I loaded the Mysticism panel.

After the meal, Gerrard stood up.

"Richard, come to my study with me, I have something to tell you."

The study door was closed.

Gerald sat down in the old chair by the window, while Richard stood opposite the desk.

Neither the grandfather nor the grandson spoke first.

Gerald thought to himself that he was a master.

Those who performed the ritual of rebellion and made a pact in blood.

This name weighs heavily on the hunting book.

What kind of things would it take to remove this name from the register?

The more he thought about it, the uglier his face became.

"Richard," he finally spoke. "The Wild Hunt didn't come to collect me last night."

"Yes." Richard did not hide anything.

"The invitation on the doorpost faded by dawn."

Gerald looked at his grandson.

"Your aunt was so worried she cried, but you didn't seem very anxious before. Is this related to you?"

Richard had already prepared his explanation.

"I traded something substantial for it; the professors provided the guarantee."

"Professors?" Gerald raised an eyebrow.

"Professor Mortimer, and Professor McFee." Richard nodded.

"They set up the stage for me, and even invited two experts to vouch for me."

"As for the item I exchanged... Grandpa, I can't go into more detail about it."

"Telling you won't be good for either of us."

Gerrard stared at him for a long time.

Something that would make the hunter acknowledge its worth and even remove the name of a great expert from the register.

That was no ordinary object.

But Richard refused to say, and he didn't press him further, but that didn't mean he wasn't angry:

"From now on, discuss these kinds of things with your family first!"

"You, a practitioner, are secretly dealing with high-ranking people behind our backs."

"What if what you exchanged backfires on you, and those two professors can't handle the situation, and the Hunter Master turns hostile..."

Have you thought about this?

Richard stood still, letting his grandfather rage on.

Gerrard's chest heaved a few times before slowly calming down.

In less than two years, he watched his grandson, who was once a sickly and academically poor engineer's son, grow up to be in this state.

Even experts can trade now, just to pull this old man back from the brink of death.

Why didn't you tell me sooner?

"Last night I waited in the garden until dawn, thinking I was waiting for the last time."

Richard thought for a moment and told the truth.

"If I tell you, you'll stop me from doing it."

Gerrard didn't respond.

"Besides, even if I had tried to stop you yesterday before you left, I wouldn't have been able to."

Richard continued.

"The way you looked, you were determined to leave with dignity."

I'm telling you that you're safe, but you might not believe me, and you might even think I'm making fun of you.

The old man's hand, which was gripping the armrest of the chair, twitched slightly.

"You are a master, and the only thing that a master cannot deal with can kill you," Richard said steadily.

"Judging from the traces at the scene, most of the things that crawled out of the pit didn't even last a single move in your hands."

You must save your burning passion for the Wild Hunt; if the Wild Hunt doesn't come, you won't make a move.

"Since the name is crossed out, the Wild Hunt won't come."

"So you won't die."

Gerrard finally turned around and looked at his grandson.

"You knew I would go."

"I was right," Richard nodded.

"I've also calculated that as long as that matter is accomplished, you'll be able to come back even after you go."

"So I didn't say anything and let you keep watch all night."

The old man looked at him and suddenly let out a snort of laughter.

"...You're much more cunning than I was back then."

"Alright." Gerald waved his hand, his voice weary. "You did the right thing this time."

"However," he said, his face hardening again, "this is a one-time exception."

"Next time, no matter how big the problem is, let your family know first."

"Even just saying 'I'm doing something, #039' and then 'I'll stop if I can't get it done' would be fine."

"Don't let your family worry about you for nothing."

Richard looked at his maternal grandfather.

"Okay." He nodded. "I've got it."

………………

The excitement surrounding the Ashford family's recovery hadn't yet subsided.

The Phillips family's funeral was held at this time.

Richard went with his maternal grandfather.

The funeral was conducted in a very respectable manner, and many people attended, including most of the well-known figures in the capital's secret affairs system.

There was little wailing or lamentation at the funeral; the Phillips family seemed more bewildered than grieving.

The only pillar of the family, Da Jingtong, has collapsed. What will the rest of the family do?

This idea was written on the face of every member of the Phillips family.

Phillips' older brother is in very poor condition.

On the night of the day of mourning, he did a lot of things, and the dark circles under his eyes were frightening.

But he still persevered and led the entire funeral.

He stood in front of the mourning hall, greeting each visitor one by one.

When he encountered those high-ranking and powerful figures his father knew during his lifetime, he had to smile obsequiously and say polite things.

Thank you for coming.

"My father always remembered your care and support before he passed away."

"In the future... I hope you will continue to offer your guidance."

His smile was forced, and by the end, his face was stiff.

The entire burden of the Phillips family now rests on his shoulders.

My father was a great expert, the chief inspector of the capital.

He himself has only just begun to grasp the basics; there is a huge gap between him and that.

Fortunately, the chief inspector died for the city, and everyone respected him greatly.

