I loaded the Mysticism panel.

"I'll eat the biggest one, and you can share the rest."

"After we win, we'll divide the spoils according to our contributions. I'll take the lion's share, and you'll each get a smaller portion."

"We lost..."

He tilted his head.

"If we lose, there will be a few more new heads hanging in that darkness above... even if they are our own."

After Loki finished speaking, he fell silent, waiting for everyone to process what he had said.

Lillian sat in the chair, her fingertips were cold.

She was quietly doing some calculations in that quiet place.

With three wins in the positional battles plus the one against Badr, she barely managed to sustain her continued physical and mental exhaustion.

However, no matter how much you enter through the abyss, it will leak out as well, because the barrel itself has cracks.

Team battles are another way to earn rewards; winning grants a share of the power, and even a small share is better than waiting around doing nothing.

However, with six on their side and five on the other, the situation becomes chaotic with so many people, making team fights much riskier than positional battles.

What's more, there was someone sitting at that table who had "just touched the threshold of mastery".

Loki claimed he could devour the strongest of the enemy, but what if he didn't finish him off?

What if the other party tries to take someone down with them when they die?

Lillian thought about the spoils she had recently accumulated.

Is all her current capital enough to gamble on a team battle?

Lillian did not answer Loki's question, and no one at the table was the first to speak up.

Flames danced in the hall, illuminating faces obscured by masks.

Loki put his legs down from the armrests and sat up straight, a rare occurrence for him.

"But then again..."

"The Celtic table was, to put it bluntly, just an appetizer."

Freya glanced at him.

Loki ignored her and continued speaking.

"The people sitting at that table were at most just barely touching the threshold of mastery."

He continued in the tone one would use when discussing a menu.

"After you finish this dish, the real main course will be served."

"The tables we'll be meeting next will be filled with people who are not below the level of Great Master."

Loki reached out and made a loose grasping motion in the air.

"I've roughly counted the number of tables of the same caliber as ours within the Empire."

"There is a table where more than one great master is seated."

When these words were spoken, everyone became serious.

The fact that two great masters are sitting at the same table indicates that the person in the seat of honor is at least stronger than an average great master.

A master of all trades, plus someone who can subdue that master and a bunch of lesser masters—it's easy to imagine how difficult that would be.

"There are one or two more tables. Apart from the head master, everyone else is only a minor expert, so they won't be easy to deal with either."

Loki withdrew his hand.

"The Celtic table was just a warm-up."

"I've already prepared the menu for the main meals."

"Let's leave the table for the two experts for now."

"If we're still not tough enough after we've finished with the Celtics, and we keep crashing into them, we'll just be adding them to the meal."

Hela spoke up: "Which table do you want to meet first?"

Loki's lips twitched slightly beneath the mask.

"There were three tables to choose from, and I ranked them from the easiest to the hardest to eat."

He raised the first finger.

"First choice: Greek theology."

Lillian's fingertips twitched slightly on her knee.

She herself was unaware of this movement, and by the time she realized it, her fingers had already returned to a flat position.

"The quality of the Greek table was inconsistent," Loki commented.

"Seated in the main seat is Hecate, the great master of the secrets, the weaver of the web tradition."

Her methods are good, but direct confrontation is not her forte.

He then raised his second finger.

"The remaining chairs on the table were used by practitioners and junior experts, with one or two of them having recently been promoted to junior experts."

Hela continued, "And the second and third?"

"At the second table, everyone except the head chef is an expert in their field and holds the title of the Pantheon in Rome."

The one seated at the head, 'Minerva,' is a highly accomplished scholar in the astrological tradition, and is more difficult to deal with than the Greeks.

"The third table represents the system from the Black Soil River Basin. Sitting at the table are a master expert and two junior experts, and the rest are practitioners."

It sounds even less appealing than the Greek table, but the person at the head of the table, Apophis, is a mad scholar who has walked the deep abyss tradition, and I really don't want to confront him.

