I loaded the Mysticism panel.

Chapter 463 Green-Haired Demon Dog (Bonus Chapter 14 for Monthly Tickets)

The wind was blowing sideways on the slope. Catherine knelt in front of the first rock, her coat under her knees.

This one is the shortest, only reaching her chest, and the east-facing side of the stone has been shaped rounded by hundreds of years of wind.

All the engravings are on the west-facing side. The bottom layer is written in the pre-Roman Celtic style, mainly with curved lines, and the ends all curve inward.

McFaye taught her the first rule after six months: learn the school's calligraphy style first, then learn the characters.

Who carved it, what era, which hand did they use, and which stroke did they usually start with?

She pressed her fingers on the stone surface and ran them over it from right to left.

The strokes begin in the upper right corner, and the person who carved them is left-handed.

It took her nineteen minutes to eat the first and second ones together.

The third layer is the Romanized layer.

She read this section faster than Richard, and the reason was simple: in Professor McFee's book, Chapter Four was entirely about this.

Catherine had a feeling that she had done this problem before; she didn't even need to check the rubbing, she could just copy the answer.

The seventh one is stuck.

Medieval Latin was superimposed on Old Gaelic script, resulting in a very messy arrangement.

The person who carved that layer clearly didn't understand what they were writing. They connected two parts that shouldn't have been connected into one stroke, and then added a cross next to it.

Catherine knelt there, not moving for a long time.

McFee sat on the short grass in the center of the circle without saying a word.

After a while, the red-haired girl switched the chisel to her left hand and made the first cut from the lower edge of the cross.

She left the extra cross.

The reason for keeping it had nothing to do with reverence. Although the monk who repaired the cross did not understand, the position of the repair was just right on a stress point.

If you remove it, half of this rock will collapse on the spot.

McFee didn't say a word from beginning to end.

Catherine knew what this meant.

In the past six months, every assignment she submitted was scrutinized very carefully by the professor.

He meticulously reviewed the entire interpretation of the ancient battlefield in the highlands from last month.

He didn't say a word tonight, and that's the highest praise he could receive.

The power of the Nemesis Mask silently activated, and Catherine, with the sealing spell in place, redirected the force that was trying to even things out towards the inscription.

She could see every uneven spot when she was taking it apart.

Which stone bears more weight, and which bears less?

Every instance of shoddy workmanship and perfunctory effort in the old formation over the past thousand years was crystal clear to her.

Catherine knelt before the stone pillar, holding the chisel in her hand for a long time.

That force that wanted to even things out pushed outwards from within the bones.

She meticulously copied the perfunctory strokes, stroke by stroke, leaving the old score for later.

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

Hundreds of miles away, in that office on the third floor of the Petrie Building.

Mortimer sat in the old armchair with a copper plate spread out on his lap.

The water in the dish is reflecting what's happening over there.

"Old Mike."

A voice responded from the water.

"Um?"

Is it windy where you are?

"big."

"Can you sit still?"

"Can sit still."

Mortimer picked up the teacup next to him that had been chipped, took a sip, and frowned.

"Both students performed well tonight."

"Catherine changed the order of the ninth one and determined the direction of the crack herself."

"I saw it."

"You didn't say anything."

"She doesn't need me to say anything."

Mortimer chuckled and pushed his reading glasses up his nose.

"Where is that kid Richard now?"

"After crossing the ferry, we're already on the section of the island below."

Mortimer leaned back in his chair, making the chair creak.

"This kid is not bad either."

The office light flickered.

"Old Mike, you should have some protection tonight, right?"

Nothing on the water's surface has changed.

"Yes, I'm going to call that cu-sith (green-haired demon dog)."

Mortimer put his legs off the other chair.

On the other side of the highlands, this demonic dog is the one that people talk about most often.

It's green, about the size of a calf, and its tail is braided.

It runs silently, taking a person's life only after three barks.

The first sound was far away, the second sound was closer, and the third sound was right next to your ear.

"Where did you catch that one?"

"It's from a sacrificial scar on the west side. It was caught eleven years ago, and I've used it twice since then."

"How does this thing compare to a hunter?"

"It works better than most of the Lesser Master Hunters."

Mortimer drank the last drop of tea from his cup.

"Then why haven't you released him yet?"

The voice in the water laughed.

"They've been released. Those two kids came all night for nothing."

Mortimer smiled too.

"Old buddy, you're way worse than me."

McFee said, "I call this a safety net. If something really happens tonight, the safety button is always in my hands."

"If nothing happens, you can just sit there."

"Yes, I've been sitting the whole time."

The sound of the wind on the slope seeped through the water and traveled very far.

"I did that back in the day," Mortimer said.

"What have you done?"

"On the day my first student went out on a field mission, I secretly hid in a dilapidated church near the weak point beforehand."

A basin of water rested on his lap; he sat there from dusk till dawn.

"Did something happen to him?"

"Nothing happened."

"Then what are you doing sitting here all night?"

"I sat there all night, and the next morning I told him I had a good night's sleep at home."

The voice in the water wasn't laughing.

What happened to that child later?

"Later, he started teaching students himself."

"Later on, his students' students are now copying books from me."

The office remained quiet for a long time.

Mortimer placed his hand on the edge of the brass plate and suddenly spoke.

"Old Mike, there's something I want to discuss with you after this mission is over."

"You still have the nerve to discuss things with me?"

"I want to teach him that technique."

The hillside remained quiet for a long time.

It took Mortimer so long that he took off his reading glasses, wiped them with his sleeve, and put them back on.

"Which one?" the voice in the water asked.

"Don't play dumb."

The old professor approached the pool of water, somewhat displeased.

"This February, you carried a book and used that kind of technique to cross out that table in Scandinavia."

Mortimer placed the cup on the armrest:

"Your glorious achievements have spread throughout the industry over the past few months."

"Speaking of which, you had this problem when you were young."

"What's wrong?"

"Don't carry a knife when you go out, carry a book instead."

The voice in the water chuckled softly.

Mortimer tapped his finger on the edge of the bronze plate.

"You gave me this technique back then so I could add it to the archives."

So I need your permission tonight. Can you teach him?

"That kid's smart," McFee said.

"What's the use of being smart? Being smart is only good for hiding, but you can't hide forever."

The half-lit office light hissed again.

"...My old bones can't hold him off for much longer."

"I've counted what he has now; he has everything he needs for defense, cover, and escape."

He saved up anything that could extend his life by even one more day.

The old professor placed his hands on the edge of the copper plate on his lap.

"But he doesn't have anything that would make others afraid to touch him."

The wind from the slope came through the water from the other side, intermittently.

"Old Mo," McFee finally spoke.

"The same technique can produce completely different results when used by different practitioners."

"You must first thoroughly understand the target, until every key point is firmly in your mind, before you dare to make the first stroke."

Once you put pen to paper, the very existence of the goal will vanish.

"We who hunt the moon call ourselves 'Hua Ming'."

"It'll be quick, just one cut."

"It needs to be calibrated first."

"The prey must first be in your hunting grounds."

"Otherwise, it's just empty talk."

After listening, Mortimer continued the conversation himself.

"Richard is now a good fit for the mirrored tradition."

"I could vaguely sense his progress in this advanced breathing technique over the past six months, even from the sidelines."

"The mirror image is similar to the lunar calibration."

He took off his reading glasses and held them in his hand.

"So, I think he would be very suitable for this technique."