"If the Phillips family ever encounters any difficulties in the future, please feel free to ask."

"We will all help out as much as possible."

Someone patted the older brother on the shoulder.

"Work hard, become a master as soon as possible, and take over your father's job."

"The Phillips family's reputation rests on your shoulders."

The elder brother nodded repeatedly, bowing and smiling obsequiously once more.

Throughout the entire process, few people noticed the young man quietly huddled in the corner of the lobby.

Phillips stood in the shadow of a pillar, without his ever-present teapot in his hand.

He just stood there, and no one came up to pat him on the shoulder.

Indeed, who would expect anything from a young son who only wants to become a lecturer and spends all his time reading idle books?

Richard glanced at him across the room full of people.

Phillips saw him too.

The two people stood apart in the crowd, neither of them crossing over.

Phillips nodded very slightly at him.

That carefree, always-getting-good-tea-always-is-gone persona is completely gone now.

After the funeral, the guests left, and the Phillips family mansion was empty.

The emptiness that follows the excitement is more unbearable than the funeral itself.

Richard accompanied his maternal grandfather, among the last group to leave.

As he passed through the side hall, he heard Phillips' mother's voice.

"In your father's will..." Her voice was weary.

"It says, 'I hope you and Constance will get married soon.'"

In the side hall, Phillips stood silently.

"The Earl of Blackburn's family has already made the arrangements," his mother continued.

"Your father...the thing he was most worried about before he passed away was this marriage."

He said, "You won't be able to establish yourself in this industry anymore."

"With the Blackburn family as your backer, your life is secure."

Phillips remained silent.

"Say something!" The mother's voice was tinged with urgency.

Phillips remained silent for a long time, so long that Richard thought he wouldn't speak.

"...I understand," he said finally.

He neither agreed nor refused, displaying an indifference that suggested he was too lazy to even consider agreeing or refusing.

It seemed as if his mother wasn't talking about his own marriage, but about someone else's family that had nothing to do with him.

His mother looked at him like this, opened her mouth, but ultimately said nothing.

She is so tired.

With her husband just gone and her eldest son about to take over the family business, this household is in turmoil.

Her youngest son's marriage should have been the least troublesome thing, but with him in this state, she didn't even know where to begin urging him.

She sighed, turned around, and left.

In the side hall, only Phillips remained.

Constance is outside.

This girl, who was usually so efficient, was now twisting her fingers around the hem of her skirt, wanting to say something but not knowing what to say, so she just kept her head down.

"Phillips..." she called softly.

Phillips ignored him and walked straight upstairs.

Constance turned her head and saw Richard standing not far away, and her eyes lit up immediately.

"Mr. Williams," her voice trembled. "Go and see him."

"He hasn't listened to anyone since yesterday morning."

Richard went upstairs.

The door to the room on the fourth floor, filled with collections, was ajar.

The sound of water being poured into a cup could be heard through the crack in the door, and someone was talking to themselves.

"...Dad, the drink you had sage in it that day, right?"

Phillips' voice was no different from usual.

"I remember, you poured it from my pot."

Richard pushed open the door.

The long table beneath the Hervé clock was covered with teacups.

Dozens of them, one after another, were completely full.

The tea had long since cooled down, and a thin layer of oil had formed on its surface.

Phillips sat at the table, holding the old teapot in his hand.

The chair opposite him was empty.

There was a full cup in front of the empty chair.

"Richard," Phillips looked up. "You've come at the perfect time."

He had a smile on his face, but two lines of tears streamed down that smile.

Laughter and tears, neither gives way to the other.

"I'm making tea for my dad."

Richard stood at the door, unable to utter a single word.

"This pot can produce any flavor," Phillips confirmed to himself. "Anything I want."

"I've been trying all night, but I just can't recreate that drink from that day."

The dozens of full glasses on the table were all the fruits of his labor that night.

What he wanted was never the taste, but the person who would drink that cup of tea.

But this pot can give any flavor, except to that person.

"Mrs. Mary said so," Phillips suddenly said, his voice light and airy.

"When people let their inspiration wander too far and can't bring it back... sage can call it back."

He looked up at Richard, his eyes flashing with an alarming light.

"My dad drank sage."

"I've been soaking sage in it all night."

He smiled contentedly.

"He should be back."

After saying that, he turned his face to the empty chair and waited quietly.

"Phillips," Richard finally spoke.

"Hmm?" Phillips didn't turn around, still looking at the empty chair.

Richard didn't know what to say.

Just then, Phillips picked up the freshly poured glass and took a sip.

He stopped moving, holding the cup for a long time without putting it down.

"...It's this one."

The two lines of tears on his face hadn't dried yet, but his expression was one of joy at having something lost and then regained.

"Dad, you're back!"

The Hervédi clock ticked away on the wall.

The tea in front of the empty chair was steaming with very faint heat.