I loaded the Mysticism panel.

He turned his head halfway around the table, just enough to bring his bewildered eyes to Richard.

Richard looked at the head but didn't touch it.

"Take it as a gift, and that door will open," McFee said. "The hunter will recognize his lost dog."

Mortimer held the chipped teacup, glanced at it, and then poured cold water on it.

"Knocking it open is one thing, but returning the head is just putting it back to its rightful owner." The old professor took a sip of his weak tea.

"If someone loses a hunting dog, and you return the dog's head, the hunter might glance at you, but a glance doesn't mean you've replaced the owner."

Richard's heart sank.

"The matter of a substitute name is about equivalence." Mortimer placed his teacup on the edge of the table.

"If you want to remove a name from that book, you have to put something of sufficient weight on the other side of the scale."

"The ceremony itself is not complicated; the Nordic system involves three steps: presentation, weighing, and exchange."

"The first step is to place your offering before the hunter so that he can see it."

"The placement is important; it cannot be indoors, nor can it be on the side of a curtain."

"It must be on the boundary between the shallows and the deep behind the curtain, where the hunter's hooves can reach."

"The second step is for the hunter to assess whether your offering is substantial enough."

That's enough, he'll cross the name you want to change off the booklet.

That's not enough; he won't even give you a second glance.

"The third step is to check off your name, and your gift will belong to the hunter. Once it's taken, it's gone."

If your offering is a thing, then the thing is gone. If your offering is a life, then the life is gone.

Richard clenched his fist on his knee and then released it.

"I see."

"You don't know anything," McFaye retorted without any politeness.

"You only understand the rules of the hunting register; you don't yet understand why the hunter wants to do this deal with you."

"The Hunter Master is an expert, and experts are no longer considered human. Their logic is completely different from ours."

"Take the head of a lost hunting dog to the door and it will open it."

But it opened the door because it thought it was fun, and because it thought you were brave.

"Fun and daring, worth a look."

"That booklet now contains information about your maternal grandfather."

"If you want to take him down, you need to find something more worthy of the hunter's interest."

Richard fell silent.

Fenrir's head wasn't enough; his maternal grandfather was the last great master hunter of the Ashford family.

He was also someone who performed the ritual of reversing the hunt and personally made a pact in the blood.

This name weighs heavily on the hunting book.

"So you need to put something else on Fenrir's head."

"This kind of thing needs to make the hunter think that this kid has something good and is worth serious discussion."

"What good stuff?"

McFee and Mortimer exchanged a glance.

"What hunters care about is different from what we care about," McFee said.

"It won't take gold, and it won't even look at ordinary rare items."

"Over the centuries, every single one of the animals it has recorded in its hunting register possessed treasures far more valuable than this junk you have."

Mortimer squinted.

"We can help you with this, but we won't do it for free."

Richard looked up, somewhat nervous.

"Don't be nervous." The old professor chuckled, his wrinkled old face scrunched up.

"I only accept two kinds of gifts now."

"Which two?"

"The thesis," Mortimer pointed at him, "and a successor."

Richard was taken aback for a moment.

"It means that once this is over, you shouldn't expect to have any free time."

The old professor chuckled.

The successor may sound like a joke, but the weight of the matter is immense.

"I……"

"Don't thank me yet." Mortimer waved his hand. "Once you're in my circle, you're in for a world of trouble."

The white-haired giant leaned back in his chair, which creaked beneath him.

"The rule among the Highlanders is to inspect the goods first, then discuss the price."

"On the day of the ceremony, bring out what you want to exchange. I'll know how much to ask for after I've seen it."

McFee tapped his finger on the table: "Let's lay a foundation for you now."

He took a small blank piece of parchment from his pocket and pushed it in front of Richard.

There was nothing on the paper except a mark with thorns wrapped around it in the corner.

"This is a blank IOU. In the future, if any old place on the high ground can't be defended, scholars will need to read it and unseal it. I'll call you, so come."

"No questions asked." He stared into Richard's eyes. "No pushing."

Richard took the IOU.

The Highlands are on the periphery of the empire, and the seals erected a thousand years ago are gradually darkening.

McFaye guarded this post for most of his life, and it was exhausting.

This IOU is a loan he made to Richard in advance, covering part of his own debt.

McFaye glanced out the window.

The daylight was just right outside, and a few pigeons were pacing around in the eaves gutter of the building across the street.

"That girl Catherine doesn't have any relatives in the capital."

He only said that one sentence, and then nothing more.

Richard held the IOU and understood.

"I've got it."

With the matter settled, the two professors began to weigh what they could offer.

