I loaded the Mysticism panel.

The shadow slammed the tip of the staff to the ground.

"Then let me ask one more question."

"ask."

"Are all those people sitting in various countries—the royal family, the cabinet, and the row above—connected to the mystical side?"

The old scholar slowly shook his head.

"There is a relationship, but it's not the kind of relationship you're thinking of."

"The vast majority of political figures are clean from head to toe, without a single loophole."

Aside from some genuinely bad luck, some also had someone else pick the items for them.

"The Ministry of the Interior, the General Administration, and the sons of several hunter families—these people are indeed in the government system, but their upper limits are strictly controlled."

In publicly available positions, the highest rank is only Senior Expert.

Why?

"Because once you go up any higher, top experts can no longer enter regular conference rooms."

The old scholar shrugged.

"If an expert just says a few words, everyone on that floor will have nightmares that night."

The next day, the secretaries were losing hair in droves, their hands trembling as they served tea, and the meeting couldn't continue.

"There's something else that's more important."

He put his hands back on his knees.

"Rank and power are mutually exclusive."

"Power is something that is seen; the stronger you are, the less you are seen."

"So those who truly reach the top never sit on the throne; they can't sit there, nor do they need to."

"They stand behind the families, the families stand behind the politicians, and the politicians stand in the spotlight."

The one carrying the burnt black wood snorted beside him.

"I once carried a flag for an emperor during my lifetime."

"That guy is incredibly stupid; he can't even count how many wells he has on his own fiefdom."

"But the moment he put on that crown, our entire army really felt that he was different."

Seeing that they had finished talking, the hunter took out a second item from his collection.

It was also a ring, with words engraved on the inner circle, but the engraving was shallow and crooked, the work of a blacksmith from the countryside.

The character originally had three parts, but it was worn down to only two and a half.

"This is a girl," the old scholar said in a lower voice.

Which girl?

"Jeanne, she comes from a village called Domrémy, east of France, and her father is a farmer."

"Her parents bought her this ring at the market when she was thirteen."

The old scholar held up the narrow ring.

"She had no mentor, but she was born with an exceptionally high level of inspiration."

"Her greatest talent is... people believe her the moment she opens her mouth."

"The right to define," Richard said.

"The right to define." The old scholar nodded.

"A country girl who was never taught anything was born with this skill."

"Within six months she lifted the siege of Orléans, sent the prince to Reims Cathedral, and watched him put on that crown."

The old scholar turned the ring halfway around.

"Just think about it, a seventeen-year-old girl, with just her words, successfully installed a monarch within six months."

"What about the church?"

"Of course the church should deal with her."

"Colluding with the enemy?"

"No," the old scholar said. "The church isn't afraid of her colluding with the enemy."

"What the church fears is... that if she opens her mouth, all of France will believe her."

"Then what about all those words spoken by those who have been anointed for centuries?"

"What's the use of this ring?" Richard asked.

"Wear it and you will receive 'revelation'."

The old scholar raised the narrow ring a little higher.

"This revelation can even allow you to foresee your own death."

"And the price?"

"You have to believe it yourself first, believe it to the point that you have no room for doubt in your heart."

"The more people believe in you, the brighter you shine on the other side of the curtain."

"If you become too powerful, someone will build a courthouse specifically to destroy you."

The shadow held the staff steady.

"So to use it, I have to be someone who never asks myself if I'm right or wrong."

"……right."

"As for someone like me who needs to read a sentence three times over," Richard said. "I was crushed to death the day I put it on."

The third item is a bronze seal.

"This belongs to your Lord Protector, Oliver Cromwell."

"For a few years, some of his subordinates advised him: 'Why don't you just wear that crown?'"

"He thought about it for six weeks, but didn't wear it."

He didn't dare wear it.

The old scholar placed the seal on his lap.

"This is the smartest thing he's ever done in his life."

"He died peacefully while he was alive, but two years later, the son of the man who had been beheaded returned."

"They dug Cromwell out of the ground, and by then he was almost completely rotten."

