her nephew.

Richard took a deep breath: "Professor."

"The material we have is from a high-level evil creature, and it is extremely contaminated."

"We earnestly request that the professor take the time to dismantle those inner layers for us."

"Yes, you have to ask for help yourself, don't rely entirely on your aunt." Mortimer nodded, "That's right."

As he spoke, he unfolded the oil paper.

The moment that palm-sized piece of flag material was revealed, the ethereal atmosphere in the office subtly shifted.

Phillips signed his name and became more sensitive to the ether.

He subconsciously moved his old teapot closer to him.

Richard quietly deployed [Hidden Vision].

Mortimer stretched out his trembling hand, picked up the flag fabric, and glanced at it.

The hand made a very light flick in the air around the flag.

Richard's breathing slowed down.

In his spiritual vision, the dozens of layers of lingering resentment wrapped around that piece of flag were "read" layer by layer from the outside in.

As the old professor read a particular section, that section would unfold on its own, like an old painting being slowly unrolled.

"The Flag Bearer... something that has grown in the Ash Belt in recent years."

"You recognize him?" Richard asked.

"I don't recognize it," the old professor said without looking up, "but I can read it."

He touched a spot on the flag material with his fingertip:

"Look here, this flag has two attributes."

One is about "gathering," the other is about "reverse flow."

Richard moved closer.

Both of these properties are still present in this piece of material.

Mortimer continued dismantling the flag.

Upon reaching the innermost layer, the flag bearer himself flicked his fingertip.

That strand of hair broke.

In Richard's spiritual vision, the danger of the entire flag suddenly decreased.

Dozens of layers of regret dissipated, like peeling an onion, one layer at a time.

"Alright." Mortimer put the flag material on the desk: "Tear up the regret completely, but keep the attributes."

Its "gathering" property can be used to make a small flag.

When out on missions, we often encounter scattered, low-level evil spirits, which are difficult to eliminate as they are scattered here and there.

"By setting this flag up, we can gather them all together."

"Another issue is 'backflow.' When an evil creature dies, its pollution spreads in all directions, becoming material for new weak points."

The old professor tapped on the table.

"Take this material and make a 'leaking urn'."

When an evil creature dies around it, its pollution will flow back into the jar.

Once the jar is sealed, the pollution is locked in.

"This is what the front lines are most in need of."

"During the war, many people died, and the weak points became fertile."

If we could also collect the pollution during the cleansing process, preventing it from seeping into the soil…

Mortimer added another sentence.

"These two attributes are a pair. 'Gathering' means to gather, and 'returning' means to flow back."

A truly skilled craftsman can combine these two elements to create something that "both unites and returns."

"However..." He shook his head.

"This material is too heavily contaminated, making it extremely difficult to combine the two properties. Even a novice expert might not be able to do it."

"I've got it." Richard bowed slightly. "Thank you for your guidance, Professor."

Mortimer took another sip of his tea and looked at Richard.

"Little Richard, your first debate in the Iliad Building the day before yesterday."

"Are those who profit from war parasites or pillars of the nation, right?"

"Yes."

"You drew the affirmative side, speaking for those who profit from the war."

"You won that match, but you felt it wasn't fun, right?"

"...You're right." Richard didn't know why the other person suddenly brought this up.

"Your debate topic..." the old professor continued, "was deliberately arranged by someone."

Richard suddenly raised his head.

Isabella's expression changed as well.

"Professor, you mean...?"

"The bucket with the lottery results," Mortimer said, his usual smile fading. "I turned it over myself."

The office was so quiet that you could hear the sycamore trees outside the window rustling in the wind.

"I read your essay in the Northern Literature Review."

"...Professor, you've read it too?" Richard's voice was a little dry.

"Of course, your essay is truly beautiful and eye-catching."

"The people at the trading company felt frustrated after reading it, while the people in the publicity department had their eyes light up."

The old professor looked at him:

"Isabella understands this better than anyone else, which is why she has been pushing you to come to Imperial University."

"There are many unsavory things going on in our department, but there are rules here."

With rules in place, no one can touch you.

"But this week's debate week." The old man put down his teacup.