"Such a grand ceremony as a name change requires the guarantee of an expert," Mortimer spoke first.

"The two of us alone are not enough to balance the scales of the Hunter."

"I'll do this," McFaye said.

"There is an expert who has been stationed on the northernmost island of Stroma in Scotland for many years. He is my fellow disciple."

"Who will step forward?"

"He owes me one," McFee said casually.

"Fifty years ago, when he was promoted to Grand Master, something went wrong, and I was the one who got him out of trouble."

Mortimer nodded.

"I can also get someone of sufficient stature to help me," the old professor said, stroking his chin.

"You probably haven't met the old president of the Royal Anthropological Society of Albion."

"Would he even bother with something like this?"

"He doesn't handle things, he manages the accounts," Mortimer chuckled.

"The substitution law is ultimately an account that spans both sides of the veil."

For this account to stand, it needs a notary with sufficient authority to stamp it with their "approval".

Once this seal is placed, even the hunter's master will have to recognize it.

"As for the price..." Mortimer glanced at Richard.

"I'm prepared to offer my personal collection in exchange, which includes ancient originals that I excavated from Darius's tomb. I'm sure the old chairman will be interested."

McFee also spoke up.

"I'll exchange it for a 'Moonstone'."

"These are things that can only be naturally formed when one reaches the level of mastery in the tradition of hunting the moon. I am the only one with two of them in the entire highlands."

Richard silently calculated.

Ancient originals, Moonstone, expert guarantee... taking any one of these things out would definitely cause a bloody battle in a circle like the Divine Genealogy Salon.

The two professors spoke as if they were planning what to have for dinner.

A scholar at the highest level of expertise has accumulated connections and resources to such an extent that it is completely beyond his current imagination.

Mortimer glanced at his expression and casually said:

"These will all have to be paid back later."

"return?"

"Personal connections are personal connections, and resources are resources." The old professor clearly distinguished between the two.

"Providing a guarantee is a favor; you'll have to help us in the future."

The manuscripts, the Moonstone—these physical objects and resources were the capital you used to prolong your grandfather's life; once spent, they're gone.

"If you know what you're doing, you can pay it back slowly later."

Mortimer was speaking when he seemed to remember something else.

"By the way, do you have anything you can offer?"

Richard frowned and began to think.

"Since you're going to do this, you can't do it without investing any capital at all."

Mortimer said casually, "We'll set the stage for you, but you still have to put something on it yourself."

"Of course, anything too dilapidated won't do," the old professor added.

"It must be at least at the level of a high-grade wonder."

They didn't actually expect Richard to produce any high-level artifacts; it was just a casual remark.

What kind of high-level wonders could a practitioner who has only recently started working in this field possess?

Richard frantically searched his mind for his entire fortune.

The Sphinx Lamp is a signified artifact and cannot be moved.

The gargoyle was given to me by my maternal grandfather, and the ether had been almost completely drained.

Bronze mirrors, incense burners, sun seals, eagle badges, silver rings... these were either low-grade or had been used, modified, or used as mediums by him.

He squeezed the truly valuable things dry.

He went through his thoughts, and the more he thought about it, the more guilty he felt.

Just then, his eyes lit up.

Something surfaced from the deepest recesses of my memory.

That was something he couldn't tell anyone, something he didn't even dare to think about.

Richard looked up at the two professors.

"Professor," he said carefully, "I won't talk about what I can offer."

"I only have one question."

The two experts looked at him.

"If I could get my hands on something..." Richard said, enunciating each word clearly.

"What could make a hunter interested in a fellow hunter who is stealing his spoils?"

There was a moment of silence in the office, and the expressions of the two professors froze.

They didn't believe that a practitioner could possibly have something that would make one expert "interested" in another.

But they all felt that Richard was unlikely to make such a joke in this situation.

This kid doesn't talk much, but when he does something, it's more outrageous than the last.

The Cicero Cup, Debate Week, summer training, several field assignments... He never boasts, but he always keeps his word.

Mortimer slowly placed the teacup back on the table.

"If you really can produce something like that..." the old professor's voice trailed off.

"We have no use for any of these original Moonstones."

"I didn't say I could produce it." Richard took a half step back. "I was just asking, what if you did?"

McFee stared at him for a long time.

"If that's true, then this time it won't be us helping you."

"You helped all of us by adding one more thing that the wolf had always dreamed of into its den."

None of the three spoke again.

Outside the window, the pigeons fluttered away, leaving the eaves gutter empty.

"Go back and prepare," Mortimer finally decided. "Bring your things on the day of the ceremony."

"We'll believe you after we've seen it."