I loaded the Mysticism panel.

Nemesis took on four orders in one go.

Hercules' seven rubbings count as one set, and Richard's ancient Gaul inscriptions count as another.

Dionysus also pulled out a piece of paper that was folded several times from his pocket.

After a moment's hesitation, Prometheus also handed over a copy, which was an alchemical manuscript.

The four orders were stacked in front of Nemesis, and she was clearly pleased: "Thanks."

Richard nodded, and his Hermes mask reacted again.

Clearly, helping a partner attract business and share profits also falls under the scope of commerce.

Demeter acted last, first paying for the appraisal Richard had previously helped her with—two medium-concentration etheric condensates.

Then two things were taken out.

The first item is a sheaf of wheat.

The golden yellow grains were so plump they seemed about to burst open, and the ears of wheat were a size larger than normal ears.

Each grain of wheat reflects a face, so blurry that features are lost, leaving only a barely discernible human outline.

But there were many faces, densely packed on more than thirty ears of wheat.

"It grew by itself in my field."

Demeter herself hesitated as she spoke.

"It started some time ago; I've never seen it before."

It becomes lighter when you take it off and place it in your palm, but it still feels solid to the touch.

She pushed the wheat stalks to the center of the table.

"I'm unsure whether this is auspicious or inauspicious; please, Hermes, help me."

Richard picked up the ear of wheat, turned it over, and gently ran his fingertips across the surface of the grains.

The miniature faces under his fingertips opened and closed their mouths, which was extremely eerie.

"I've accepted the appraisal request; I'll issue you the report later."

Demeter then took a second item from the bag.

A section of tree branch, about the thickness of an index finger, was covered in frost-white, with three fruits hanging on it, their skins grayish-white.

"Your Divine Throne Frost Bean has sprouted."

"After several months of tending to it in my cold zone, it grew into a small tree about the height of a palm."

"It's covered in frost, and its leaves don't fall off even in winter."

"The etheric plane is dead within a radius of about ten meters around the Frost Tree."

"Dead?" Prometheus turned his head away.

"Vacuum," Demeter used a more precise word.

"When I tried to apply my inspiration, I couldn't find anything. The space had been neatly scraped clean, leaving not even a trace."

Richard thought of his silencing technique.

The silence is artificial; once it's released, it lasts for a while and then dissipates.

The frost tree is natural; it does not require a continuous supply of ether from the caster and can create a desolate area around itself.

Richard stared at the ice crystals clinging to the frosty branch.

This thing is called the Throne of Gods Frost Bean, but why is the Throne of Gods above the snow line?

"The seeds were originally given by you; you should keep the frost-covered branches and beans."

Demeter pushed the frosty branch and three newly formed beans toward Richard.

"This thing is too strange. After it grew into a tree, the wheat around me stopped bearing fruit."

After I moved it to a separate area, those rows took a long time to recover.

Richard packed the frosty branches and bean pods into his canvas bag, his mind already racing.

Natural quiet plant.

He's already mastered the Silence spell, which can be cast without a medium. He wonders if using the Frost Bean Fruit as an aid will amplify the spell's effects; that remains to be tested.

If the frost-covered wood were processed into a box, it would cut off both ether leakage and external perception, making it many times better than salt sealing.

He had previously used salt and silver to seal items, but salt sealing was ultimately a temporary measure.

Using frost branches as a box is like locking those things in a soundproof room on the etheric plane.

"I'll send you an identification report later, along with an analysis of the frost-covered beans and branches."

Richard said to Demeter, "If new branches and fruit grow, we will trade normally."

"Hmm." The terracotta mask nodded.

"Intelligence sharing." Hecate slammed her hand on the table.

The people at the table finished packing up their items from the transaction.

The scales of Nemesis lit up first.

"South of the Gaelic Highlands, Erdan Village."

"Last month's statistics came in: all the men in the village aged eighteen to forty were killed in Ypres."

