I loaded the Mysticism panel.

In the afternoon, there were only two people in the teaching and research office.

A rubbing was laid out on the table, and Richard, as usual, was stuck on the middle layer.

"Senior, I can't figure it out." He put down his pen.

"The characters are consistent across two eras, so I can make sense comparing them to either one."

Clara leaned over, turned the rubbing around, and pushed it in front of him.

"Don't look at the words yet."

"Then what are you looking at?"

"Look at the strokes." She lightly tapped with the tip of her pencil.

"Which side did you cut the chisel from?"

Richard lowered his head, and his thoughts suddenly became clear.

From right to left.

"so what?"

"So the person who carved it was a left-handed person," Richard said, his voice growing faster and faster.

"After the Romanization, the workshops operated on an assembly line, with apprentices working uniformly from left to right, pressing the knife with their right hand."

"This is a family-inherited craft, different from those from workshops."

"Then it doesn't belong to the middle layer; it was added during the middle era."

Clara tucked the pencil behind her ear.

"Oh, right."

The door was pushed open at that moment.

Isabella came in carrying a stack of official documents and put them on the table by the window.

"You guys continue, I'll approve mine."

She sat down and took out a red pen.

When I got to the third one, I stopped using the red pen.

When she got to the fifth batch, she simply pushed the stack aside and openly looked at it, resting her chin on her hands.

Clara is talking about the next place.

Isabella couldn't hold back any longer.

"I'll explain this!"

She walked over and took the rubbing from her.

"The spread of the later variants of the Alexander School in the Western Continent's sealing science follows three paths; remember the second one first."

The second path incorporates the cursive writing style of Carolingian small cursive script, so when dating, you should first exclude the fake Carolingian imitations.

The criterion for spurious copies is the second stroke ending of the letter 'a'...

She spoke for several minutes straight without pausing for breath.

After finishing speaking, Richard looked up, his expression very serious.

"...Did you understand?"

"I understood every single word."

"So what did you understand?"

"...I need to eliminate a batch of counterfeit copies first."

Isabella's lips twitched.

Clara gently pulled the rubbing back and drew an emphasis line on that line with a pencil.

"You just need to remember that the Carolingians wrote so that people could read them, and the scribes had to be fast and neat."

"Then why did it make an extra cut?" Richard asked.

"Because the person who carved it was afraid of leaks."

Richard's eyes lit up.

"He's adding a meaning that he knows but others don't."

"Oh, right."

There was a two-second silence in the teaching and research office.

Isabella turned and walked back to the window to sit down, picking up the red pen again.

Take out a blank sheet of paper and write the following line at the top: Teaching Methods · Observation Record.

Clara glanced over there but didn't say anything.

Isabella wrote very carefully, and finally drew her conclusion at the very bottom of the paper.

Conclusion: Clara explained it more clearly than I did.

After she finished writing, she stared at that line for a long time.

Then she folded the paper into small corners and stuffed it into the empty sugar jar.

"Clara," she suddenly said.

"tutor?"

"I'll explain exactly what's wrong with it."

Clara hesitated for a moment.

Isabella raised her hand, somewhat frustrated.

"Just tell me, I'm not going to deduct your research allowance."

"...You're assuming the other person already has prior knowledge in their mind."

Clara spoke slowly.

"When you talk about the second transmission path, it's on the premise that he knows about the first one."

"He didn't know the first rule."

Isabella opened her mouth, unsure how to answer.

There was a slight movement on the other side of the door.

It was a head with long, light blonde hair; half of it peeked in before quickly retracting.

"Sophia," Clara called out.

The door was pushed open.

Sofia held a school uniform in her arms, her smile appearing remarkably natural.

"I was just passing by and came to deliver the proofs."

She put the proof on the table but didn't leave; she craned her neck toward the rubbing.

Clara glanced at her.

"Sit down, let's listen together."

Sofia plopped down and rolled up her sleeves.

"I must figure this out today."

Clara picked out the shallowest part and explained it to her.

Sofia nodded.

"Understood."

"Then tell me."

Sofia opened her mouth, then stopped.

"...I understand it in my mind, but I can't say it out loud."

Clara repeated it again, but in a different way.

This time, Sofia nodded even more vigorously.

"I really understand now!"

"Then you do the next part yourself."

Sofia held the pen and poked two holes in the paper.

Clara sighed beside her.

She sighed softly, but Sofia immediately raised her head.

You sighed!

"I don't."

"You're just sighing!" Sophia put down her pen.

