I loaded the Mysticism panel.

One pack of dogs after another emerged from the lowlands, their mouths never empty.

The last, lame animal came up without picking up anything, and went straight to the shadow's feet, lying down and resting its chin on its shoe.

"inventory."

Dozens of hands gripping the reins lined up in mid-air.

"Eastern section, 4,100."

"Four thousand three hundred."

"Four thousand one hundred, you counted the area around crater number twenty-seven twice."

"I made two trips."

"You made two trips because you went in the wrong direction the first time."

"My first trip was to scout out the route."

"You've ventured into that swamp to the south."

"...That's a road too."

The old scholar stepped out of the queue, a scroll spread out on his lap.

"Don't make a fuss, report them one by one."

He reported it very quickly.

How many in the western section, how many in the middle section, how many in the Liuzhuangdi area, and how many were driven to the higher ground in the south and then turned back?

"Total: 4,967."

Nobody speaks when things are going well.

Richard knew the number in the newspaper wouldn't be that; it would either be empty or some other number.

The old scholar rolled the scroll down to the very last blank section.

"It's time to break up."

The arguments over splitting the bills were even fiercer than the actual accounting.

The barefoot one said he had held onto an entire trench in the western section and should get a larger share;

Someone nearby immediately pointed out that more than half of the trench he had bitten had already been driven out by others.

The lobster soldier in the red jacket silently accepted his share.

The old man who couldn't remember his own name for six hundred years suddenly said when he received his share, "I don't want this."

"What do you want?"

"I want a shoe."

The old scholar didn't even look up: "Remember, he wanted a shoe, made of sheepskin."

"Why are you writing this down?"

"Remember this, he'll ask again in another six hundred years."

Laughter echoed from one end of the line to the next, continuing even where it could no longer be heard.

When it was Richard's turn to appear, the clouds fell silent.

The old scholar rolled the scroll upwards, until he reached the very beginning of tonight's book.

"The rules of the Warburg Night are set; we're clearing out unclaimed property that's been lingering all winter. If it weren't for this messenger..."

He paused.

"Tonight, all we can do is watch those guys fight from the clouds."

Dozens of hands gripping the reins loosened their grip by half a turn at the same time.

The hunter hadn't made a sound until now, at which point it turned around.

What do you want?

"I've already said what's mine in the account."

"The accounts are not balanced."

The hunter didn't seem reluctant to say it this time.

"Tonight I've torn apart a master, and tonight's prey can't fill that gap."

The clouds are even quieter now.

Richard sat in the wicker chair and felt the coolness on the back of his neck coming all the way from hundreds of miles away.

I'll give you two choices; pick one.

The hunter will speak first.

"I can arrange a Grand Mystic Ritual for you. After it's done, you'll be directly placed at the threshold of Minor Proficiency, just one oath away."

"Once you reach the Lesser Mastery level, this secret ritual will continue to work, and within two years you will be able to reach the Greater Mastery level."

Richard tightened his grip on the armrest of the wicker chair.

He mentally listed his current goals:

My mother's winding road that had been idle for over a decade, the mirror across the sea that had been slowly but surely reached out to me, the "Ten of Swords" hanging on the table in mid-April...

If you accept it, all of these problems will be solved.

"The price," he began to ask.

The hunter announced a series of special dates.

"The Twelve Nights of Yul, the Three Days of the Four Seasons, Halloween, Warburg... and all the places where large numbers of dead people will appear."

"You must be present on every night we go hunting... and you must be there in person."

Richard felt a slight unease, but he wasn't surprised by what was said.

"What if I die in the Wild Hunt?"

"If they die, of course they belong to me, just like these people, as you've all seen."

The wind passed right through the middle of that open space.

Richard, hundreds of miles away, closed his eyes, and the Chariot Reversed card stood up again.

The carriage was still moving, and the two sphinxes were becoming increasingly unruly. The person in the carriage was in a very imposing posture, and there was never a picture of reins on that sign.

"Let's talk about the second option," he said.

The hunter was not surprised; he had expected this line.

"Secondly, we will help you hunt a specific target."

"Within three years, as long as you mention a name, I will write it down in the next booklet."

"This is a one-time thing; once it's said, it's over."

The shadow steadied the double-serpent staff without hesitation.

"I choose the opportunity to hunt."

A very slight commotion arose in the clouds.

"He's insane," the young man wielding the axe muttered under his breath. "Two years to become a master? Two years!"

"Yes, so many people go through their entire lives without even mastering a small skill!"

"Shut up, all of you."

The old scholar picked up his pen again and wrote two lines on the blank space at the end of the scroll.

After he finished writing, he looked up and glanced at his shadow.

There was something else in that glance. Richard read it through a wisp of light for a long time and felt that the other person might be praising him.

"Why?" the hunter asked.

"I want to climb up on my own," Richard said.

"That would be very slow."

"Slowness is also my own."

The hunter did not ask any further questions.

It took the horn off the saddle, weighed it in its palm, and then hung it back up.

"The accounts are still not balanced," the old scholar reminded him.

"I know."

The hunter thought for a moment and said, "Then let's add one more thing."

"From tonight onwards, you are no longer a guest."

The pair of antlers pointed towards the tip of the antler wrapped with the reins in the shadow.

"From now on, behind the curtain, anyone who still follows my rules can report to the Hunter's Messenger #039."

"What about obligations?" the shadow asked.

"no."

