I loaded the Mysticism panel.

The hunter leader came from the center of the group.

Tens of thousands of horses made way to both sides, clearing a path.

It stopped at the very front, glanced down at the patch of black willow stumps on the ground.

"Is it clean now?"

"It's almost clean," the one holding the reins replied.

"Who cleaned it?"

"he."

The two antlers tilted slightly towards the shadow.

The shadow held the double-serpent staff steady.

"That one up there..." the hunter said, "has no name yet."

"Those without a respectful name are not part of the tradition."

"What is unconventional is mine."

It paused for a moment: "But tonight there will be a name."

Richard understood the subtext of those words.

Warburg is a night of sweeping, and there are rules for nights of sweeping.

The hunters have used these rules to do things for hundreds of years, and have also been bound by these rules for hundreds of years.

It cannot hunt down an expert without a reason.

"I think you actually have a reason," Richard said, his voice emanating from the Hermes mask.

The antlers turned around.

"explain."

"The second signature is integrated into the inheritance system, which is a two-way channel."

"Tradition is a tree, and each branch that is attached to it is a new branch."

The one in the trunk enjoys all the nutrients, and also holds the pruning shears.

These are considered basic knowledge.

"Of course I know." The hunter didn't interrupt or show any impatience; it was in a good mood tonight.

"The one who will be promoted soon will be on the furnace."

"The boundary marker of the furnace fire lineage stands on #039, which completely transforms one thing into another #039."

He wanted to touch the monument, and he did, but he went too far.

These were things Richard had just learned and asked the old scholar in the group for advice.

He made the shadow point the tip of the staff downwards:

"The only rule of the hearth is... the fire recognizes the hearth."

"A product that doesn't recognize its owner will not be recognized by the hearth fire."

"Considering all of this, the person who is to be promoted is definitely not a master of traditional furnace techniques."

It was quiet under the clouds for a long time.

The hunter twitched his antlers, completing the logical chain.

"So this guy is definitely going to break with tradition; he'll cut off his own branch at the last moment before his promotion."

Cut yourself off that tree and get somewhere else before you hit the ground.

"A master who cuts off his own branches is, before landing... an unclaimed possession."

"And the unclaimed things, in the night at Warburg..."

The hunter burst into laughter.

The laughter rolled through the entire procession, and tens of thousands of horses pawed at the same time.

"However, this transition period will certainly be very short."

The hunter suddenly realized a crucial point.

"The master of the hearth tradition would do it himself," Richard said.

"The moment He took action, the branch broke."

How do I know when He will make His move?

"You can remind Him."

The hunter's aura changed, and suddenly, it changed the subject:

"By the way, if the hunt is successful, what do you plan to ask for?"

"My share in the account," Richard said. "I don't want the rest."

"You're not greedy at all."

Those who are greedy will be held accountable.

The laughter rolled over again.

The hunter raised his horn.

It took a breath first.

As you inhale, all the wind stops at the same moment.

"Not dwelling in the furnace, but the furnace dwelling within it."

The moment the first sentence was uttered, in a quenching workshop in the north of the Ross Empire, the water in the tank stopped bubbling.

At a bell-making workshop on the banks of the Rhine, the bellows were still running, but the air coming out was cold.

The furnace went out completely.

"He who melted away the infusible and redefined the melting point of all things."

On Covent Street in the capital, Clara's distant cousin sat behind his lathe.

He waited until the heat on his back had completely subsided before turning around, standing up, and turning off the power to the image teletype machine.

I found a stool, sat down, and did nothing.

Further away, a craftsman who had recently become independent tended his furnace.

The ball of fire shrank before his eyes, disappearing completely.

"Master?"

His master had already stood by the window, his face turned west.

No one reads the third part about the honored name.

From Iberia to the Rhine, from Covent Street to some unknown workshop, tens of thousands of furnaces recited His prayers.

"No blood can seal it, no bones can forge it; all that changes its form when it enters the fire are its limbs."

On the other side of the curtain, a branch broke off from the tree.

The break is very clean.

When the shears fell on the tree trunk, the branch had already cut itself off first.

It fell very quickly, as if it was trying to reach something else below it.

The hunter raised the horn again, but this time he only blew half a note.

That half-sound was a piece torn from a name, roughly torn, with blood still visible on the edges.

The moment Richard heard that half-sound from so far away, his entire being was filled with a strong sense of warning.

He certainly recognized what it was; the hunter had put it into his horn cavity.

It has now opened a slit in the cavity.

Deep within the curtained depths, something was being pulled towards this side.

It has been making money all along.

Of course it didn't want to come; it tore at that thread all the way, and the thread was still there at the end.

