I loaded the Mysticism panel.

After copying it all, the old professor slowly reached out and dragged out a second stack from the bottom of the windowsill.

As he dragged it, a layer of dust was kicked up, and the dust fell into his teacup, which had a chipped rim.

He glanced at it, picked it up, and drank it.

"There are three things hidden in this stack of eleven books."

Richard raised his head.

"What three things?"

"Find it yourself."

He tentatively asked, "Did you also pick those three items in the first stack?"

"Did I pick it up?"

Mortimer closed his eyes. "I don't remember."

He said that line so fluently.

"professor……"

"I'm old," Mortimer said innocently.

"That's the rule. If you find one, I'll reduce your allowance by a whole stack next week."

"You found all three?"

"If you find all three, I'll treat you to tea."

Richard was speechless; it was as if he hadn't said anything at all.

"...What if we can't find it?"

"Can't find it? That makes things even easier." Mortimer smiled amiably. "I'll give you two more stacks."

The first item, in the third book, is a rolled-up sheepskin, which, when unfolded, represents the hunting season.

When Richard pulled it out, the old professor exclaimed "Oh!" from his chair, his tone clearly showing dissatisfaction.

"Too slow!"

The second item took an entire afternoon.

One of the eleven books is an agricultural book that describes how crops are rotated in several northern counties.

While I was copying, a few pages of paper that I had sewn together with needle and thread fell out.

The paper contained only a grid of cells, with a number filled in each cell.

Richard almost threw it aside, mistaking it for a piece of scrap paper.

"Professor, is this the second one?"

See for yourself, don't ask me.

Richard held those pages up to the window.

The header column was blank, but he recognized the number in each cell.

Wind direction, moon phase, and that tiny column of moments at the very end.

Mortimer snorted and picked up his teacup.

The third item, Richard searched for two days.

I finished reading all eleven books, shaking each one as I went.

I tapped the spine of the book, shone the endpapers under the light, but there was nothing there.

He found the oldest and worst-bound copy.

He spread out the book of "Quiet Observation," and the still water reflected from the top to the bottom of the book.

The last endpaper at the end of the book is slightly thicker than the rest.

That line of thickness is the thickness of two sheets of paper pasted together.

After letting the damp cloth soak for half an hour, I used a knife to carefully pry open the edges little by little.

There was half a piece of paper underneath, with only one sentence on it: Rune

"Hunting can happen more than three times, but people only remember it three times."

"Great, all three are complete."

"How long did it take you to finish this one?"

"have no idea."

Richard raised his head.

"I put it on when I was young," the old professor said slowly.

"At that time, I didn't know who I was going to show this to later."

He put down his teacup.

"Of course, it could also be from last week's mess."

Before leaving that day, he indeed poured Richard a cup of tea, and after pouring it, he chuckled to himself.

"Let this old man pour you tea. Even that kid who stole the book didn't get this treatment!"

Richard certainly knew who he was talking about.

Rounding down, am I even better than the experts?

Over the next two nights, Richard dragged out the sack full of readers' letters.

It's mainly about the part related to black dogs.

The accounts of the twelve nights of Yul, the three days of the four seasons of fasting, Halloween, and the last night of April are the most complete.

There were also the nights before major storms scattered throughout the country, the week before a river embankment breached, and the third day after a mine collapse.

The gaps between the piles of dead bodies loosened as soon as they were laid out, and the procession followed the loosened areas.

If there are no omens like horns, geese, or hoofbeats, and only dogs... this is actually the most common situation.

Richard stayed on this floor the longest.

When the dog comes alone, it has nothing to do with the Wild Hunt; it's simply a notification that you're in trouble.

Great Transit, Prosperous Hunt, Calamity.

All three scenarios were written down on paper, and even after writing them down, I felt they were a bit absurd.

The items that fell out of two stacks of sealed files, along with dozens of letters written by uneducated country folk, made up this table.

However, this table is not available in the library of Imperial Capital University.

........................

There were even more rubbings in that office at Trinity College than last time.

The space cleared on the table was just enough to fit a teacup.

