I loaded the Mysticism panel.

When Richard arrived at the training room, he found that the borrowing slip posted on the door had been changed.

The new version has an extra column compared to the old version, printed at the very bottom, with a very small font size, so he has to get very close to see it clearly.

The sign reads: Damaged equipment will be compensated at cost.

The clerk smiled and handed him a dip pen and a form.

"Last week, an undergraduate student cracked the copper target."

"Can't it be fixed?" Richard asked.

"It's definitely not repairable; we'll have to replace one side. It'll cost four pounds and six shillings."

After Richard finished signing his name, the clerk casually drew a line on the duty roster on the wall.

"Room number three, two hours, right? The gas is a bit tight, so please don't turn the lights up too high."

Room number three is located at the very back of the basement.

After the iron gate was locked from the inside, all sounds in the corridor were swallowed up by the inscriptions on the walls.

The shadow stood upright in the center of the training room.

Richard turned the notebook back to that page and pushed the name out.

For a moment, Richard held his breath.

To his disappointment, the shadow did not lie down.

Richard harbored some dark, budding expectations.

He was somewhat looking forward to the black ball of fur lying down on all fours, growing ears and a tail.

Unfortunately, the shadow remained in human form, with its arms hanging at its sides, standing properly.

Richard muttered, "Fine..."

If it really turns into a dog, it would be hard to explain if it were taken out in the future.

The shadow was still standing, but its posture had changed. Its center of gravity shifted forward, and its faceless head lowered again.

Richard had seen the Collie stand at Coleman's house; it was almost exactly like the shadow it was now, always on high alert.

The first change is indeed related to vigilance.

The original Sentinel spreads its perception of shadows in all directions, forming a net.

Now this perception has condensed into a line, pointing straight ahead.

While its area of ​​effect is somewhat reduced, the distance it extends is several times longer than the Sentinel's net.

Richard groped around and found that the line went through the iron gate and the corridor, and only stopped at the corner of the stairwell.

There was some lime at the corner, perhaps someone had walked there before and their shoes had gotten some on them, but I could still smell it in the shadow.

Another change is that the Shadow Guard will cause the shadow to move towards him, assuming a protective posture.

The security is now much tighter.

Richard walked a few steps east of the training room, and his shadow followed him closely without him even having to beckon.

Richard had previously tried using two names simultaneously, and the score for "Lingrong" dropped from 20 to 3 points, making his heart feel uncomfortable.

The two forces were also tearing at the surface of the shadow.

This time it's completely different, and the cost is also lower than equipping [Shadow Guard] alone.

Next up is the test of the hunter.

Richard deliberately picked out a small piece of low-concentration condensate.

He rubbed his fingers together a few times until the ether covered his fingers, and then started wandering aimlessly around the training room.

He deliberately rubbed the equipment rack, the copper target, and the two walls with his fingers.

Then, after a while, the shadow was released.

The shadow didn't smell his hand and started walking along the path Richard had just taken, close to the ground.

He took the exact same route that I had just taken.

Including the two places where he stood for about half a minute, the shadow stood there for the same amount of time as he did.

Finally, Shadow reached into the gap between the equipment rack and the wall and pulled out the condensate that Richard had hidden beforehand.

Richard was impressed by this tracking ability and accuracy.

But what surprised Richard the most was the last item.

He had previously tried using the antler token as a casting medium to strike the moon nail, and the effect was extremely corrosive and piercing.

He wrote down the effect, and after writing it down, he felt that the effect was a bit unethical.

Richard has now given the shadow a new name.

What would happen if we added the spellcasting medium bonus of this antler token?

Richard handed the antler token to the shadow.

When the shadow brought its two fingers together at the tip of the horn, the entire etheric field of the training ground changed.

During the needle insertion step, the condensed etheric mass transformed into something with a pointed end and a hook at the other, somewhat resembling a tooth.

When Richard, the master, looked into the mirror, the ether layer kept pushing him away.

Three meters away, the coating of coarse salt and refined silver on the copper target began to frost.

The target could withstand etheric impacts below the Lesser Master level without damage, but this time, even from three meters away, frost began to form on it.

Richard's palms began to sweat.

He suddenly realized that if this shot were to be fired, the target would definitely not be able to block it.

Let alone whether the target can block it or not, maybe even the inscription wall behind it can't block it.

If the inscription wall in the training room is damaged, the compensation will be far more than just £4.60.

Ultimately, this may result in an accident report and an on-site inspection by the equipment department.

The branch offices might all come to inquire about him and invite him for tea.

This tea probably won't have sugar added; sugar is sold by weight these days.

In short, he will reveal his hidden trump card.

Richard quickly told Shadow to put his hand down.

The problem was that while Shadow held the still-sharp moon nail in his hand, the antler token wasn't idle either.

The hooked side was still constantly oozing ether, which was extremely corrosive.

But once this substance is formed, it is meant to be released; a sword drawn from its sheath must draw blood—that's roughly the same principle.

Richard's forehead was sweating as he activated [Inner Awakening] and pondered repeatedly.

Perhaps, the shadow can simply sink back behind the curtain.

But after thinking about it, he rejected the idea.