The one carrying the burnt black wood laughed out loud.

"That was a beautiful move." He twirled the piece of charcoal between his fingers.

"It's just a title, I don't have to spend any money, not a single penny."

"Shut up," the hunter said.

"I'm praising you."

The old scholar lowered his head and finished writing the last line, his pen pausing briefly on the scroll.

Richard then noticed how the roll was unfolded.

The rows were densely packed, one after another, and they were all names.

The new section added tonight is still wet, the ink seeping down.

His gaze followed that section downwards, one line, two lines, until he reached the end.

The one he was looking for wasn't there.

The old scholar noticed the gaze and closed the scroll halfway.

"We didn't remember any of the people who went through that crack tonight."

"Thank you," Richard said.

"No need for thanks." The old scholar tucked the pen behind his ear.

"I can keep track of the accounts, but I can't control anything else."

The accounts were still not settled, and the hunter continued to give Richard the opportunity to choose his spoils.

It flicked the reins, conjuring up a cabinet without edges.

At that moment, the entire team craned their necks in anticipation.

"The hunter has opened the cabinet."

"It's been so many years since it was last driven."

"Thirty-seven years."

"Forty-one years."

"……here we go again."

One by one, the treasures in the cabinet surfaced.

The old scholar stepped out of the queue, rolled up the bundle on his lap, and tucked it into his waistband.

The first thing presented was a gold ring.

The design on the cabochon was worn so badly that it was almost impossible to see; only in the slanted light could one make out a standing lion.

“I recognize this,” the old scholar said. “From that night in Babylon.”

"Whose is it?"

"Alexander".

The clouds fell silent for a moment.

"...Which Alexander?" the young man wielding the axe asked.

"How many Alexanders have you heard of in your life?"

"I've heard of three, and one of them owes me two silver coins."

"Shut up."

The hunter ignored him and tossed the ring in the air.

He succeeded his father at the age of twenty and died in Babylon at the age of thirty-two, a period of twelve years.

"The places this great emperor conquered in twelve years are so vast that you couldn't fly over them even if you sat here all night."

The shadow held the double-serpent staff steady.

"Is the Great Emperor a figure from the mystical realm?"

"Yes, but he still died young."

Why?

The hunter held the ring up in front of him so that he could see it more clearly.

"The year he entered the Black Soil River, he traveled westward into the desert for eight days and came to a temple by a spring."

That temple has been worshipped for two thousand years, and it has always only recognized their pharaoh.

"On that day, the entire priesthood called him the son of Ammon in his presence."

Richard was trying to see if he could take advantage of this opportunity to absorb some Ether and gain points.

But soon, he felt a little annoyed.

This Alexander the Great's signet ring was just an empty shell; the sample the hunter showed him... it wasn't that easy after all.

The hunter lowered his hand.

"A name is just a nickname if only a few people call it, but it becomes a title if a group of people call it it."

"Being called by a whole area of ​​sacrificial scars that have been worshipped for two thousand years... they'll weld a tube behind a curtain onto your body."

"Later, the Persians gave him another one, and the Babylonians gave him another one."

He collected them as he went, until in the end, the number of pipes welded to his body was so many that no one could count them.

Richard asked, "Has he ever been exposed to tradition?"

"No, he feels that no one is in charge of him."

Someone in the clouds took a breath.

The hunter nodded.

"He died from arrogance, and he also died from greed."

"At the age of thirty-two, he developed a fever in Babylon."

"During that time, the area outside the house was filled with people: close advisors, generals, physicians, and those he grew up with... No one was willing to leave first, and no one dared to leave first."

"In the end, someone came up to him by the bedside and asked: 'To whom will everything in the empire be left?'"

He said: "Give it to the strongest one."

The hunter tossed the ring from his palm and caught it again.

"He said a lot in his life, some of which have been copied for two thousand years."

"This is the only sentence he uttered in his delirium before he died."

"The rest of the story is well-known."

"What is the purpose of this signet ring?"

The old scholar next to him laughed heartily.

"Once you put it on, you'll become an 'Emperor,' and everyone around you will unconsciously obey and follow you with their every word and action."

"And the price?" Richard remained unmoved.

The old scholar let out a soft "uh," the sound of laughter stuck in his throat.

"You have to be a real 'ruler' yourself, and your territory has to be large enough, and you have to have enough people obeying your orders, otherwise the pressure will crush you."

"...It's a bit of a waste. People who are qualified to wear it don't need this signet ring, and people who aren't qualified can't wear it."

Richard analyzed the situation, finding himself more interested in the sealed aether within the artifact than in its effects.

"Where are his remains?"

The hunter said:

"That's why this signet ring is here."

"His coffin was being transported from Babylon to his home when it was robbed on the way."

"The one who abducted it took it south, all the way to the mouth of the Black Soil River."

"Later, someone built a city around that coffin, and in the city, a library was built, and in the library, a school of thought emerged."

"The Alexandrian School"

The old scholar glanced at it.

"Everyone is still studying that school of encryption systems today."

"This signet ring was taken off from the finger bone."

"The hand that removed it was placed inside the coffin while it was still inside."

Shadow waited until the Hunter took back the ring before speaking.

"Actually, I originally wanted to ask you whether the original owners of the collection in this cabinet were all important figures in the mystical world."

"That's not the right question. I suggest you rephrase it."

"Change it to what?"

An elderly scholar chimed in.

"If it were... these people, why didn't any of them survive to this day?"