"Is this another rune-related assignment?"

Corbyn, holding the magnifying glass, continued examining his stone.

"Pronunciation, usage, or origin?"

"Origin." Richard had known about this flaw of his for a long time.

"To be more specific, it's about the origins of that team."

Which team?

"The Wild Hunt".

The magnifying glass fell onto the table.

"This word was coined by the Germans."

Richard raised an eyebrow.

"In the 1830s, a Germanic scholar wrote a great book on mythology."

He compiled the scattered accounts from various parts of the north into one place and gave it this name.

Corbyn's speech quickened, and once he got to his subject, he couldn't stop.

"But if you look through those original documents from the north, you'll find that no one ever calls it that."

"Their hunting seasons are different, their rules are different, and they follow different routes."

Your general statement about "wild hunting" is academically inaccurate.

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

Corbyn was satisfied.

"However, it's not quite appropriate to use a term coined by scholars from an enemy country right now."

As soon as he finished speaking, someone pushed a cart full of lecture notes past the window, the wheels squeaking on the stone slabs.

Corbyn stood up, pulled out two booklets from the stack of rubbings on his right, and began to speak.

When they were drawing the rubbings, seven or eight of them fell to the left at the same time, spreading all over the floor.

The third book was taken from the windowsill, and by the fifth book, Richard's "Erudition," he was still diligently putting it away page by page.

By the ninth book, that familiar dull pain in the back of his head began to creep upwards.

By the end, he had lost count of how many books he had read.

Corbyn poured tea once during the session, and then continued speaking.

One passage, which lasted for nearly fifteen minutes, describes the spelling habits of a 13th-century scribe.

He concluded with the statement, "The academic community has yet to reach a consensus on this point," his tone filled with immense satisfaction.

Richard glanced out the window; it was getting late.

If Trinity College offered this course, the students in the first to third rows would probably fall asleep within ten minutes.

Those in the fourth row and beyond probably never woke up from beginning to end.

He couldn't help but ask, "Did many people enroll in your course last year?"

"Twenty-one last year, nine this year."

Corbyn closed the booklet.

"All nine of them are very diligent and haven't missed a single class. They are good students who are just as eager to learn as you."

Richard didn't dare to respond to that.

"Actually, what I wanted to ask about was the last night of April."

Corbyn's hand stopped on the booklet.

"valborgsmässoaften (Wolberg Nights), from nightfall on April 30th to dawn on May 1st."

Then he spoke for another hour.

During that hour, Richard heard at least fourteen different versions of the story.

How high should the fire on the hilltop be piled up? What should be drawn on the cattle pen gate with tar?

Why were the women inside forbidden to spin thread that night? Why were the iron utensils placed outside the threshold?

There are also six other debates about what exactly passed through the sky that night.

For each type of Corbyn, he first had to explain where it was wrong before moving on to the next one.

In that hour, only two sentences actually made Richard sit up straight.

The first sentence is: "Yule is collection, Warburg is clearing."

"What's the difference?"

"On the twelve nights of Yurnah, it went from place to place, picking up one by one, until it had enough to take back."

Corbyn picked up the magnifying glass again.

"Wolberg is rushing to catch up that night."

"Hurry all the things we collected throughout the winter, those that still stubbornly refuse to leave, from one end to the other."

The second sentence is even shorter.

"The literature only says that there were a few people at the very front of the line who didn't blow the horn."

The streetlight outside the window has already turned on.

Richard stood up.

"Thank you, Associate Professor, for taking the time to talk to me so much today. I should go back and have dinner now."

"Wait a minute," Corbyn suddenly called out to him, his eyes fixed on the long piece of paper in his hand.

"What's that in your hand?"

Richard handed over the paper.

Corbyn read three lines and raised his eyebrows.

Upon seeing the tenth line, he picked up the magnifying glass as well.

"This is a recording."

"Yes."

"Where did you get 67 firsthand recordings?"

Someone sent it to me.

"other people?"

"In the countryside, half of the miners, hunters, and postmen have someone else write their papers for them."

Corbyn held the paper, remaining silent for a long time.

