I loaded the Mysticism panel.

When Richard entered through the west side hall, a queue had already formed in front of the lottery box.

The winners from the three age groups gathered together, a dozen or so people, each of whom had fought their way up from their respective competitions.

Most of the people standing in the side hall were graduate students.

The senior student, acting as a guarantor, took out a slip of paper from the bucket, unfolded it, and read it aloud.

Richard Williams, Imperial University Preparatory Course.

Debate Topic: Can a state forcibly conscript someone who does not wish to die?

"The opposing side."

The second slip of paper was then drawn.

"Reginald Thorpe, graduate student in political economy, affirmative side."

Richard turned his head and looked towards the other side of the side hall.

Reginald Thorpe stood there, a plump, white man.

Based on the information Catherine showed him, the Thorpe family was in the shipping business in the capital.

As soon as the war started, all the shipping orders poured into his shipyard.

The ether on this person was much thicker than he himself.

The two went to their respective seats, and the host walked to the center of the stage.

"Match 3: Graduate student Reginald Thorpe vs. Prep student Richard Williams."

Thorpe looked up.

"Distinguished judges, the crux of today's debate topic does not lie in the words 'forced conscription'."

The voice wasn't loud, but the air in the entire lecture hall seemed to sink as soon as those words were uttered.

Richard's brow twitched slightly.

This is something pressed out of the ether thickness.

In this field set up by a great scholar, the words he uttered made one involuntarily want to nod in agreement.

The reporters at the newspaper could probably only vaguely describe it as "having an imposing aura".

Thorpe held up one finger.

"The right of an individual not to die is a right."

But all rights must first be recognized and realized by a living union.

"Therefore, in times of survival or destruction, the logic of coexistence takes precedence over the wishes of any one individual."

He raised his hand.

Along the silver lines of the debate stage, a wall was erected out of thin air on the other side of the curtain.

Unlike the superficial performances in the group stage, Thorpe's performance was solid and reliable.

"At the Battle of Cannae, Hannibal killed 70,000 Romans in a single day, and his main legion was annihilated."

Thorpe speaks very slowly.

"The Senate did not sue for peace or ransom."

They conscripted slaves and seventeen-year-old boys, armed them, and filled them into the legions.

He led the way toward the city wall.

"salus populi suprema lex esto (People's welfare is the highest law)".

Forced conscription is the price, and this price buys everyone the right to continue living.

"The argument is complete."

"The opposing side's argument."

Richard walked to the podium.

"The affirmative side tacitly acknowledged one thing: if those unwilling to die were put in the positions, they could truly protect the city-state from the enemy."

What we want to ask today is precisely this "truly possible" question.

Richard raised his hand.

He erected a Roman general in a toga robe, standing behind the curtain.

"deuotio (dedication)".

"In the Battle of Viseris, Consul Decius covered his head in front of the entire army."

He offered himself and his enemies to the gods of the underworld, and charged into the enemy ranks alone to die in battle.

The Romans believed that his death was what secured their victory.

"But think about it, why is giving alms useful?"

He looked down at the audience.

"Because Dekius walked up there himself."

He recites the blessing himself, he whips the horse himself, he gives up his own destiny; you can't force someone to make a sacrifice.

"Therefore, our judgment is: whether a life can protect a city-state from the enemy depends on whether it signed the agreement itself."

"Those who have signed can be suppressed and kept at bay; those who haven't signed can't be suppressed."

The last sentence refers to the voices behind the curtain.

The wives in the audience, whose family members were on the front lines or who had just received the telegram, only understood half of what was being said.

Richard returned to his seat.

"Cross-examination, the opposing side goes first."

Richard didn't touch the city wall; it was too thick to be breached.

"Mr. Thorp, you are using this group of forcibly conscripted people to prove that 'forced conscription is useful'."

I only have one question: What did Rome promise those slaves?

Thorpe lifted his half-closed eyes slightly: "...Freedom."

"Yes." Richard nodded.

"As long as you survive the war, you will be freed from slavery and become a free man."

The group of people you mentioned were precisely those who volunteered.

On the other side of the curtain, next to Richard, the standing general, several slave soldiers, freed from their shackles and wielding short swords, faintly appeared.

Thorpe spoke slowly.

"Mr. Williams has made a good choice... The slave soldiers were granted their freedom voluntarily. I'll leave that to you."

His voice deepened again, and the already stuffy air in the room seemed to grow heavier.

"But when a city-state is about to perish, there's no time to ask each and every one of them, 'Are you willing or not?'"

"If you want to preserve one person's 'voluntary' consent, you have to hand over the lives of hundreds of thousands behind this wall."

On the other side of the curtain, the city wall pressed forward with a thunderous roar.

Richard's breathing became heavy.

The delicate form cannot withstand the weight of the heavy form.

Sure enough, no matter how accurately Richard chiseled the converging part, the other party could easily twist the whole thing back into place with a single hammer blow.

"The affirmative side maintains its original argument. That concludes the discussion."

The room was completely silent.

On the other side of the curtain, Thorpe's city walls stood majestically.

Richard's exquisitely crafted Roman figures were incredibly ethereal.

The judges' discussion didn't last long.

The host announced this on stage.

"The affirmative side wins the third match of the finals."

Applause broke out.

Richard's words scored very high.

Thorpe's announcement, however, allowed him to overtake Thorpe.

Richard was defeated, and he understood the defeat perfectly well.

He won with words; he lost behind the curtain.

No matter how precisely he chiseled, there wasn't enough ether, and the wall simply wouldn't budge.

Richard walked down from the debate stage and passed the affirmative side's podium.

Mr. Williams.

Richard stopped in his tracks. "What's wrong?"

