I loaded the Mysticism panel.

On February 10th, Clara was sent back to a sanatorium in the College District.

When Richard entered the room carrying gifts, it was already full of people.

Aunt Isabella sat on a chair by the bed, a stack of official documents spread out in front of her, but the red pen in her hand didn't write a single word for a long time.

Sofia squatted down next to the bedside table and peeled oranges for Clara, one after another, piling them on a small plate where no one ate them.

Thomson stood leaning against the wall, his book open but he didn't even turn the pages.

Price sat on the windowsill with his legs swinging, his face so sullen it could wring water out of it.

"Richard's here too." Price saw him first and jumped down from the windowsill.

"Those bastards in the Navy Department," he squeezed out through clenched teeth.

"Eight hundred people sank to the bottom of the sea. The incident was classified as spontaneous combustion of smokeless gunpowder. Clara's rubbings and testimonies were all stamped and sealed."

"Price," Isabella said without looking up. "Say less."

Price shut his mouth, the anger stuck in his chest, and swayed back to sit on the windowsill.

Richard placed the gifts on the table: a box of homemade pastries from the Ashford family, a bag of apples, and several newly published magazines.

Clara lay on the bed with the left side of her face wrapped in gauze, her face as white as the wallpaper.

When she saw Richard, she first tried to sit up by supporting herself on the bed.

"Wait a minute." Her voice was a little hoarse as she reached into the second drawer of the bedside table.

"That thing of yours... is finished, I'll get it for you."

"Senior, lie down." Richard quickly went over.

Clara ignored her and insisted on opening the drawer, taking out an oil paper package from inside.

"Uncle did it as you asked." She stuffed the oil paper package into Richard's hand.

Sofia dropped the orange she was holding and quickly came over to help Clara back onto the pillow.

"Lie down... lie down, the thing isn't going anywhere."

Clara was pushed back, her face slightly flushed.

"This...it was actually ready a long time ago." Her voice was even softer.

"I borrowed Scapa Flow for a bit."

Richard opened the oil paper package and took a look.

It was a small flag, about the size of a palm, with a dark surface that felt like leather that had been soaked in water and then dried.

At the base of the flagpole was a bronze urn about the size of a thumb, the mouth of which was sealed.

"The edges of the flag are a bit worn," Clara said, staring at the small flag with a frown.

"During my third dive, I used it to gather the sailors who were lining up to go in underwater..."

"Is it secured?" Richard asked.

"We've caught a few." Clara's eyes darkened.

"The accumulator stopped working and I was almost out of breath, and then..."

She didn't continue.

Richard carefully wrapped the small flag again and put it in his pocket, feeling nothing in particular.

During his fieldwork over the past few months, he had the covert agents in Foxtown backing him up, and Whitby was even more supported by his maternal grandfather and Inspector Phillips.

Whether or not this flag is on, it doesn't really make any difference.

"It's definitely more useful for the senior to have this flag than for me to keep it."

Clara looked at him without saying a word.

Isabella finally spoke up.

"You two can discuss the matter yourselves. I'm already very satisfied that Clara is back safe and sound."

She spoke calmly, but Richard noticed the top page of his aunt's stack of documents, which was titled "Scapa Flow Incident: Application for Compensation and Relief."

"The application has been submitted," Isabella said.

"The Navy Department pushed it to the Ministry of the Interior, and the Ministry of the Interior pushed it back to the Academy system."

The three parties have been passing the buck for so long, and there's still not a single definite answer.

"Then let's sue them." Price jumped up on the windowsill again.

"Who are you going to sue?" Isabella glanced at him.

"Accus the Navy of murder? Do you have any evidence?"

Clara's rubbings are now locked in an MI6 filing cabinet; you can't even see them.

Price looked dejected again.

Thomson remained silent until he closed the book again.

"Clara's injuries." He looked at the person on the bed, his voice very soft. "What did the doctor say?"

Isabella's expression grew even more somber.

"After a few months of rest, daily life should be fine."

"It takes several years to fully recover, and you'll still have hidden injuries."

Richard silently calculated in his mind.

Clara's injuries were in a very awkward state; her left eardrum was ruptured, and her lungs had been burned by ether.

This injury isn't serious enough to warrant specialized treatment from a traditional Chinese medicine practitioner, but it's not insignificant either.

Traditional solar therapy is extremely expensive, and the compensation offered by the academic system is barely enough to fill a gap in the teeth.

Richard looked at Clara.

Her left ear was wrapped in gauze, and her face was frighteningly pale. She reached out her uninjured hand and gently patted the back of her mentor's hand.

"Mentor, don't worry about me, I'm back now."

