I loaded the Mysticism panel.

At night, the dormitory door was locked from the inside.

Richard has been going through all the money he's accumulated since returning to the capital these past few days.

He fed Shadow first, then took out the high-purity condensate from the hidden compartment and placed it on the table.

A shadow emerged from behind the curtain, and the dark mass solidified a little more as Whitby stood there.

Its tentacles reached towards the condensate, clinging to it and sucking it in bit by bit.

This piece is of high quality and digests slowly.

Richard checked his pocket watch; the shadow had been nibbling for almost an hour and had only eaten a small portion.

The core oscillation frequency returned to the standby level, which took another ten minutes or so.

It eats slowly but grows fast, and the density of its shadow has visibly increased.

"Eat slowly." Richard put the remaining half of the corner back and locked it in the Frost Branch Box.

The shadow, of course, couldn't understand, but it reluctantly retracted its whiskers.

Richard touched his nose, feeling a strange sense of déjà vu.

Evelyn's tortoise eats cabbage leaves in the same way.

If you take away the vegetable leaves, it will stretch its neck very long and chase after you relentlessly.

Next was the half set of rune stones.

This thing is useless in itself; it requires a large amount of ether to work.

But Richard had something that others didn't—naming.

He laid out the six stone tablets in a row and first used his spiritual vision to "read" them one by one.

Each rune has its own meaning.

He had thoroughly understood all the names of this set of runes from the Rune Preliminary Study Notes.

The first one, fehu—livestock, wealth.

Richard applied his inspiration and analyzed the stone fragment completely, from the etheric layer to the material layer.

The depth, angle, and spacing of the blade, as well as the meaning of the runes themselves, all unfolded in his mind.

Then he unveiled the name.

"fehu".

He wrote down Fu Wen's original real name exactly as it was written down.

The ether fell onto the stone along the conduction path, and the change occurred immediately.

Normally, to activate a Fehu runestone, one would have to pour in almost all of their current ether reserves in order to barely elicit even a slight effect.

After naming it, the rune lit up using less than one-tenth of the usual amount of ether.

Moreover, the power unleashed exceeded the enhancements that could be obtained through normal use.

Richard stared at the lit stone, his mind racing.

The core of naming ability is "recording real names".

Runestones are orders "carved" onto them by people, and each one has a clear and unalterable name.

This is a perfect match for naming ability.

Ordinary people using runestones have to rely on brute force to pour ether into them, forcing out that little bit of order.

Richard didn't need to be forced; he simply read out the rune's true name, and the rune recognized it on its own.

It saves energy, and it's even stronger.

He tried a second one.

uruz – raw cow, power.

After analyzing the naming, Richard felt a sudden surge of brute force in his forearm.

He gripped the corner of the table and strained, causing the large oak table to groan under its weight.

The third one, thurisaz—thorns, giants, a double-edged sword of defense and offense.

The fourth one, ansuz—God, Word, Revelation.

When this coin was activated, Richard's thoughts became inexplicably clear for a moment.

The fifth one, raidho—journey, wheel, journey.

The sixth one, kenaz—torch, knowledge, revelation.

Six runestones, six true names, six effects.

Richard meticulously recorded the activation consumption, duration, and enhancement level of each item in his notebook.

Runestones are inherently "carriers of true names," so their compatibility is naturally perfect.

However, these stone fragments are all missing a corner, so it's only a half set.

Li Jue realized that if he collected the complete set, the runes could be linked together to form an array, and the effect might double.

That's a matter for later.

After doing all that, Richard opened the panel.

The report on the wax tube and the cornflower copper clasp that Hercules had entrusted to him for authentication was completed, and the items should be sent back.

Before sending it back, he went through it once again as usual.

I stole a little bit of ether from each and every one of them.

The lingering female voice coming from the other side of the curtain in the candle holder, the last vestige of the German youth's obsession on the brass clasp before his death... all these little things add up.

Add to that the sedimentary ether he extracted from that half-set of runestones that did not affect its original function, and all of it together.

Available points: 2.84...2.96...3.11.

The score has broken the three-point mark again.

Richard stared at the line of numbers for a while.

He neither strengthened his Astral Projection nor expanded his Spiritual Form.

Since switching to the Condensing Mirror Technique, both he and Shadow have made great strides in their breathing techniques.

He brought up the "Breathing" section.

[Breathing Lv.4, progress 82%.]

One of the conditions for unlocking the [Breathing] skill at level 5 is "Mastering an advanced breathing technique".