"You can't let this thing rot in your hands like this."

"I will tidy it up."

"Show me when you're done."

Corbyn sat back down behind the pile of rubbings.

"No need to sign my name, I just want to see it."

When we came out of Trinity College, it was already completely dark.

The gas lamps on the main road of the college area were still turned very small, and the light falling on the ground was caught by puddles.

Richard walked along the road, and a gust of wind came from behind and lifted the corner of his clothes.

The department doors were closed for those few days.

Greer's class was suspended twice, and another notice was posted on the bulletin board seeking recruits, covering half of the recruitment poster at the top.

People he encountered in the corridor walked by quickly, and no one had time to give him a second glance.

That's perfect; the things he's doing require him to be ignored.

After finishing dinner and returning to his dorm, he cleared the table.

Tarot cards, copper dish, talisman, and a small bottle of star sand.

He had displayed this set of items countless times.

He revised the first question in his mind four times.

Since we can't ask about the future, we can only ask: "What should I do best that night?"

First card: [The Lovers, Upright].

A man and a woman stood naked, with a distance between them.

Behind the woman was a fruit-bearing tree with snakes coiled on it;

Behind the man was a burning tree, with flames leaping up from its branches.

Above the two people hangs an angel with outstretched arms, and above the angel is the sun.

Both of them were looking up, each looking at the sky above them.

Mr. Hutton had taught him this card, and he used it to steer the conversation toward the shadows, where he spoke of binary contrast.

In other words, he and his shadow will be separated on that night, and if one of them is in trouble, the other will not be implicated.

Second card: [Eight of Wands, upright].

Eight staffs flew through the air, fast and in unison, heading diagonally downwards towards an open area.

The tips of the cane are still sprouting new buds.

There was no one on the cards, nor a hand holding them.

There is a river flowing quietly below, and a very small house stands on its bank.

None of the eight staffs touched the ground.

And that house represents a place of belonging.

Richard lingered on this card for a long time.

One cannot stop, cannot fall behind; a hunter should not see the dawn, for the shadow must return before daybreak.

The third card: [Five of Wands, upright].

Five young men, each holding a stick, were entangled together.

The staffs were suspended in mid-air, and two of them had already touched.

The five people were all wearing clothes of different colors, so you couldn't tell if they were fighting or just competing.

There was no blood on the ground, nor were there any fallen people, but none of the cards were empty-handed.

Richard carefully analyzed this card.

The five people were fighting over the same thing, and none of them were willing to let go first.

The rolled-up sheepskin clearly stated: merit must be earned by oneself, and spoils will be divided according to each person's merit, with the largest share going to those who led the way.

So that night, the shadow couldn't stand by and watch.

The last one is about blind spots.

The result is 【Emperor - Reversed】.

A man sat on a stone seat, holding onto the armrests, with a short cane lying across his knees, and the four ram heads on the back of the seat all facing outwards.

If viewed upside down, the stone seat is on top, and the person is on the bottom.

The cane on his lap slid down his leg and was about to slip from his hand.

Richard held the card, a chill running through him.

The rules protected him because that person was still seated.

Richard set the card aside and didn't put it back into the deck.

Taking all the cards into account, the implications are quite clear.

The Five of Wands clearly states that no one was empty-handed that night.

The profits are distributed according to merit, and those who stand by and watch don't get a single penny.

So the shadow must not only walk at the front to guide the team, but also bite one of the prey when they are driven up.

This has created a problem.

Finding your way relies on the "Sentry," which extends its shadow perception outwards; locking onto a target relies on the "Shadow Guard."

One disperses, the other gathers; the two forces move in opposite directions.

Only names that are in the same direction can be stacked, so he needs a new name that can accomplish both of these things at the same time.

Richard put down his pen.

On the corner of the table were sixty-seven letters, the top one still open, written by a gamekeeper from Devonshire:

"When it was squatting there, our two hunting dogs lay on the ground, too afraid to raise their heads."

I don't think there's anything scary about it; it's not in a hurry.

There is indeed one thing in this world that is born to do this.

Richard wrote that name in his notebook.