I loaded the Mysticism panel.

At night, Richard fiddled with the antler tip with its reins wrapped around it in his dormitory.

As he played, he put the horn down.

Richard originally thought it might be a little later before anyone became curious about him.

But I didn't expect it to come so quickly.

I was initially hesitant about joining the Wild Hunt, but this time I'm completely determined.

Richard opened his notebook and turned to the page titled "The Luck That Goes With You".

The two professors could only protect him for a short time.

He needs to accumulate as much cargo as possible through the Wild Hunt before the real danger comes his way.

With a bit more luck, things might change.

Thinking of this, Richard spread out the sixty-seven letters again.

There are only nine accounts of the last night of April.

Richard took out the nine portions separately and arranged them in a row.

There wasn't a single missing person in Jiufen.

The letter from Wells mentioned a well.

There was a voice coming from the well, and anyone who went to draw water would be called by name. Later, the villagers filled in half of the well.

That night passed, and the well fell silent.

There was a family in Devon whose back door had been knocked on for three years.

After that night, the knocking stopped.

Richard read through the letters one by one and then pressed them down in order.

Yul is a collector, and he collects the names of living people.

Wolberg is Qing.

Drive all those things that lingered in the world all winter, refusing to leave and causing trouble, to where they belong.

Most of the prey that night refused to go to sleep.

He had done the extradition of the deceased several times and had become increasingly skilled at it.

………………

In late April, flower wreaths began to appear on the streets.

In the alleys south of the city, women sat on low stools by their doorways, weaving.

Willow branches are bent into circles, entwined with hawthorn blossoms and wild cherry blossoms, with a small bunch of yellow daffodils inserted in the middle.

Several children squatted down and picked up flower petals into their baskets. Once they were full, they ran to the next house to beg for money.

This is an old custom for May Day.

The wreath hung on the lintel until the first morning of May.

Richard stood for a moment at the corner of Kent Street.

The woman making the flower wreath looked up at him.

"Would you like one, sir? Sixpence."

"How much was it last year?"

"Three pence." She bent the willow branch into another circle.

"Flowers are expensive, so this year all the land outside the city is planted with vegetables."

"No one comes to buy the Five Pillars anymore. In previous years, one would be erected on that open space in the south of the city, and the children would jump around it."

This night would normally be lively in the old days of the empire.

A fire must be lit on the hilltop, and talismans must be drawn on the gate of the cattle pen with tar.

The women inside the house are not allowed to spin thread that night, and ironware must be placed outside the threshold.

"Not establishing it this year?"

"It won't stand up this year." The woman placed one of the braided pieces at her feet.

"The men who carry the pillars are all strong young men, and there should be seven or eight of them, but we can't gather seven or eight this year."

Richard took out sixpence, picked up the wreath, and walked back.

He returned to Ashford House.

Gerrard was in the backyard, using a small shovel to trim the roots of the holly bushes.

"Grandpa, there's something I want to tell you."

Gerrard stuck the shovel into the ground and straightened up.

"I'm going out on the last night of April."

"I'll be back at dawn."

"Where to?"

"The horn given to me by the hunter."

The backyard remained quiet for a long time.

The holly leaves were flipped over by the wind, then flipped back over.

"Let's go inside and talk," Gerald said.

The door to the small room on the second floor, studded with iron rivets, closed behind the two people.

Gerrard sat down behind the oak table, resting his hands on the edge of the table.

What did I say to you last month?

"You said this is a one-time exception." Richard stood there.

"But you also said that even just saying 'I'm working on something, and if I can't get it done, then it's fine.'"

"So I'm going to say it now."

The old man stared at him for a long time.

He snorted through his nose, it was impossible to tell whether he was angry or something else.

"……OK."

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

The first thing the shadow needed to take over was the Hermes mask.

Wearing a mask behind a curtain provides a terrifyingly powerful boost, but the price is being watched.

That night, the entire sky was under scrutiny; one more person wouldn't make a difference.

The second item is the antler token, which is both a pass and a tooth.

Three Soul-Devouring Beast Tooth Needles: use the Soul-Devouring Beast Tooth Needles in normal situations, and throw the deer antlers as a trump card.

There's only one light storage device; the Shadow Armor relies on light, and it's uncertain whether they have one over there.

He prepared two portions of the medium-concentration condensate.

The shadow behind the curtain doesn't normally burn the ether of the main body, but hunting all night is different from daily training; when you're hungry, you need to be able to eat.

Clara's uncle made a small flag to ward off evil spirits. He thought about it for a long time, but in the end, he put it in his bag.

He paused for a moment when he placed it on the far right.

That bone needle from my great-grandfather.

The Moon Hunter's traditional purification pulse will burn away anything that tries to attach to, parasitize, or replace the wearer.

And then there's that one decisive blow.

He held the bone needle between his fingers, weighed it in his hand, and finally put it back into his inner pocket.

This cannot be given to a shadow.

The shadow has dissipated, and he is severely weakened, but he can recover and start over.

This needle can only be used once.