"You're still being stubborn." Sophia's eyes reddened as she stood beside her.

"You swam up from a hundred feet underwater by yourself, and lay on a rock all by yourself until dawn... Couldn't you have explained it more clearly when you wrote the letter?"

"Now that I've explained it clearly, you're all going to have to worry too." Clara smiled.

Everyone in the room fell silent.

Richard stood by the bed, thinking about his own breathing.

The progress of level 4 is already over 90%. Once you collect two points to upgrade to level 5, you can obtain the [Spring of Qi], which can draw Qi to heal others.

Ether burns are damage at the microcirculation level, which is exactly what the Yongquan acupoint can touch.

Once [Spring of Life] is unlocked, he'll come and see if he can help his senior heal some of her hidden injuries.

Clara looked at him and smiled.

"Once I'm better, we'll all go to the Royal Hotel for a big meal."

Richard suddenly realized that he seemed to owe a lot of meals.

………………

On the night of February 12th, the gathering, originally scheduled for mid-February, was moved up.

Richard had anticipated this.

The middle of the month is a day of mourning, and anyone with even a little bit of knowledge in the mystical world knows that something big will happen on that day.

Hecate moved the gathering forward, partly for the day of mourning, and partly...

When the starry sky receded, seven stone chairs were filled around the round table.

Richard glanced around.

Nemesis sat in her seat, and Richard exchanged a glance with her. The red-haired girl nodded slightly.

Hecate's first words tonight were filled with an overwhelming sense of gravity.

"Everyone, I've called you here early tonight for two things."

"The first is the day of mourning in the middle of the month."

"On the fifteenth, churches throughout the country will ring their bells at the same time."

Hundreds of thousands of people observed a moment of silence, recited hymns, and prayed for the dead at the same time.

Hercules mumbled from beneath his lion-mouth mask, "That's just leaving the door wide open and inviting people in."

"Yes," Hecate answered readily.

"So in the next few days, everyone should try to avoid going to densely populated areas."

"The second item..."

"At the last gathering, I mentioned that the wellhead was being emptied one after another, and that one table in the salon was swallowed up by another table."

"Recently, another table also swallowed others; that table held the name of Norse mythology, and Loki was the head of the table."

Everyone perked up their ears.

"After the Nordic table swallowed that table," Hecate's voice trailed off.

"I messed with the wrong person."

"A scholar with profound knowledge of the lunar hunting tradition came to our door."

The breathing of the people at the table softened.

"After the match, Loki Table lost one of his proficient members, and the rest were all seriously injured. They will not pose a threat for a while."

"A highly skilled scholar?" Hercules was somewhat incredulous. "A scholar? In direct combat?"

"Yes," Hecate nodded. "Alone."

Hercules remained silent.

"I will tell you all about this," Hecate's triadic voice continued.

"It's because the next target for that group from the Nordic countries is very likely to be our group."

The table fell silent.

"Originally, I was going to use this gathering to inform everyone to prepare for the battle."

"I never imagined that life would be so unpredictable."

"That group that wanted to devour our table got taken care of by a highly knowledgeable scholar first."

Dionysus breathed a sigh of relief.

"That's really... incredibly lucky."

Hecate didn't reply; instead, she turned towards Nemesis.

Richard noticed this detail: Hecate was observing Nemesis.

Hecate should know who is behind Nemesis.

The person tidying up Loki's desk happened to be a scholar well-versed in the tradition of hunting the moon.

Hecate hesitated whether to ask if the great expert who tidied Loki's table was the one behind Nemesis.

It's not a good idea to ask directly about this.

No words appeared on the scales of Nemesis.

She was waiting, waiting for Richard.

Richard had promised Professor McFee that he would help Catherine.

Helping her, of course, also includes helping her build momentum.

Richard spoke slowly.

"That great scholar who tidied up Loki's desk."

All eyes at the table turned to them.

"I happen to know some of that."

The outline of Hecate's torch swayed slightly.

"Did Hermes know?"

"I know a little," Richard said in a flat tone.

"He is a scholar of the lunar tradition, specializing in Gaelic script."

He spoke casually, yet every word he uttered was directed at Nemesis.

"When he approached Rocky's desk, he only brought one book with him."

"A book?" Dionysus couldn't help but ask.

"A book." Richard nodded; these were all things McFaye and he had discussed.

He opened the book and read a passage.

He didn't continue, as if the story had ended there.

The necks of the people at the table all craned forward a little.

"...And then?" Hercules couldn't hold back any longer.

"And then?" Richard seemed to suddenly realize there was more to come.

"Then that group of people at that table were half-dead."

The table was deathly silent.