The words of the scholar, a master of the abyss, sent a chill down the spines of everyone present.

Loki chuckled, "But those who traditionally walk the Abyss are all short-lived. Maybe one day he'll just die of old age on his own, without us having to lift a finger."

Freya went through the three options in her mind.

"The main table in Greece is a traditional net-weaving table... she must have set quite a few traps."

"No matter how many traps there are, they're still just paper." Loki didn't care.

"What the net weaver fears most is that you don't go into the net, but instead overturn the table and the net, and she can't hold on by herself."

"What about the table in Rome?" Freya pressed.

"You might not be able to handle all six of them," Loki shook his head.

"The difference in strength wasn't that great. We won, but we were also badly hurt."

"Not to mention the table at Heituhe."

"So the safest first meal is the one from Greece."

The candidates, shrouded in curtains in the corner, had no right to speak, but Lillian could feel their gazes shifting between the candidates.

Tyr was the first to speak up, the one-handed man tapping the table with his only hand.

"I agree to deal with Greece first."

"The traditional methods of weaving nets, no matter how elaborate, cannot withstand a direct attack."

"This table is full of people who are good at going head-to-head. Let Fenrir lead the way, Freya and I will flank from both sides, and Hela will keep wearing us down."

Simple, clean, and straightforward.

Freya did not immediately nod in agreement.

"Hecate might bring in other helpers later."

"How did you know?" Loki tilted his head.

Freya did not answer the question:

"What I mean is, it's okay to touch her, but don't treat her like a pushover."

"The best thing about the traditional net-weaving method is making you think you've won."

Loki grinned.

"Freya is right, we just need to be more careful."

He glanced around the corner and finally fixed his gaze on Lillian.

"Skadi, what about you?"

Lillian felt the eyes of everyone at the table turn towards her at the same time.

"I have no objection."

Loki stared at her for two seconds: "Alright, let's start with Celtic, then Greek."

The snake dripped saliva from his head, which then seeped into the stitches of his mask.

"No rush, go back and prepare properly."

"Anyway, those people at that table can't get away."

"No one can escape."

The fake fires, empty cups, and cold mats in the hall seemed to grow even colder after those words were spoken.

Lillian stood up, ready to leave.

As she stepped off the stone bench, she felt a gaze following her from behind—it was Freya's.

The candidates stood in the corner, wrapped in a curtain, the living and the dead crammed into the same space.

Loki, sitting on the high chair, exuded a much stronger aura than when she first entered.

In every battle where positions are reversed, regardless of who wins or loses, the one who ultimately takes the biggest share is always the one who wins.

The winner sits in the chair and continues to guard the door, fight, and feed him blood.

The loser becomes a head, hanging in the darkness above his head to help him build up his strength.

When I woke up, it was a winter night in the capital city outside the window.

Someone was singing on a street in the distance, just a few broken syllables, and it was hard to tell if it was coming from a phonograph or if someone was humming behind a window.

Lillian looked down at her hands.

The color is a fraction lighter than last month, and you can see the capillaries through the nail.

The price of the Abyss Path is to be gnawed in from the outside in.

Ms. Holloway said that she would get rid of some things that she used to think were important but later found to be unnecessary.

After taste comes temperature, after temperature comes pain, and after pain...

"We'll talk about the rest when the time comes."

Ms. Holloway finished speaking with a smile, still holding a cup of coffee in her hand.

The coffee was steaming hot and looked scalding, but she drank it all without batting an eye.

Lillian pulled her hands back under the covers and wrapped herself up like a caterpillar.

The blanket was cold, but she couldn't tell anymore.

The girl rolled over, facing the wall.

The titmouse sat motionless on the windowsill.

………………

On the other side, Richard also opened his eyes.

It's drizzling outside, and the spirit messenger hasn't arrived yet.

The items will only arrive after Hecate completes the process; the messenger uses a delivery channel behind the curtain, so the delivery time is not fixed.

While waiting for the messenger, Richard first went through all the information about tonight's gathering in his mind.