When we arrived, a small patch of cloud first darkened, and then a large hole appeared in that patch.

Richard couldn't see clearly what came out of the hole, only many mirrors.

Hundreds of faces are turned out and spread out, forming a mirror screen with one side facing down.

"Its injury hasn't healed yet," the leader, who was holding the reins, said in a very soft voice.

"There's not much we can do." The man carrying the wood pulled out the piece of charcoal again.

"With your name in someone else's hands, your life is in their hands, and you can't just shirk your responsibilities."

The mirror screen fell on the yellow-green poisonous gas in the distance, and the newly promoted experts immediately began to scatter and hide.

The methods of the Black Soil River expert are well known: first, see what you are, then replace you with something else.

This is what it has been doing its whole life, for hundreds or even thousands of years.

But hiding in front of the mirror is useless; the Black Earth River Master cannot replace those of the same rank, but it can uglify itself in the mirror.

The first thing I saw was a bluish-purple face, the bluish-purple color spreading all the way into the whites of the eyes, and the eyes just stared straight ahead all night.

In the second scene, a mouth is open, spewing foam. In the third scene, a kneeling person is supporting themselves on the ground, trying to vomit but unable to, their lungs already full...

Hundreds of mirrors reflected hands licking their throats, bluish-purple faces, pink foam, horses kneeling and unable to get up, and rats that stopped halfway through their runs.

"This..." The young man wielding the axe swallowed.

"That's such a dirty trick."

After the mirror screen had reflected enough, hundreds of mirrors stood up at once.

The mirror faces outwards, towards the depths of the curtain.

No one can pinpoint exactly where the highest point is, yet everyone knows it's the direction where those in power sit.

That's the most ruthless part; the tens of thousands of people below can't see it, and don't have time to see it.

It's a photo meant for those above to see.

As soon as the mirror was erected, the entire cloud lit up, a rather unseemly brightness.

Dozens of hands gripping the reins simultaneously pulled the rope back half a turn.

"It's giving a name to a new talent."

"What name should we choose?"

"See for yourself."

Words began to appear on the screen: "I name you... the one who makes people vomit their lungs in one night."

Richard exclaimed that he had learned something new while sitting in the wicker chair, gaining a new understanding of the concept of "first namer".

Hohenheim finally had no choice but to come out.

If he doesn't come forward, all the "great achievements" he's worked so hard to accomplish will truly be for naught.

At the same time, the deep red seal on the other side of the cloud was pressed down again.

The hunter was unharmed and took the hit head-on. The bone flute with one hole pressed down started playing again.

The tune was a bit off, but it was still going up; two experts who didn't really know each other had temporarily teamed up.

Tens of thousands of riders were thrown in all directions, splashing into the upturned lowland below.

The pack of dogs scattered, one leading a group, and that group biting the whole pack.

The important work of cleaning the night still needs to be done; it can't stop.

At the very front, only a few who weren't blowing horns and their shadows remained.

The mirror suddenly tilted to one side at that moment.

After photographing that patch of yellowish-green, it swept its light to both sides, deliberately sweeping it onto the hunter's group.

"What's it doing here?" the first one to swing the axe shouted.

"Let's get a bargain," said the charcoal carrier.

"Whose advantage are we taking advantage of?"

"Ours."

The leaders straightened their backs on the saddle.

"When two or more people fight behind the curtain, the party must retreat three steps away."

"We've withdrawn."

"We returned the money to those two people; this one came to us on his own."

"What should we do then?"

"Disperse."

"Where to scatter?"

"Anywhere is fine." The old man pulled his hood down to his eyes. "Just don't stand in a line."

The expert from Heituhe doesn't expect to reclaim the name; he just wants to take pictures of that team, capturing as many as possible.

Even if it can't be seen, it's not at a loss.

The mirrors were turned over one by one.

The first thing I saw was someone walking a dog.

The mirror reflected the piece of rope in his hand.

The rope was visible, but the person wasn't. He pulled the rope into his arms and disappeared into the clouds.

The second image shows a young man holding a wooden bowl.

There was a ring of teeth marks on the rim of the bowl, which he had gnawed himself into.

He spoke the least along the way, only laughing when others recounted old stories.

The mirror reflected the bowl, and the bowl gleamed in the mirror.

After the light was turned on, the young man's hands were empty.

The mirror also captured the image of a man at the back of the line holding a hoe, and reflected the spot where he had turned over soil in his lifetime.

As the mirror shone, the person's appearance became lighter.

Then the camera captured an old soldier wearing chainmail.

The veteran saw in the mirror the saddle he had eaten with during the siege of the city.

He shouted out a woman's name.

He disappeared after I called out to him.