"When you were telling Richard this, you didn't sigh."

"When I talked to him, my voice was so slow, like I was coaxing a child."

"When it comes to me, they just say bluntly, 'This was covered last semester.'"

"We really did talk about this last semester," Clara said, rubbing her forehead.

"You're being unfair!"

"I'm not being biased."

Clara put the rubbing away and added insult to injury: "It's because you're stupid."

There was a moment of silence in the teaching and research office.

"Clara!"

Sofia lay on the table and buried her face in her arms.

"Mentor, did you hear that?"

Isabella covered her mouth and laughed.

"I heard you."

"Aren't you going to do anything about it?"

"What do I care?" Auntie put the cup down.

Sofia lifted half of her face from her arms.

"...You're all in cahoots."

………………

The next afternoon, the door to the teaching and research office was pushed open again.

As soon as the white-haired giant entered, half of the light in the room was blocked.

"Professor." Clara stood up.

"Farfield, could you please step out for a moment?"

Clara carefully put away the collation document in her hand, walked to the door, and glanced back.

Richard nodded to her.

The door closed.

McFee sat down in the chair opposite him.

"Did you bring the IOU?"

Richard took the blank parchment out of his inner pocket; the thorn-wrapped mark in the corner remained unchanged.

"It's time to deliver on the first promise," McFaye said.

"Now?"

"Now."

"Where to?"

"The northernmost part of the Highlands."

The white-haired giant took something out of his pocket and placed it on the table.

It was a grayish-green stone, about the size of a palm, with several shallow lines carved on it.

"This is from Jieshi Yanhuo Village."

He flipped the stone over.

"Before dark, the women of the house had to cover the peat fire."

"Divide the charcoal into three piles, cover them with ash, and recite a short prayer."

"After reciting the prayer, I went to sleep. The next morning, I brushed away the ashes, and it came back to life on its own."

"If a fire in a house cannot last through the night, then that house is considered to be without fire."

"There is a sealing formation on the high ground outside the village, with twelve standing stones."

Richard immediately noticed the number.

"Twelve, Whitcomm also had that number."

The white-haired giant looked at him.

"Yes, Whitcomb is pre-Roman Celtic at its base, Romanized in the middle, and Latin at the top of the medieval church."

"The structure of Yanhuo Village is almost the same as itss."

"Someone added to it after 1814; it was a local hunter's own writing style."

Richard made a mental note of this.

"This spring, two local hunter families were guarding this position."

"Two sons of one of the clans died this year on the other side of the sea."

"The elderly person in my family didn't make it through last winter."

"So there's no one left in that clan this year."

"What about the other race?"

"The other tribe moved away a hundred years ago."

Richard did not ask any further questions.

"The routine reinforcement is every April," McFee continued.

"May is almost over now."

McFaye smiled, but there was no warmth in his smile.

"The Northern Region's seal maintenance budget was cut in half this year, and the cut-off half was used entirely to support Flanders."

He stood up, and the chair creaked with a sigh of relief.

"Catherine is going too."

………………

Departure is scheduled for May 23rd.

On the evening of the 21st, Professor McFee made a reservation at an inconspicuous restaurant in the west of the city.

When Richard arrived, Catherine was already there.

"Where's the professor?"

Catherine opened the notebook and wrote a line.

"In the kitchen."

"What is he doing in the kitchen?"

She wrote another line.

He said he needed to see if the temperature was right.

Richard placed the canvas bag at his feet.

A loud voice came from the kitchen; McFaye was arguing with someone about something.

After arguing for about three minutes, the white-haired giant emerged from behind the curtain, looking displeased.

"The chefs here refuse to roast a whole one, saying it's a wartime rationing issue, but it's not like I'm not paying."

McFaye sat down at the table.

"They even said that if they gave it to me, other customers wouldn't get any."

Catherine wrote in her notebook: "So what did you say?"

"I told them the other guests couldn't eat that much."

Li realized that what was said made a lot of sense; there were two big eaters sitting at the table, and one sheep might not be enough.

The first thing served was a large bowl of mutton soup, which McFaye stirred with a ladle.

"It's a custom in the Highlands to treat someone to a meal before going on a long trip."

He served the first bowl to Catherine, the second to Richard, and only the third to himself.

My bowl was the combined portion of the previous two bowls.

"Eating this meal is so that the stove will remember you."

"Remember this, if you get into trouble outside in the future, it will keep the light on for you on your way back."

Richard understood.

"So this meal..."

"It's so the stove will recognize the three of us."