………………

On Saturday afternoon, Clara and Richard went to a teahouse on the west side of the city that overlooked the canal.

The teahouse has a narrow entrance, and a card is pasted on the window; it is a copy of the royal oath of prohibition.

Someone wrote in handwriting below: "This household swears an oath."

Richard glanced at it as he entered.

It's ridiculous that a teahouse that never sells alcohol would hang up something like this.

There was a row of seats by the window inside the room.

Clara sat behind the table at the very back.

She wasn't wearing her usual plain dress today; instead, she wore a light gray coat, and her hair was still tied back with a ribbon.

Her complexion was rosier than when she was in the sanatorium.

In the past, when she spoke to people, she would always subtly tilt her right ear to one side of her head, a little habit she still keeps to this day.

"Sit down." She gestured with her chin towards the chair opposite her. "Have you eaten?"

I ate two pies in the cafeteria.

Clara bent down and picked up a flat leather suitcase from beside her feet.

"Open it and take a look."

Richard unfastened the buckles on both sides, revealing a machine that was about the width of a palm and the length of two palms.

At first glance, it looks like a hybrid of a camera, a typewriter, and a primitive printer.

The machine also comes with a roll of extremely thin, specially made paper, next to which is a small copper urn about the size of a thumb.

As soon as Richard's spiritual vision touched it, he felt that the bronze urn contained a small pool of extremely low-concentration etheric condensate.

"What is this?"

"Rubbing machine".

Clara took it out of the cork compartment.

"Scholars spend their entire lives studying inscriptions and rubbings."

"Traditional rubbings can only capture the surface of the stone; they can't capture the surface of the curtain."

She tapped the crank of the machine.

"Crank this handle, and the condensed liquid in the jar will seep along the silver threads onto the back of the paper, which will also imprint the layer on the side of the curtain."

Richard held the machine and examined it.

"Senior, this thing is too valuable."

"Keep it. You healed me, I'd feel bad if I didn't give you something in return."

Clara refilled his tea, but her eyes were fixed on the row of weeping willows outside the window.

"The Scapa Flow compensation has been paid, and I have a little money in my hands now."

My cousin said that because I'm his relative, they'd reduce most of my wages.

She laughed as she said this.

"He was sharp-tongued, but he still managed to get the stuff out overnight."

Richard thought about it and didn't refuse.

"It seems that although the senior's uncle has a bad temper, he's not a bad person."

"That's just how he is." Clara took a sip of tea, then suddenly remembered something.

"Speaking of which, the craftsmen of their generation looked down on these machines a few years ago."

"Making alchemy tools requires manual skill; anyone who tries to replace those hands with a machine will be criticized."

"In the early years, some people tried to use steam hammers to replace manual forging, but they were scolded by the old craftsmen and couldn't lift their heads."

They say that things forged by machines have no soul.

"And now?"

"Now his workshop has two image transmission machines and a lathe."

Richard raised an eyebrow.

"Once the battle begins, he won't have a choice whether he likes it or not."

Clara's tone softened.

"The front lines need enchanted bullets and to recast the sealing medium; the quantity is terrifying."

He relied entirely on his own two hands, hammering away at each furnace; he could hammer until he died and still not finish.

She shook her head.

"So now he doesn't say that machines have no soul."

Richard smiled.

"It's a good thing that you can figure it out."

"It's definitely not something you figure out," Clara corrected him.

"It was forced into this situation. A few years ago, if you gave a lathe to his workshop for free, he would complain that it took up too much space."

Richard stopped smiling and slowly nodded.

"Putting aside everything else, the fact that war forces people to move forward is undeniable."

He put down his cup and became interested in conversation.

"Two years ago, airplanes were still toys for the rich; they would fly up, circle twice, and then land."

Now they do everything: reconnaissance, bombing.

Radio and image transmission, which were originally exclusive to academies and big cities, are now being deployed across the front lines in a network-like fashion.

"Even veteran craftsmen like my senior and uncle were forced to bring their lathes into the workshop."

Clara didn't interrupt him.

After he finished speaking, she put down her teacup.

"So, according to you, can machines also replace some of the decoding, identification, and sealing processes?"

"The standard inscription is engraved into the roller, and the machine presses it to seal it."

The device records the pronouncements of common evil spirits, and it can be identified by comparison.

"Someone will do it sooner or later," Richard said.

"Repetitive work can be broken down and standardized."

"And what about the scholars?"

"Scholars are more valuable, while machines can only replace repetitive labor."

"The more advanced the machines, the more valuable the scholars become."

Clara stared at him blankly for a long while before speaking.

"The older professors in the department frown whenever they talk about industry and machines, thinking they are dirty things that ruin tradition."

Richard paused, holding his teacup, and blinked nervously.

"I just like to overthink when I have nothing to do."

"Nonsense." Clara smiled slightly, not pressing the matter further.

The tea room fell silent.

Richard put the machine back in the cork compartment, fastened the buckle, but kept his hand on the lid.

Ever since the night the last party ended, he actually had something he wanted to discuss with someone.