I loaded the Mysticism panel.

The debate week is over, and life goes back to normal.

Morning class, editing group, library, meals, practice, sleep.

Occasionally, I'll spend an afternoon at the museum on weekends, only to be called to room 314 by my aunt for an extra meal.

The editorial team's workload was overwhelming, and the frontline sealing efforts far exceeded the budget.

Too many people have died.

The trench warfare has dragged on for so long that both sides are locked in a stalemate.

Blood seeped into the mud, and the sounds of death poured in layers behind the curtain.

The editing team could not keep up with the rate at which supplies were being consumed at the front lines.

Richard sat in the room, looking at a proof of a Celtic three-part closed structure over and over again.

He marked the third knot with a half-stroke deviation in the finishing stroke using a red pen.

Associate Professor Greer leaned in, his eyes showing a deep, dark patch.

"Williams, is today's batch of the improved version that the front lines needed finished?"

"It's done, it's on the table."

Greer took the manuscript away.

Richard picked up his teacup and took a sip.

Debate Week has been over for almost a week now.

Clara came in fourth place in the overall competition, which made her aunt proud in the department.

Phillips returned to the Royal Academy, leaving Richard two cans of freshly brewed tea before he left.

Montagu's side remained largely unchanged; he maintained his usual demeanor, attending classes, doing exercises, and flipping through rubbings.

Catherine was still wearing a mask, and she wrote faster and faster in her notebook. No one could say for sure whether her throat was better or not.

Fisher brought her throat lozenges twice, which she accepted, but she still didn't utter a single word.

Speaking of which, the next gathering is coming soon; he received the invitation in the mailbox a couple of days ago.

Because the sealing array of Imperial Capital University is very tight.

Given that the highly knowledgeable professors inside were frequently visiting, Hecate used the most normal mailing channel this time.

The only difference is that it has a small anti-tampering mechanism on top, which will cause the letter to self-destruct if anyone tries to tamper with it.

He continued with his life as usual, attending classes, submitting assignments, and sending out editing orders one by one.

The only change was that every night when he sent his shadow to the shallows of the curtain to practice his magic, he would mentally retrace the route through the museum's storeroom.

From the unloading point to the outer corridor, from the iron gate to the warehouse.

Every step I take, every brick I step on, every second spent on replacing the ether—all of this is meticulously planned and executed in my mind.

On the sixth run, he discovered a spot where he could cut a full twenty seconds.

The second shell doesn't necessarily have to be a cataloger.

If porter George happens to pass by the unlocked side door outside the document room while moving goods from the unloading area to the outer corridor.

He doesn't need cataloger privileges at all; he can simply walk through the side door to reach the middle-level corridor.

Saving one shell means having more spare capacity.

Richard closed the proof in his hand and placed it on the corner of the table.

The editing team has finished its quota for today, so there are no classes scheduled for the afternoon.

Richard walked over and sat for a while under the old oak tree behind the Department of Classics.

The tree roots made his buttocks ache, but the place was quiet.

He used all the clues written on the papyrus that he could.

Thoth himself said it...

"maat merer rekh. (Truth favors those who know the answer.)"

What if Thoth goes in again this time, but he no longer has the answers?

Richard shook his head; thinking too much was pointless.

He got up from the oak root and patted his backside.

On my way back to the dormitory, I passed by the notice board.

There is a new notice at the top of the notice board.

Imperial Conscription Committee Announcement:

Males aged 18 to 41 nationwide will begin the second round of pre-registration on November 1st…

Below the conscription notice, someone had drawn a line of words in pencil in the blank space:

"Saying you'd be home before Christmas is a complete lie!"

Richard glanced at it and continued walking.

At night, the countdown resets to zero.

The familiar text appeared at the bottom of the panel.

[Seed entry point is now open.]

[Enter?]

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

I selected "Yes".

Consciousness plunged into darkness.

The stone chamber was still the same stone chamber, with Tote standing right in the center.

It opened its mouth:

"The course of events that followed is not recorded in the book."

Richard sensed something was wrong.

"That's all I know."

Thoth picked up the reed pen and wrote the last line on the notepad.

After it finished writing, it turned the board around.

"maat merer shen en ib."

(Truth favors the honest.)

Richard stared at that line of text for a long time.

Sure enough, the two scrolls of papyrus had given him all the information.