But they still followed the procedure: he was dragged to the execution ground and hung up for a whole day; when it got dark, his head was cut off and nailed to a pole.

"The pole was erected on the roof of the hall where he used to work."

The hunter suddenly chuckled beside him:

"Actually, his most valuable asset is his own head."

"During the twenty-five years he ruled, there was no one on the island of Albion who could not see him when he looked up."

"Take a look at those entering the city, and take a look at those leaving the city."

The mother picked up her child and pointed him out: "Look, it's him, the one who beheaded the king."

"Millions of people, repeating it once a day, for twenty-five years."

"I attended the funeral of the Duke of Huguo," the man in the red jacket in the group suddenly spoke up.

Dozens of heads turned around at once.

"I carried a gun for him." He adjusted the row of gleaming buttons on his cuffs. "Two shillings a day."

"On the day of his burial, everyone made a wooden puppet, dressed in a purple robe, with a ball and a staff stuffed in its hands."

"He didn't dare wear a crown while he was alive," the lobster soldier said.

"When he could no longer speak, we put the crown on his head."

The old scholar pressed the scroll flat on his lap.

"In the end, the achievements these people accumulated throughout their lives condensed into such a visible wonder."

"The signet ring represents the territory of Alexander, the ring represents Jeanne's eyes, and the seal represents the army under Cromwell's command."

"They never relied on external things to do things; it was because they finished the work that the relics ended up like this."

At this moment, the hunter turned the antlers around.

"Choose," it said.

Richard had his shadow hold the double serpent staff horizontally in front of him, pretending to examine it closely.

[Internal Awakening] lights up at this time.

Since leveling up to level 3, those eyes that used to scrutinize others have turned away and are now focused on myself.

It won't solve the problem for him; it will only turn that thought over and show him the other side when it first pops into his mind.

The hunter opened the cabinet too quickly.

He was a miser who would spend ages calculating even the tip of a horn that had fallen from a mount, a calculation that led two experts to despise him on the spot.

Suddenly, he laid out his most treasured possessions one by one, displaying several items, and even invited a scholar to tell him the stories.

It was said so beautifully that it made my heart itch.

Richard mentally turned a page of the booklet that was rolled up under Professor Mortimer's windowsill.

"The slave is bound by debt, while the guest arrives with a token of trust."

What binds a slave is debt.

So what's the easiest way to turn a customer into a slave?

Give him something he can't repay.

The old scholar had calculated clearly what he deserved tonight:

The efforts of diverting tens of thousands of people resulted in a crucial hint that allowed the hunter to attack opponents of the same rank.

Every member of the hunting team knew exactly how much these two items added up to.

How much is Alexander the Great's signet ring worth? How much is the revelation of the Saint Maiden worth? How much is the bronze seal of the Duke of Protector worth?

Adding to the two privileges granted by the Hunter Lord, if he were to take either one now, the scales would tip in his favor.

From that moment on, he was the one in debt.

"May I ask you a question?" Richard said.

"ask."

"Is there anything else in this cabinet?"

The hunter paused for a moment.

The pause was so brief that Richard almost mistook it for an illusion.

"have."

A small section of the cloud collapsed, and the things that floated up didn't look right.

A piece of brass, about the size of a palm.

There is a thin layer of glaze of an indescribable color on the inner wall of the fragment.

"What's this?" The young man wielding the axe craned his neck. "A broken pot?"

"It's a crucible," the old scholar said.

He didn't continue the story as he had before.

"The one tonight," the hunter said.

"When it melted itself into that pot, it was only half melted."

The signed artifact followed him uphill, and halfway up, I tore it up.

"Tear off this piece."

No one responded from the cloud.

Richard spread out the still water, letting the mirror reflect onto the fragment.

The truly valuable part involving the mysteries of humanity has already been taken by the hunter himself; all that remains is the ether that permeates it.

Richard's breathing slowed down.

A fragment of a unique object, personally nurtured by a master for decades and then washed away during a ceremony to become a master.

"I want this piece," he said.

The clouds fell silent.

"...He wants that broken pot."

"He didn't understand, did he?"