"Your description of dedication was so beautiful, so beautiful that I almost didn't want to win against you."

Thorpe glanced at the receding curtain wall.

"It's a pity, pretty words can't save the city, nor can they..."

Richard looked at him; this young master was subtly trying to put him in a bad light.

A voice drifted over from the side: "Hey, who's this?"

Phillips squeezed in from the audience at some point.

"Mr. Thorpe from the School of Political Science and Economics," Richard introduced.

"So it's Mr. Thorpe." Phillips gestured towards the receding city wall.

"Your wall is really sturdy! I'm just curious, do you run a shipping business?"

"Yes."

"So, did you build this wall with ship planks, or with someone else's son's life?"

Thorpe's expression changed: "What do you mean by that?"

"It doesn't mean anything," Phillips said innocently.

"I'm just asking on behalf of those on the front lines."

While they were eating hard bread in the trenches, your supply ship probably earned them several lifetimes' wages in one trip, right?

Thorp opened his mouth.

"...I don't care about any of that," he managed to say.

"There are many things you can't control," Phillips shrugged.

"I'm upset that you beat my friend, so I came over to have a chat with you. This is none of your business."

He winked at Richard.

"Let's go, the tea's gone cold from talking."

The two walked out of the lecture hall, and even after walking quite a distance, they could still hear Thorpe muttering something to someone behind them.

Richard glanced at him. "You don't need to do this."

Phillips laughed heartily:

"Your explanation of Dekius was so good, it warmed my heart as I sat there listening."

As a result, you were completely suppressed by his dilapidated wall. I felt so sorry for you watching that.

Richard smiled too.

"Words determine direction, ether determines power."

No matter how accurate my direction is, if I don't have enough strength, I still can't push it.

"Then what will you do in the future..." Phillips frowned.

"From now on, I'll just focus on building a solid foundation for myself."

"Once I get my ether up here, I can kick down that crumbling wall of his with one kick."

"Ha, that's ambitious," Phillips whistled.

"When you kick him over, remember to call me."

"Definitely."

As the two were talking, Montagu walked over from the audience; he had also lost.

Of the dozen or so people who advanced, 70-80% were graduate students.

"I also met a graduate student." Montagu stopped next to Richard.

"Are you convinced?" Phillips interjected.

"I accept it." Montagu wasn't particularly disappointed.

"I can't find any fault with the part where I made my argument."

But that pressure from the other side... felt like trying to push a millstone with a thin needle.

"However, at least we were the only two from the pre-college program to make it to the finals."

As they were talking, one of the graduate students walked over.

Richard's gaze met Clara's.

She thought she had overheard Richard and Thorpe's conversation earlier.

Richard nodded to her, and Clara returned the nod.

Her gaze lingered for a moment in Thorpe's direction before returning to its original direction.

Richard didn't think much of it.

We lost this match, but there are still several rounds left in the finals.

The competition among graduate students is only just beginning to get heated.

Phillips put his precious teapot into his handbag and looked at him.

Are you free tonight?

"What are you doing?"

"There's a small bar east of the college district that specializes in rare wines from all over the country."

Phillips rubbed his hands together.

"Constance is going back to her parents' house today, so it's perfect timing for the two of us..."

"I'm busy tonight," Richard interrupted him.

Phillips' smile lingered in mid-air.

"Going back to studying again?"

"More or less," Richard said vaguely.

The countdown to the seed's germination has begun; it will reset to zero tonight.

Phillips pursed his lips but didn't press the matter further.

"Alright then." He waved to Richard.

"Let's have a drink together sometime when you're free."

The two parted ways at the intersection.

Richard walked along the sycamore-lined avenue towards his dormitory.

After the start of the semester, the department assigned dormitories to the students.

Ashford is nice, but it takes almost two hours to get there and back from the West End to the College District.

Every day is such a hassle, and half a day is spent just on the road.

So he usually sleeps in the college area and only goes back to his Ashford home once every two weeks.

The dormitory room is a sunny single room.

A bed, a desk, an old wardrobe, and a gas stove.

Compared to the rooms in Ashford House, it was naturally much more shabby.

Richard, on the contrary, preferred this place.

The night was quiet, and no one bothered him, so he could do whatever he wanted.

When I got back to the dormitory, it was already completely dark.

One by one, the streetlights lit up, casting deep and shallow shadows on the old walls covered with ivy.

Richard first bolted the door from the inside and then drew the curtains tightly.

He sat down at his desk and brought up the control panel.

The countdown in the seed section is ticking down, one bar at a time.

The first Sphinx seed I received was "Shadow Reversal".

What will this second one be?

Richard was unsure.

Based on the experience with the first seed, once the countdown reaches zero, a puzzle will pop up on the panel waiting for him.

Time passes little by little.

The clock tower outside the window, whose location was unclear, struck ten times in the distance.

Richard got up, turned down the lamplight, and poured himself half a cup of hot water, placing it on the bedside table.

He lay down on the bed, pulling the blanket up to his chest.

At the bottom of the panel, the countdown timer had reached zero.

[The seed has sprouted; the entrance is now open.]

[Enter?]

He chose "Yes".

Consciousness, plunged into darkness.

Maybe three seconds, maybe three minutes.

A deck appeared beneath them.

It felt like a boat bobbing up and down in the waves beneath my feet, a heavy, swaying sensation.

Richard lowered his head.

The feet that came into view were bare, so thin that they were just bones, and the skin had been tanned to an indescribable color by the sea breeze and the sun.

The toes are very long, and the nails are black.

This is not my own body at all.

He tried to raise his hand.

His arms were wrapped in linen cloth, which was printed with faded priestly inscriptions.

Am I turning into a mummy?