"Are they in the same battalion?" Hercules asked.

The words on the scale continued.

"In the same highland regiment battalion, when recruiting, the conscription officers organized the soldiers into companies by village, and entire villages entered and left."

Dionysus put down his wine cup.

Nemesis continued speaking.

"The issues we're discussing at this table aren't military matters."

"In the Highland tradition, when a man dies in battle, his relatives must sing Gaelic elegiac songs to send him off."

Richard had heard from Maggie that Guguel's funeral dirge had a practical function on the other side of the curtain.

This is a folk variant of the sleep technique.

If you sing the right tune and the right lyrics, the sound of the deceased's passing will spread along with the song, allowing them to depart peacefully.

"The old women in Erdan tried singing it, but the tune was wrong."

"They sang for three days, but the deceased did not recognize them."

The left pan of the balance scale sank heavily.

"The sounds of death piled up over the village. They grew louder day by day."

"After winter set in, some people started to smell blood at the village entrance... the smell of frozen soil being turned over in the trenches on the front lines."

"The water that the oldest woman in the village draws from Lake Erdan is red."

Nemesis stopped here.

No one at the table responded.

Richard recalled that night in Black Ditch.

The ceremony was ultimately successful because the song was right.

The song from Erdan village is incorrect; the tune the deceased recognized could only be sung by their brothers, sons, and husbands.

The sound of someone dying can recognize them.

No matter how eloquently you read the judgment, if the deceased doesn't recognize your voice, then the judgment is just a piece of text.

As soon as Nemesis's writing went dark, Hecate raised her hand and stopped the whole scene.

"At eight o'clock this morning... the east coast was shelled."

"Hartlepool, Scarborough, and Whitby."

“I know these three towns,” Hercules said.

"Hartlepool has a naval port, which is one thing, but Scarborough and Whitby are resort towns..."

Hecate lifted her index finger off the table.

"The shells hit the ruins of Whitby Abbey."

Whitby Abbey is home to a seventh-century saint named Saint Hilda, who is said to have turned a swarm of snakes that plagued the area into stone.

The ammonite found on the beach is called "Serpent of Saint Hilda" by the locals because it looks like a snake coiled in a spiral and frozen in the rock.

During peak tourist season, locals carve snake heads on ammonite rocks and sell them to tourists as souvenirs.

Hecate looked around the table.

"Some of you know the story of Saint Hilda, don't you?"

"I know," Richard replied.

"Legend has it that she transformed the snakes into ammonites."

"It's not entirely a legend." Hecate emphasized the word "legend."

"Saint Hilda sealed away a multi-headed serpent mother evil creature back then, and it's still alive."

"The ammonites are scales that fell from the main seal. They were scattered from that thing along the coastline and served as secondary anchor points."

"The monastery ruins are the sealed manifestation, and they are over 1,200 years old."

"A single shell shattered the headquarters."

"Starting that afternoon," Hecate continued, "strange phenomena began to appear in the coastal fishing villages."

"After the tide receded, swirling trails appeared on the beach, spiraling in circles from the coastline toward the land."

"The ammonite has been passed down through generations in the fishermen's family, and it feels soft to the touch."

"The church bells rang three times by themselves."

Prometheus then spoke.

Less than half an hour after he put on the mask, his speaking rhythm had already changed.

"I said something at last year's gathering."

The gazes on the table turned to him.

"Whoever can obtain the complete ledger of the national sealing system can draw a countdown map."

The flame of foresight that had just been lit suddenly blazed, and this was actually counted as a successful foresight.

"I thought it was a thought experiment at the time."

When Prometheus mentioned it casually, the whole table took it as an academic discussion.

The artillerymen operating the naval guns may not know why they are firing at a particular spot.

But the person who marked the coordinates of the warship must have known that it hit the sealing anchor point exactly right there.

This indicates that the map of the sealed nodes of the Albion Empire has been leaked to the other side of the strait.