"What's that sitting next to him? Can't he see it?"

"I think he's gone stupid from reading too much."

The old scholar took the pen from behind his ear and wrote a line on the scroll.

After finishing writing, I looked up and stared at my shadow for a long time.

The hunter's antlers didn't budge.

Are you sure?

"Sure."

The hunter said, "These are top-tier rare items; even a master craftsman might not possess just one. Don't you want them?"

"I know."

"Then why don't you want it?"

The shadow paused on the double-serpent staff.

"My loot for tonight, plus one high-grade artifact, will exceed my allotted quota."

The clouds were quiet for a while longer.

Then the hunter laughed.

The laughter was more exhilarating than any other that night, rolling through the entire procession as tens of thousands of horses pawed the ground simultaneously.

It laughed as it swiftly and cleanly closed the cabinet on the cloud.

The man carrying the burning black wood burst into laughter on the spot.

"Look at that." He pointed the charcoal tip at the hunter. "Look at that move."

"Shut up."

"I'm praising you."

You complimented me twice tonight.

"That's because you skipped two rounds tonight."

The old scholar tucked the pen behind his ear and stood up.

He walked to the shadow and lowered his voice, though lowering his voice wouldn't make much difference here.

"Young man."

"There are so many different things displayed in this cabinet, but I don't really want to take any of them out. I'm just showing them off so you'll reach out and grab them."

"What if I actually extend it?"

"Then you don't need to go back tonight."

"It will express its regret for you and then arrange a horse for you."

The piece of brass floated over and landed in the shadow's palm.

It felt cool to the touch, unlike the coolness of copper.

The hunter raised the horn again.

"It's getting light."

"You're included in tonight's show."

The bugle sounded; it was a short note, a tune to signal the end of the workday.

Tens of thousands of cavalrymen dispersed to the southeast, spreading out very quickly.

The last few people in the line were still arguing about whether a shoe was made of sheepskin or cowhide, but then they fell silent.

The clouds dispersed, revealing the low-lying land below.

Light began to appear on the surface of the canal, spreading out in lines from the east.

Along the 8,000-meter front line, stretcher bearers are still walking.

When Richard opened his eyes, the first thing he saw was his knees.

The coat slipped down to her feet and became damp with dew.

He reached out to grab it, but halfway there he found his fingers were so stiff they wouldn't obey him. He had to bend them twice before they finally came down.

The holly bushes in the backyard were covered in water; it was already bright outside.

Gerrard sat on the stone bench opposite him.

The old man had an evening newspaper spread out on his lap, and he hadn't turned a page since last night.

"I'm back."

"I'm back."

Gerald folded the newspaper and tucked it under his arm, then stood up.

He heard a cracking sound from his knee as he stood up, but he didn't pay any attention to it.

"It was indeed just before dawn, about seven minutes away."

"I don't know what you're counting."

"I counted them all night long."

After Gerrard finished speaking, he walked towards the foyer.

"The grass on the gatepost is gone."

Richard helped himself up from the wicker chair and went over to look.

The half-bundle of hay that stood under the stone pillar on the left last night has been reduced to scraps.

"Frost melts from top to bottom," Gerald said. "Normal frost melts from bottom to top."

Richard did not respond.

At that moment, the butler poked his head out from the foyer, his face puffy from not having slept all night.

"Master...Young Master..."

He looked at the stone pillar, then at Richard.

"The half-bundle of straw in the woodshed was gone when I checked this morning."

When breakfast was served, Richard ate several portions by himself.

Gerrard watched as his grandson scraped the second plate of smoked fish clean, then put down his knife and fork.

"What exactly did that person give you?"

Richard wiped his hands on a napkin, took the brass shard from his inner pocket, and placed it on the tablecloth.

Gerald's spiritual vision lingered on it for a long time, his expression strange.

But he said nothing and pushed the fragments back.

"Grandpa, they gave me a title."

"What title?"

"Messenger."

Gerald put down his teacup.

"Obligation?"

"no."

The old man snorted through his nose.

"Then it really can't bear to take anything out."