I loaded the Mysticism panel.

The practice of the Mirror Condensation Technique began that very night.

Richard turned to the first chapter of the thin handwritten book.

The title, written in very fine brown ink, is the Latin word: "de fundamento (On ​​the Foundations)".

The following text consists of only three paragraphs.

He had already read the first paragraph to his aunt: sit still, suppress etheric fluctuations, and form a still surface.

The second paragraph discusses the transition method from other breathing techniques to cycloplegic resuscitation.

The handwriting of the scribe became smaller in this section.

"Switching breathing methods is not about abandoning the old and embracing the new, but simply about changing the course of the old methods."

A practitioner must not stop abruptly, as stopping abruptly is equivalent to cutting off the flow of water, which will disrupt the microcirculation.

Adjust it slowly day by day until the water surface is as smooth as a mirror.

This process takes anywhere from two weeks to over a month; those who are impatient will never see the mirror.

After Richard finished reading this passage, he placed the manuscript on his lap.

He took a deep breath, and the rhythmic waves of his breathing began to rise.

Wave after wave, the ether in my chest rose and fell with my breath.

He started pressing down, reducing the high-slope count from ten breaths to nine and a half.

The trough was also cut short by half a beat, and the wave was lowered by a bit, but it was still a wave.

There was no reaction in my chest.

He then changed the nine and a half beats into nine beats.

Press down for another eight and a half beats. When it's the eighth beat, the leaves of the tree of light in the Sun's Seat begin to tremble.

This is the microcirculation's stress response to changes in respiratory rhythm.

He had been using the "tidal breathing" technique for several months, and every branch of his microcirculation had become accustomed to the undulating waves.

The wave suddenly slowed down, leaving the branches somewhat bewildered.

The water level didn't rise enough when it should have, resulting in insufficient water flow at certain branch points and a short supply.

The shorter section of ether swirled at the branch point, circled twice without finding its way, and had no choice but to return to the Sun Throne.

The ether that returned collided with the ether that was pushed out in a new round of exhalation.

"Bang!"

Richard's heart was pounding, causing his entire body system to become somewhat disordered.

Sure enough, he couldn't rush things, so he quickly raised the wave back to nine beats.

My aunt said that during the period of dysregulation, it would be uncomfortable for two to three weeks.

He rested for ten minutes, and after his microcirculation had completely stabilized, he began his second attempt.

This time he pressed even slower.

[Breathing? Healing] It automatically repairs itself within the microcirculation.

The etheric fragments that had been swirling due to the lower water level were swept away by the healing warmth, and the edge of the vortex softened.

It hasn't completely subsided, but at least it's not shooting towards my temples again.

He gritted his teeth and stood at the eight-and-a-half-beat mark for forty seconds.

Forty seconds later, the leaves of the tree began to tremble violently, and he then stepped back to nine beats.

We arrived here that evening.

It took less than two minutes from lying down on the bed to falling asleep before [Wild Sleep] pressed him into the pillow.

In his dream, he stood beside a huge pool of water, the surface of which was completely still, reflecting the inscribed stones on the ceiling.

He threw a pebble into the water, and the surface shattered into thousands of mirror-like pieces.

Each mirror reflects his own face, but the expression on each face is slightly different.

One photo shows him smiling, another shows him frowning, and yet another shows him with his eyes closed… When he woke up from his dream, it was still dark.

The soreness in the back of my head is still there, like a lingering hangover.

Over the next few days, Richard attended classes as usual during the day and returned to his dormitory at night to continue his work.

[Healing] They were extremely busy inside.

While repairing the micro-damage at the point of swirl, it guides the colliding ether fragments toward the main vein, preventing them from accumulating at the branch points.

Every night after he finished his meditation, his microcirculation would feel as hot as if he had been running all day.

But when I woke up the next day, the combined restorative effects of sleeping, breathing, and eating completely eliminated the fatigue that had accumulated overnight.

This is the value of the synergy between the four skills in the [Body] system.

[Breathing] repairs microcirculatory damage; [Eating] provides all the nutrients needed for repair.

[Sleep] Make up for the deep repairs that couldn't be done during the day at night;

The automatic adjustment function for walking ensures that his breathing rhythm does not get out of control due to distraction during his daytime walking, classes, and training.

………………

Isabella glanced at Richard a couple of times when they bumped into each other during a break between classes.

She didn't ask anything, she just glanced at him a couple of times.

In those two eyes, she quickly scanned her nephew's microcirculation with her spiritual vision.

"Your cycle..." Her lips moved slightly, then closed again.

"It's pretty good." That was her only comment at the end.

Richard did not deliberately hide this from anyone.