This thing is too aggressive; leaving it behind the curtain might attract something.

You can also wait for it to dissipate on its own.

However, his time is limited, and he cannot stay here indefinitely.

Richard's eyes suddenly lit up as he remembered the silencing technique he hadn't used in a long time.

He acted on his idea immediately, creating a vacuum in the shadow's hand without any medium.

Soon, the ether outside could no longer enter, and the surrounding etheric field was constantly disturbed.

The corrosiveness was compressed inside, and within 20 seconds of the flow being cut off, the shadow's fingertips began to calm down.

The antler token rolled half a circle on the ground before stopping when it bumped into Richard's shoes.

Richard picked it up and examined it closely, finding that the horn was still the same horn, and the reins wrapped around it were still intact.

Richard then conducted some basic tests.

This includes the thickness of the Stone Armor, the penetration depth of the regular Moon Spike, the spell switching interval, movement speed, continuous output, and so on.

He found that these basic figures were similar to those of most of the hunters he had consulted in the data room.

Richard tried for a while and discovered a new limitation.

He tried to make the shadow attack the copper target, which remained fixed to the wall.

However, when he was using the name "Black Dog," Shadow's attacks were very perfunctory, lacking in strength and slow in movement.

But when he tossed a small piece of lime into the air, the shadow's hand moved so fast that his eyes almost couldn't keep up.

This guy only chases what runs away; he has no interest in things that don't run.

It will only chase and bite something if it tries to escape.

After writing down the data, Richard flipped back to the page he had written on earlier.

The name was written neatly at the top: [Black Dog]

Richard suddenly had a strange idea.

Perhaps in the future I can disguise my shadow as a real black dog to scare my opponents.

The more he thought about it, the more he felt that this move was too underhanded.

If the black dog really came to me and followed me all night.

He estimated that he himself would be terrified and unable to do anything.

After the test was completed, Richard packed all the miscellaneous items into his bag.

The copper target was still intact and nailed to the wall, though the white frost on the paint had melted away.

It seems I've saved my four pounds and six shillings.

Richard opened the iron gate and found Fisher standing outside, holding a stack of papers.

Fisher's eyes lit up when he saw him come out.

"Williams, I've been waiting for you for half an hour."

Richard frowned and glanced at his registration badge hanging behind him.

"Room 3 should have about 20 minutes left."

Fisher held up the stack of papers in his hand.

"I'm definitely not here to steal your house; I've already written the score."

Richard was even more confused: "What kind of score?"

"Just those six points in your booklet."

Fisher had already unfolded the paper.

"I told you you have the talent to be a poet."

Since you don't want to write it yourself, then I'll write it for you.

Fisher cleared his throat and began to sing.

The more Richard listened to the tune, the stranger it seemed, as if it had been stolen from a church evening prayer.

The solemnity was a bit too much, and coupled with his statement that the milk would only be left outside the door, the atmosphere in the entire corridor became very eerie.

By the fourth note, Fisher himself felt something was off, and his voice lowered.

"This feels a bit like a funeral procession."

I think so too.

"Then I'll choose something more upbeat."

Richard closed the iron door to the training room behind him.

"Alright, just sing this tune."

"Just don't sing this song in the bathhouse."

Last time, someone sang "Tipperelli" in a bathhouse and was reported. The next day, he was summoned to the office for questioning.

Fisher rolled up the stack of papers, tucked them under his arm, and suddenly remembered something.

"By the way, a few more senior students from our department left today."

"Another temporary transfer?"

"Yes, even the teaching assistant for the course on the periodization of time went with them this time."

"Where to?"

Fisher shrugged.

"I don't know, but I heard we have to take a boat."

The next day, Richard went to copy the book as usual.

This is the third stack, all of them old archives for sealing and maintenance submitted by various dioceses.

The old professor remained slumped in his chair as usual.

"Since you're here, let's begin."

Mortimer suddenly spoke up after copying the fourth book.

"Last week, someone asked me something."

Richard didn't stop writing, but his ears perked up.

"What did you ask?"

"The question is about that morning in Whitby."

The pen tip stopped on the paper, leaving a small ink dot.

"Who asked that?"

Mortimer picked up his teacup and took a sip.

"It was just a minor person who said he heard from others that a black dog was sitting at the entrance of the cave that day."

The black dog targeted two people, but only one died.

"So what was your answer?" Richard asked, a little nervously.

"I would definitely say that I'm too old to remember anything or know anything."

Richard took out blotting paper and removed the ink spot.

"Did he believe it?"

Mortimer placed the cup back on the armrest.

"Of course he didn't believe me, but there was nothing he could do about it."

For the rest of the afternoon, neither of them spoke.

When the lights outside came on, Richard packed his things to leave.

As he reached the door, Mortimer slowly added a sentence.

"The hunter circle is small; news travels faster than newspapers."

"I know, you reminded me."

The old professor spoke as if reciting a menu.

"The black dog has its sights set on Gerald Ashford, and Gerald Ashford is still alive."

Putting these two things together, some people will definitely ask: Why?

Outside the window, those old sycamore trees have already sprouted leaves.

As the wind blew, the leaves cut the light on the windowpane into fragments.