Port defense map, the daytime names of the two experts, the incantation for igniting the inscription, honorific names, fuse locations, curse breaking, alternative routes...

From this point onward, it will be up to him.

He bowed slightly to Tou Te.

The stone chamber began to darken.

Consciousness once again plunged into the swaying deck.

The third time, it was like taking the same old route in a new way.

The first thing we did was separate the shadows.

When he separated them, his technique was much more refined than last time.

The shadow entered the water and disappeared below the waterline.

The gaps in the foundation of the breakwater, the path we took last time.

It's over.

With the hidden plot in place, the overt plot begins.

He began to read the inscription.

As he read on, he noticed that the inscriptions were lighting up faster than before.

My familiarity with inscriptions is also accumulating.

On the fourth time, the entire ship began to rock violently, and the tattered vulture flag on the mast was torn and snapped loudly.

Richard simply sped up the pace.

The seventh time, the inscription reaches the top.

Within three breaths, the name of the Venerable One was hurled down, and then the challenge began!

The sea turned into a black mirror, forcing the two defending experts to respond.

Everything was the same as last time, even smoother.

On the other side of the covert operation, shadows emerged from underwater, and chaos reigned within the city.

Watching a spectacle is human nature.

The enthusiasm of people in the capital for watching a fight is the same as that for watching a workers' strike in Bristol.

Yasin, replacement complete.

This time, he didn't go to the side entrance of the customs building to find Muhammad.

Richard changed his route.

Yasin jogged all the way and made his way to the freight elevator.

The elevator was manned during the day, but after the port incident, the manned staff had already fled.

He opened the metal gate of the elevator and stepped onto the platform to descend to the ground.

This route saved us a lot of time compared to last time.

Upon reaching the entrance to the logistics passage, Yasin came out and George went in.

The porter walked along the passageway to the outer corridor, and as he passed the side door outside the archives room...

He changed course again and pushed open the side door.

The side door was unlocked.

The archives room is empty at this time; all the lights are off.

He walked through the archives room and came out from the other end to the middle corridor.

The cataloger Harold's shell was removed.

Two of the four shells have already been used, leaving two more replacement opportunities.

He met Simon, the senior assistant, in the middle corridor.

Replace it with the third shell.

For the fourth time, he planned to have Abdul himself deliver the tea.

"Abdul," Richard called out to him.

The short, stout man turned around.

"The lid is loose."

Abdul looked down at the lid of the pot.

The lid is perfectly fine, not loose at all.

But as he looked down, his shadow emerged from Simon's shell and entered Abdul's body.

Richard pushed the tin cart along the outer corridor toward the iron gate.

As I approached the iron gate, Donald was leaning against the wall.

"You're here?"

"Coming," Richard replied in Abdul's voice.

"It's quite noisy outside tonight, Mr. Donald, have a drink to perk yourself up."

He filled the enamel mug with hot tea and handed it over with both hands.

Donald reached out to take it.

The two people's fingers touched the rim of the cup.

Just like that, a touch.

The shadow slid from Abdul's palm along the contact surface into Donald's body.

There is indeed a rejection reaction among practitioners.

It can be replaced with Abdul's mark and skin contact, and the effect is much stronger than before.

The entire process was completely silent.

A cup of hot tea was passed from one pair of hands to another.

Abdul winked at the iron gate.

"Who...did I finish delivering these to?"

He scratched the back of his head, then pushed the creaking cart back the way it came to the logistics passage.

Five shells, all used up.

The total time from entering the water to inserting the key into the iron gate lock was reduced by almost half compared to the second time.

The iron gate opened, and Richard walked briskly along the outer shelf past the first eight old items.

He remembered the location, type, and etheric characteristics of the first to eighth items more clearly than the lines on his own palm.

Without stopping, without scanning, even the spiritual vision was compressed to its narrowest point.

He stopped in front of the ninth old item.

Last time, he almost had the whole warehouse blown up by this thing.

The two experts set up a double trap: the sun illuminates the tradition, and the hearth fire burns the tradition; touch it and you're set off.

Richard went around it.

Behind the fuse, there are four old objects, all covered with an anti-grave-robbing curse.

The curse was forged by the priest with his own blood, and the priestly inscriptions on the mummy are the key.

Richard manipulated the still-connecting thread of the mummy's container.

He led them, thread by thread, through the passage behind the curtain to the warehouse.