Changing your breathing technique is like greeting someone you're meeting in the same industry.

You take the sun route, I take the books route, he takes the moon route... These are basic information that can be made public; hiding them only arouses suspicion.

Although he didn't publicize it everywhere.

In the study room, Catherine was the first to notice.

While the two were working together to disassemble the inscription rubbings, her hands suddenly stopped.

She turned her head and glanced at Richard.

The red-haired girl's gaze lingered on his chest for about two seconds before she looked away.

She flipped through the notebook, wrote a line in the corner, and didn't show it to him.

The notebook was closed, and I continued disassembling the inscriptions.

Fisher was the second to notice.

At lunchtime, he sat down opposite Richard with his tray in hand.

"Williams," he chewed on his bread, "your breathing rhythm has changed lately, have you switched to a different breathing method?"

"It's been changed."

"Which one did you switch to?"

"Mirror surface".

The piece of bread in Fisher's hand was suspended in mid-air.

"...A mirror?"

He put the bread back on the plate.

"The people who walk the mirror within the Empire... I remember Mr. Croft mentioning once that there are no more than twenty in the entire Empire."

"almost."

Fisher stared at him for a few seconds.

"amazing."

He picked up the bread again and took a bite.

"I'll probably only dare to walk on the path of ancient books in my entire life. It's safe, because there are people who have walked this path before."

He chewed twice and added another sentence.

"You bunch of people who take the back roads, you've got some nerve."

Edith placed a small note on Richard's desk during break. It had a line written in pencil on it: "Good luck."

When Montagu ran into Richard in the training room corridor, the two chatted for a few words as usual.

"What did you choose?" the blond youth asked, leaning against the wall.

"Mirror surface".

Montagu raised an eyebrow.

His expression shifted between several emotions... surprise, contemplation, and finally, an inexplicable sense of regret.

"What a pity."

"What's a pity?"

"It's a pity you didn't choose the sun."

Montagu switched the handbook to his other hand.

"If you follow the Sun tradition, we'll run into each other much more often in the system, and we'll have more opportunities to support each other."

He spoke very frankly.

The Sun tradition holds the most weight within the imperial orthodoxy, and those who follow the Sun naturally share a sense of kinship.

The Montague family is the most orthodox branch of the Sun Tradition, and the family's experts are part of the Sun Tradition.

If Richard also chooses the Sun, the two of them will be on the same level, whether in the academy system or on the front lines.

"If it's a mirror..." Montagu thought for a moment.

"There will be fewer areas for cooperation in the future, because the overlap between the sun and the mirror is too narrow."

"It's alright." Richard leaned against the opposite wall, standing face to face with him.

"There are still areas where we can cooperate."

"for example?"

"For example, if you invite me to dinner, I'll still come."

Montagu paused for a moment, then laughed.

"OK."

He propped himself up against the wall and patted his clothes.

"The food in the cafeteria is getting worse and worse. I'll invite you to my house for dinner another day."

It's a deal.

The two people walked away in different directions down the corridor.

Richard returned to his dorm and took out the toffee his aunt had given him.

As you peel off the candy wrapper, the sweetness spreads from your fingertips to your tongue.

It was so sweet that he squinted his eyes.

My aunt's taste...has remained unchanged for decades.

………………

As Christmas approaches, the campus has intensified its checks on outsiders.

The gatekeeper's registration book has been changed from one book to two, and you have to sign in and show your school badge to enter and exit.

The question of where the shelling was chosen is brewing at the higher levels; Richard learned this information from Montagu.

Suspicions of information leakage triggered an investigation by the Ministry of the Interior, with everyone in all major systems being screened.

The report didn't explicitly state it, but the expressions on the instructors' faces during class spoke volumes.

Croft drank the bitter tea even more fiercely.

Pollock would occasionally glance at the classroom door while lecturing.

On December 22nd, a white envelope was delivered to the dormitory, bearing the letterhead of the Imperial University Administration Office.

Mr. Williams:

Please arrive at Room 103, 1st Floor, Petrie Building at 3:00 PM today.

A smaller circular pattern was pressed under the official seal at the bottom.

Richard used his "Knowledgeable" feature to bring up the details of the small circular pattern.

The expressionless representative from the Ministry of the Interior stood in the corner, wearing an insignia pinned to his chest.

Whenever someone was eliminated, he would add a entry to the roster.

When Richard arrived at the door of room 103, the door was open.

The room was small, with an ordinary desk, a chair, a glass of water, and a stack of documents on the desk.

The folder was thicker than he had expected.

The representative from the Ministry of the Interior was wearing a regular suit today and was not wearing the badge.