"During the period of resonance, the face and shadow shine brightly."

He had his shadow run through every line under the jurisdiction of the Hermes mask dozens of times, including communication, cross-border operations, and extradition.

If even this doesn't resonate, then the mask is probably broken.

The scene from tonight flashed through his mind; he was envious of those two divinely crafted weapons.

What is Hermes in mythology?

The flying shoes (Talaria) enabled Him to travel on the wind;

The Staff of the Two Serpents (Krykion) brings peace to all things, resolves disputes, and guides the souls of the dead.

The invisibility helmet (borrowed from Hades) allowed Him to travel through the underworld undetected;

Lyre (seven-stringed lyre): Invented on the day of his birth using a tortoise shell and cow intestines, he later gave it to Apollo in exchange for forgiveness (because he stole Apollo's sacred cow);

The shepherd's flute (Syrenks): Made of reeds, it was used to hypnotize the hundred-eyed giant Argos and relieve Zeus from his siege.

What Richard can achieve depends on how far the resonance goes.

Moreover, Hermes himself has enough potential to be explored.

The conditions for [Shadow Reversal] are almost met.

He considered many possibilities of what he would gain from reversing the mask.

Just as my thoughts were churning, the messenger from the spirit world arrived.

A gray moth landed on the windowsill, and after folding its wings, it turned into a small cloth bag on the spot.

Richard opened the cloth bag and counted the contents one by one:

The two items Hercules commissioned to be appraised (a cornflower copper buckle and a lead tube), along with the identification tag given to him in the no man's land, were each wrapped in cotton cloth.

As for that bit of soil from the no-man's-land, it's only for display; it's a cursed object that needs to be dealt with.

Demeter's tassel, wrapped in oiled paper.

Frosty branches and three bean pods, in a separate fine cloth bag.

There were also several batches of loose etheric condensates of various sizes, used to offset the cost of the authentication services.

As usual, Richard first performed a divination, checking the safety of each item.

The tarot cards and runes sat on the table for more than ten minutes without any unusual movement.

Everything that needed to be collected has been collected, everything that needed to be sealed has been sealed, and now that we've finished taking stock, it's time to go to sleep.

The rain was still falling outside the window, the fine patter against the glass like someone's fingernails gently scratching their name.

The humidifying breathing system automatically activated, and [Wild Sleep] enveloped him in a clean and tidy deep sleep.

The next morning at 7:30, he washed his face, put on his coat, and went downstairs.

People were already walking on the main road of the college area, mostly students rushing to their early classes.

The newsboy carried a stack of newspapers in his arms, his voice hoarse and sharp from the cold wind.

Morning News! East Coast Under Shelling!

Richard handed over a penny and took one from the stack.

Front Page Large Font Headline:

"Enemy ships bombard civilians on the east coast! Scarborough, Hartlepool, and Whitby are subjected to indiscriminate bombing!"

Accompanied by a photo, half of a wall of a Scarborough hotel has been sheared off.

Broken bricks and stones were scattered on the sidewalk, and curtains hung down from the second-floor window frame of the broken wall, covered in mortar.

The caption under the photo reads: "Royal Hotel, Scarborough, 8:00 AM, December 16th."

Richard turned to the second edition.

"The ruins of Whitby Abbey were hit by two shells, causing further collapse of the main tower's remaining walls."

Residents along the Yorkshire coast have expressed outrage at this unprovoked attack…

He folded the newspaper and tucked it under his arm, then continued walking toward Imperial University.

What I overheard on the table last night matched perfectly with the still-wet ink on the newspaper in my hand, amidst the newsboy's shouts.

In the afternoon, the recruitment posters on the bulletin board in the college area were updated with new designs.

"Remember Scarborough!"

The image shows a mother holding her child in the ruins. The child's face is painted bright red, and the artist used bright red to express fear and anger.

The mother's face was turned toward the viewer, and below was a line of text:

"The country needs you to avenge the innocent!"