McFaye put the bowl down.

"I don't have a hearth in the capital, so I can only borrow this one."

"This stove has been burning for forty years; it's quite old."

Catherine wrote a line in her notebook and held it up.

Do I have to pay it back?

"It must be repaid."

"How will you repay it?"

The white-haired giant tapped his finger on the table.

"Pay your bill after you finish eating, and wipe the bowl clean."

"Tell the cook again: Thank you for the fire."

Catherine looked at the line of text and put the notebook down.

The second item is smoked lamb leg.

When this was brought up, Catherine's eyes widened.

It was a whole strip, and when the waiter came in carrying the tray, he had to hold it with both hands.

McFee picked up the knife and gave the first piece to Catherine.

"The shoulder blade is the most tender part, so the youngest should eat it first."

Catherine picked up the piece of meat.

She was in a good mood today and ate faster than usual.

Then she looked up and noticed that a third of the lamb leg on the table was gone.

She shifted her gaze to them; McFaye and Richard were sitting to her left and right, respectively.

Neither of them spoke; they ate in silence.

The sound of the knife and fork cutting meat was rhythmic and distinct.

"Professor, please slow down."

McFee glanced at the page without looking up.

"It'll get cold if you're too slow."

Catherine shifted her gaze to the other side.

Richard is cutting a large piece of mutton in half.

He ate slowly, but he kept eating one bite after another without stopping.

Catherine wrote a line in her notebook and held it up.

"Have you eaten lunch today?"

"have eaten."

"What did you eat?"

"The cafeteria is now automatically giving me three meals a day."

The third dish was roast chicken, two of them.

The chef brought it up himself, and his expression was complicated when he did.

He put the plate down and stood by the table without leaving.

"gentlemen."

"What's wrong?"

"You... there are three of you?"

"Three people."

The cook's gaze lingered on the lamb leg on the table, which was now just bones.

"Then... I'll go see if there are any others."

Catherine wrote a long line in her notebook.

"We're not leaving until the day after tomorrow. If you eat so much today, won't you have to eat it all again tomorrow?"

"Eat tomorrow's food."

Catherine reopened the notebook, this time raising both hands.

"Aren't you sure you won't get a stomachache from overeating?"

Richard swallowed the food in his mouth.

"No... I've always eaten a lot since I was little."

Catherine shifted her gaze to McFee.

The white-haired giant wiped his hands on a napkin.

"I have a special constitution. Since I was twelve years old, I can't walk if I don't eat five meals a day."

"I left home when I was fifteen, and it took me two days to walk to the nearest town."

"I collapsed on the roadside halfway there, and a driver who was rushing to catch a bus picked me up."

McFaye smiled.

He gave me two pieces of bread, and after I finished them, I told him it wasn't enough.

He gave me the whole bag.

He said, "Kid, with the way you eat, you'll either die young or go far away."

"Looking back now, I've come quite far."

The white-haired giant pushed the skeletons of the two chickens aside.

"Few people can truly master the tradition of moon hunting because they can't endure the hardship."

He opened his palm.

That hand was covered in calluses, old scars upon old scars.

"I can endure it because I can recover."

Catherine wrote this sentence down in the blank space of her notebook.

Then she looked up at Richard.

"And what about you?"

Richard dipped the last piece of bread into the soup.

"I can make up for it."

This meal lasted until 9 p.m.

The cook brought out the last dish of stewed beef tripe, his face expressionless.

Richard noticed a change when he was halfway through eating the last plate of tripe.

The progress bar for the "Eating" section has been stuck at level 3 for a long time.

He's been eating a lot and a variety of foods these past two years.

From boiled potatoes in Slag Lane to roast goose at Ashford House, from canned food to the limited-edition beef in the canteen that was too tough to chew.

Progress is being made, but very slowly.

Tonight's meal pushed it to its peak.

[Eating level 3, progress 100%.]

[Eating skill level 3 → 4.]

The change came very subtly.

The level 3 [Filter] gave him a sieve.

During that patrol in Foxstone Harbor, he drank the water in the tent area for two days, while others suffered from diarrhea for several days, but he was perfectly fine.

The sieve has now changed.

He drew his spiritual vision inward and saw that the nutrients were splitting into two paths.

One goes towards the main vein, while the other is pushed to the extremities, seeping out little by little from the capillaries.

Now that you've reached level 4, it's time to think about advancing to level 5.

Richard pushed the plate of tripe towards the center.

"Professor, I have a question."

"Can anyone eat the produce hidden behind the curtain?"