"Mr. Williams." The other person stood up and extended his hand.

"Please sit down."

Richard shook hands with him and sat down in the chair across the table.

"You can call me Casalis," the other person said, giving a surname. "I work at the Southeast Liaison Office of the Ministry of the Interior."

"Let's confirm the basic information first."

Casalis turned to the first page of the stack of documents on the table.

Richard Williams, Briston Slag Lane, father Rogers Williams, bridge engineer.

Mother: Margaret Ashford; Maternal grandfather: Gerald Ashford.

He turned the first page.

On the second page was a line of small print, which Richard only caught a glimpse of:

"...Probationary Inspector Appointment Document (Non-Duty Drafting)..."

"You have a permanent position at the Briston branch office."

"The trainee inspector is very diligent," Richard said in a flat tone.

"What about the arming permit?"

"Category B"

Casalis drew a tiny checkmark on the document.

"You started participating in the mystical side's field operations at the end of last year."

"Whitcomb Mill Seal, Spring Maintenance at the Briston West Suburbs Mines, Operation Black Gutter at Briston, Patrol of the Folkestone Port Refugee Reception Camp, four times."

"That's right."

"Operation Black Gutter in Briston, you were ranked first among the scholars by Lieutenant Colonel Odd."

"Yes, I presided over the final resting ceremony with my mentor, Mr. Hutton."

Richard raised an eyebrow; he wouldn't be humble when he shouldn't be.

"You were also present during the North District Canal Cleanup Operation, the one chaired by Professor Mortimer."

"I am the observer."

Casalis turned to the fourth page of the document.

"Your fieldwork file contains quite a lot of information."

"During the Folkestone Harbor incident, your team was the best in the entire B-row tent area patrol group."

Richard did not respond.

"You are currently studying in the preparatory class of the Department of Classical Studies at Teito University. Your grades are among the top in your class, and you are second in the summer study preparatory group."

"Second place in the Cicero Cup, first place in the preparatory group of the Debate Week."

Casalis turned to page five of the document.

"Where does your funding come from?"

Richard has nothing he can't say:

"Father's salary, tutoring income, field work remuneration, scholarships."

"And there's the Ashford family's quarterly grant."

Casalis's pen paused on the document.

"The Ashford family, under what name?"

"Educational funding within the family is provided through Sir Gerald's personal account."

Up to this point, everything was within Richard's expectations.

The standardized procedures and questions matched perfectly with the "routine check of wartime registered personnel" listed on the notice posted in the corridor.

Casalis's pen paused on the paper for a moment.

Richard noticed a detail.

Casalis had only flipped through the first few pages of the document to answer the questions mentioned earlier.

The pages were all the same age, with uniform font size and neat format.

But the page he turned to now had different paper quality; it must have been inserted separately from another document.

"Mr. Williams, the next few questions may involve some of your personal interactions."

"If certain questions make you uncomfortable, you have the right to refuse to answer, but your refusal will be recorded."

Richard had read this script in the internal handbook that Wentworth gave to his branch office.

Before asking, stacking nails is both a courtesy and a procedure; it makes you less polite when asking questions later.

"Go ahead." Richard leaned back in his chair.

Casalis glanced down at the thin piece of paper.

Do you know William Bigelow, the coroner for the North District Public Health Office in Briston?

"I knew him." Richard nodded. "He died in the line of duty this year."

"What's your relationship with Bigelow?"

"He taught me shooting and also gave me introductory lessons in clairvoyance."

Casalis drew a short line above the word "vision" with his pen.

"There is a note in Bigelow's personnel file at the branch office that says 'apprenticeship'."

His gaze lifted from the document and met Richard's eyes.

"Number 17, Flower Moon Street, Marie Viktoria."

Richard suddenly understood.

Madame Marie's surname was Viktorva, a Slavic surname that no one would question in peacetime.

The streets of Huayue in the capital city are frequented by all sorts of people: those from the Eastern Continent, those from the Southern Islands, those who have returned from colonies...

Things are different during wartime.

In the daily list of enemy countries published in the newspapers, Germania was ranked first and Austria-Hungary was ranked second.

The larger Ross Empire to the east, although currently aligned with Albion, has a very thin alliance with the two countries.

The Ross Empire wants an ice-free port, and Albion wants to prevent any land power from growing too powerful.

Today they're allies, but who knows what tomorrow will bring?

Viktorva is a distinctly Slavic surname.

A highly skilled medium who has been operating in the empire for decades, with disciples throughout folk guilds and branch offices.

In peacetime, this is called having a deep foundation and being relied upon by all parties.

In wartime, this is called widespread infiltration, making it difficult to detect.