He has fully adapted to both advanced breathing techniques, namely the Tide Breathing and the Condensation Mirror Technique, so this step can be considered accomplished.

It takes 2 more points to upgrade to level 5.

Richard saved the points.

He needs to wait until his [Breathing] progress reaches 100% to accumulate 2 points, then level up to lv.5 in one go.

At that time, he will be able to advance his trait to the [Spring of Life] level.

He envisioned using qi to heal others, and this was the effect he had.

Richard leaned back in his chair, thinking about the darkness at the cave entrance, the two sentences in the dining car, and his grandfather's increasingly shallow breathing.

In this current atmosphere of impending crisis and unease, [Yongquan] might come in very handy.

It was very quiet outside the window; after the lights were turned off, even the moon seemed exceptionally bright.

He put the panel away and did one last set of cycloplegic breathing.

Holding your breath and pressing down, the etheric fluctuations gradually decreased.

Once we reached that line, all the information from the entire dormitory flooded in.

The ink bottle on the corner of the table, the coat hook on the wall, the street lamp outside the window that wasn't turned off by the authorities... all of these were reflected on his still water.

Within a week, replies poured in like snowflakes.

The printing factory owner wrote Richard a hastily written note and tucked it on top of the stack of letters.

"Your #039 person who has seen the black dog #039 has filled up my inbox. Next time, at least let me know."

I've sorted out some addresses that are clearly incorrect for you; you can handle the rest yourself.

Richard moved an entire stack of letters to his desk in the dormitory.

It was a thick stack of documents, varying in size; some were in proper envelopes, while others were folded account book pages torn in half and stuffed inside.

He spent two nights reading all the letters.

Most of them can be ruled out; either they made up the story out of curiosity, or they mistook an ordinary stray dog ​​for a black dog.

But the remaining dozens of letters left him felt his fingertips go cold after reading each one.

Most of them came from Yorkshire.

A letter arrived from a farm woman thirty miles south of Whitby, her handwriting crooked and illegible, clearly written by someone else.

"My man saw it on his way back from the pub, as he passed the fence of the church cemetery."

It's described as a dog, but it's two sizes bigger than a regular dog.

I squatted down next to the cemetery gatepost, not calling out or moving, but a pair of eyes looked over from that direction.

My husband lost his voice the next day and couldn't get out of bed. The doctor said it was a heart problem.

Another letter came from the Cleveland Hills in North Yorkshire; the writer identified himself as a gamekeeper.

Locals call it barghest (demon dog).

The demon dog will not make a sound when it appears in front of you.

The older generation says it comes to collect, not your body, but your time.

It can determine how many days you have left to live just by looking at you.

The longer you look at it, the closer the date will be.

I saw it on that path in Nangu last winter solstice night, and it's still alive.

But I can't say for sure.

The handwriting at the end was much more shaky than at the beginning.

There was also a letter from Lancashire; the sender said he was a postman from a town north of Manchester.

"We call it Gabriel ratchets here."

It's not like the black dog you described in your submission, the one that squats on the ground and watches you.

It's in the sky. Sometimes when you're walking outside after dark, you can hear a sound overhead that sounds like a flock of geese flying by.

But the calls of geese are #039 ga ga ga #039, and they are uniform.

This is different; its rhythm is three long and one short, three long and one short.

Like a hunting dog chasing something.

There's that thrill of the hunt in it; the sound travels from one end to the other, and someone's bound to have an accident the day afterward.

It may not be death, but it's definitely a big deal.

Richard categorized the dozens of letters by content and used the "Reflection and Introspection" method to find patterns.

[Reflection and Inner Awakening] were activated, and he examined these dozens of matters from different angles.

He copied the date of death from each letter onto a piece of paper and arranged them in chronological order.

After the dates were arranged, they fell on a few specific nights.

Christmas Eve, Lent, Halloween, and several nights of great storms.

On those particular nights, while he was studying runes, he vaguely caught a glimpse of a word.

Wild Hunt.

In Norse mythology, the king of the gods leads a procession of the dead on these specific nights for hunting.

Richard folded the paper and put it into his notebook.

He went to see his aunt.

Isabella listened to his explanation of the whole story and remained silent for a while.

"Go find Corbyn for this part," she said.

"Associate Professor Corbyn?"

"You met him that time, Whitby. Runes are his specialty."

Isabella rubbed her temples.

"The Wild Hunt, Runes, Nordic folklore... he's far more knowledgeable about these than I am."

Richard took the hunting schedule and went to Trinity College to find Corbyn.