"Someone wants to break this rule. They can't directly target you, so they want to use this debate topic to give you a warning."

"The question about 'profiting from war' is tailor-made for you."

Richard silently recalled the events.

"You drew the affirmative side, so you have to speak up for the trading company."

"They recorded that part because it was well said."

If it's ever needed later, just dig it up and publish it in the newspaper: "Richard Williams of Imperial University publicly defended wartime zaibatsu during debate week."

"You didn't speak well and lost, which makes things easier: 'The second-place winner from Beijing University couldn't even out-argue someone from Manchester City, so it's all just a name.'"

Richard stood there, speechless for a long time.

He won that match, but felt an emptiness inside.

But he never imagined that someone had dug a pit for him.

"Then..." Richard's voice was a little hoarse, "Professor, are you saying that this shouldn't have happened?"

"Hmm." The old man held up his teacup.

"I went through the list of debate topics the day it was sent, and when I got to this one, I knew exactly what to do."

"I've revised this question."

"Changed?"

"I made a slight change, and the nature of it changed."

Stopping targeting you as a person becomes an ordinary, everyday question for students.

Upon hearing this, Isabella quickly stepped forward and bowed deeply.

"Professor, let me speak for this child first..."

"Alright." The old professor raised his hand, and Isabella didn't bend over. "It was nothing."

At that moment, Phillips came over and, with great tact, refilled the empty teacup.

"Richard," Mortimer spoke again, "I have one more thing to say to you."

"Professor, please speak."

"If you want to write articles, you can continue writing them later."

"...Professor, you mean...?"

"Write it." Mortimer's smile returned. "Whatever you write, I'll cover for you."

"The only people those guys can make trouble for are the younger generation who have no one to back them up."

With their backs up, they dared not move.

"Go ahead and write, I'll keep an eye on it for you."

Richard stood there, speechless for a long time.

Seemingly sensing the somewhat somber atmosphere, Mortimer suddenly turned his head and glanced at Phillips.

"Little Phillips, where's your fiancée?"

Phillips asked, somewhat puzzled, "Professor, do you know her?"

"Last time you brought her to this office, she didn't dare to come in." The old professor's tone was unusually gentle:

"She's a good girl, don't ruin her."

Phillips blushed slightly.

"Professor, how could I dare... I sent her to the Iliad Building to watch the debate today."

She trembled when she saw you; it's better to let her be more comfortable over there.

The old man nodded and said nothing more.

Isabella carefully put away the piece of flag fabric that had been completely dismantled.

"Professor, then we won't disturb you any longer."

"Hmm." The old professor didn't even lift his eyes from the newspaper.

Suddenly remembering something, Phillips picked up the two glass jars at his feet.

"I almost forgot, Richard, this is for you."

Richard, holding the flag, took the jar with one hand, somewhat taken aback.

"...For me? What is this?"

"Honey grapefruit tea," Phillips said with a grin.

"Didn't you mention to me that your aunt loves this kind of sweet drink? It's perfect to give the associate professor two cans so she can try it."

Richard was taken aback. He had indeed casually mentioned it... He hadn't expected this guy to remember it and actually send him two cans.

Isabella was standing right next to her.

She looked at the two jars, then at Phillips, somewhat puzzled.

She's been brewing honey grapefruit tea herself for over a decade; she can make it with her eyes closed.

A junior relative with whom she had never met before eagerly sent her two jars, as if she couldn't even make such a small amount of sweet drink.

"...Thank you so much." She said thank you softly and took the jar from Richard's arms.

Phillips winked at Richard.

Richard was both amused and exasperated.

………………

After leaving the professor's office, Isabella sent her nephew away.

I sat down in my office and spent the afternoon grading papers.

It was almost dark when she remembered the two jars and casually took them out.

She unscrewed the lid, and the scent of grapefruit wafted out first.

Isabella frowned.

It's not the usual cloyingly sweet aroma.

Unsweetened grapefruit tea would be unbearably sour, wouldn't it?

She poured half a glass and carefully tasted it.

Then he put down the cup, his expression changing repeatedly.

after awhile.

Isabella silently poured another half glass and gave a very soft hum.

"...That's fine then."