He found an excuse to ask Rune for help with his studies.

Half a set of runestones was conveniently displayed, serving as a ready-made trigger.

Corbyn's office was piled high with rubbings and fragments. When Richard entered, the associate professor was hunched over his desk, examining a stone with a magnifying glass.

"Rune lessons." Corbin put down the magnifying glass after hearing Richard's purpose.

"Make yourself clear first. Do you want to learn how to read, use, or originate runes?"

These are three different things; you can't lump them together like runes, that's academically inaccurate.

Richard knew about this problem of his all along.

"Origin." He chose one.

"Then you should have been talking about the traditional origins of runes," he corrected.

"It was my fault for using the wrong words," Richard admitted cooperatively.

Corbyn was satisfied. He put the stone away and pulled out a few booklets from the pile of books.

"What do you want to know?"

Richard took out the half set of rune stones, and then casually mentioned it:

"When I was collecting ghost stories, I heard a lot about black dogs and 'hunting at night,' and I wanted to figure out if there was any origin of runes in them."

Corbyn's eyes lit up.

When his profession is mentioned, this usually dry-talking associate professor becomes much more talkative.

"What you call 'night hunting' has a proper name in Nordic folklore—Asgardian riding."

"What do you mean?"

"Yorm Night is the period around Christmas, when, according to legend, a procession will pass through the sky."

On this night, farmers would leave a bundle of hay outside for the hunter's horse to eat.

Corbyn pointed to a line of text in the booklet with his fingernail.

"Those who leave grass will have good luck in the coming year, while those who don't will have bad luck."

Richard's heart skipped a beat.

"Leave the grass... in exchange for good luck."

"Yes, this is the earliest fulcrum that can be found in the literature for making a deal with the Wild Hunt."

You give it something, it gives you something in return.

"Are there any other fulcrums?" Richard asked.

"Too many." Corbyn became interested and pulled out an even older booklet.

"Look at this, there's a line in the Rune Poems that specifically talks about hagalaz—hail."

He pushed the booklet over and pointed to a line of original text.

「『h?gl byt hwitust corna...』」

"Hail is the whitest grain of rice, falling from the whirlwind in the sky."

Richard stared at this sentence, somewhat puzzled.

"Hail...or grains?"

"Think about this way of putting it." Corbyn tapped his finger on the word "corna," which refers to grains.

"What is hail? It is a destructive thing that smashes crops and kills livestock."

The author of the Rune Poems called it "the whitest grain of rice."

"Things that are destroyed are named after grains."

A chill slowly crept up Richard's back.

He recalled the harvest chart, a chart showing the deaths of dozens of people.

The ancients who wrote the "Lu En Poems" understood long ago that disaster is, in some people's eyes, a harvest.

"There's one more thing you should know."

Corbyn turned to the page with Fehu, which contained the first of Richard's half-set of runestones.

"Fehu, livestock, wealth—have you ever thought about what livestock means?"

"It means...being kept by someone," Richard said slowly.

"Yes," Corbyn nodded. "Livestock are things that are kept in enclosures, counted, and slaughtered on their appointed days."

"What if a superior cunningly treats humans like livestock to be 'raised'?"

Richard remained silent.

Corbyn squinted at him and continued flipping through the pages.

"I have another piece of evidence here; just listen to it."

He pulled out a photocopy of a fragment of a Sakya text.

"A 13th-century Sakya fragment records that someone traded a white deer for his wife's name to be removed from the 'hunting register'."

"Remove him from the hunting list?" Richard held his breath.

"Yes." Corbyn took the torn page back.

"This is a precedent for 'substitute names,' using something to replace a name."

Richard sat in the chair, his fingers fiddling with the edge of the half-set of runestones.

These fragments, scattered across documents from hundreds of years ago, were pieced together one by one.

"Thank you, Associate Professor."

After saying goodbye to Corbyn, Richard was summoned back to Ashford House, where the butler was waiting on the porch with a lantern.

Is Grandpa resting?

"The master is in his study." The butler hesitated for a moment, then said, "Young master, there's something I need to discuss..."

"What is it?"

The butler, carrying a lantern, led Richard to the two stone pillars at the main entrance.

When the light shone on it, a tooth-like engraving appeared on the left doorpost.

"When did this appear?"

"Last night," the butler said, sounding somewhat nervous.

"I only saw it when I went out early this morning. I was thinking of finding a stonemason to grind it off..."

"The master stopped me."

"What did Grandpa say?"

The butler repeated Gerald's original words.

"The master said, 'This is an invitation.'"