I loaded the Mysticism panel.

That night, a gray moth landed on the windowsill, folded its wings, and turned into a small cloth bag.

Richard locked the door from the inside and drew the curtains tightly.

Hecate's letter was very long.

Hermes:

There's something I originally planned to say in person in mid-June.

I've thought about it for a while, but I've decided to write to you first. The reason is at the end of this letter.

First thing: Team fights can involve asking for outside help.

Richard's hand, holding the paper, slowly tightened its grip on the corners.

"I know most of you don't know this rule; it has never been written into any regulation."

You only know that one table is eating at another's table because that's the easiest part to see.

Now I'll tell you the rest.

Team battles are essentially two tables behind a curtain vying for a 'seat,' and they have their own set of rules: both sides can bring teammates when vying for a seat.

There are restrictions on who you can bring: First of all, the people you bring must be those you invited yourself.

You can't hire them with your own money, you can't force them, and you certainly can't let someone else hire them for you.

Please have influence on the other side of the curtain. The person making the request speaks, and the person being requested nods. This back-and-forth exchange forms a contract.

Another point is that the people being escorted do not occupy seats.

They have to play their real game; if they get injured, they really get injured; if they die, they really die.

There is also a limit to the number of people allowed; a maximum of one person.

Furthermore, only after completing the first reflection of the divine mask can one invite others.

Richard immediately perked up; being able to call in outside help was of paramount importance to him.

The letter was turned over.

"The second thing: Why are we able to sit at the same table and fight the same battle even though we are of different ranks?"

"I've been waiting for someone to ask me this question for a long time, but no one at the table has asked it."

Then I can only say it myself.

Have you ever thought about what a practitioner can do when they stand together with a true expert when the day comes to actually take action?

Should he take the hit for the latter? He couldn't.

This is the true purpose of the God Name Mask; the mask does more than just give you more divinely crafted weapons.

The mask is a tube, and then a name that has been recited for thousands of years.

The seven chairs will form a ring at the moment the team fight begins.

It will lift the weakest to the top and press the strongest down, eventually managing to create a scene where everyone is fighting together.

Therefore, at this table, those of lower rank receive more support in team battles than anyone else.

The amount to supplement depends on your level of resonance.

Now you understand why I've been urging you for the past year.

Richard placed the paper on the table.

Hecate has been checking everyone's resonance level one by one lately, and when she got to Prometheus, she said something very harsh.

At the time, he assumed it was because the gardener was annoyed that the seedlings were growing too slowly.

Now he understood that if Prometheus didn't move forward, he would become the weakest and easiest link to exploit among the group.

The letter has a third paragraph.

"The third thing: This time, I'm afraid there's no escaping it."

Richard's fingers tightened around the edge of the paper.

"I told you last time that I drew the Ten of Swords eleven times in a month."

I said at the time that some tables were acting maliciously towards us, but I couldn't tell who they were.

I've read it all in the last two weeks, and the part about the table in Rome is the clearest.

Richard's still waters rippled slightly, then were pushed back down.

He brought the letter closer.

"Why them? I've been thinking about that for the past two weeks."

The day I figured it out, I was reading the newspaper.

On the 23rd of last month, the Kingdom of the Apennines declared war on Austria-Hungary.

The version you read in the capital city is probably "The land of justice has finally stood on the side of civilization".

What I'm reading here is: "The table in Rome received instructions after that."

"By now, you should understand why I wrote to you in advance."

Because you need time to hire people, and if you've already woven the net, now is the time to use it.

—Hecate

The last page of the letter begins on a new line.

Appendix: A table of Roman theogony (the part I know)

Minerva (First Seat) – Star Chart Tradition, Great Master, Scholar.

Mars (corresponding to Ares) – Moon-hunting tradition, minor expert, hunter.

Venus – a master of the sun's traditions, shrouded in mystery.

Vesta (corresponding to Hestia) – Hearth tradition, minor expert, scholar.

Diana (corresponding to Artemis) – Moon-hunting tradition, minor expertise, secrecy.

Fortuna (no corresponding figure, the oldest goddess of fate) - tradition unclear, minor expertise, direction unclear.

The last new member is completely unknown.

I have some information about the first six, but for the seventh, all I know is that someone is sitting in that chair.

Richard finished reading the last page and slowly put it back on the table.

Seven people, one is an expert, five are lesser experts, and one is unknown.

He has one major expert, four minor experts, and two practitioners.

He had been seeking out several people in the capital throughout the year, and he had originally planned to settle his mother's matter this summer.

It's currently coinciding with the team battle in the same month.

Richard carefully packed the items on the table into his canvas bag.

The team battle was very important, so he made an excuse to go back to the capital first, and his family would come later.

On the train back to the capital, Richard recalled asking three experts that year.

They were all asking the same question: could the main road that Mother had blown up be repaired? After all, this was the thing that had been bothering them the most lately.

The old professor, after listening, said something quite bluntly.

"What do you think a great scholar is?"

"What is it?"

"They're people who can read it." Mortimer pushed up his reading glasses.

"I've read more in my life than you can think of all of this combined. But being able to understand something doesn't mean you can fill in the gaps in your knowledge."

"I can find out 37 similar cases for you, 29 of which were unrecoverable."

The remaining eight also recovered some of their functions; all of these injuries were physical.

"Professor, do you have any specific details about those eight people?"

"Yes." Mortimer picked up his teacup.

"But each of those eight men was accompanied by a great master of the Sun tradition."

"Oh, right, mid-June," the old professor suddenly said slowly.

Richard's previously gloomy mood was immediately lifted.

Some things no longer need further explanation.

The old professor made a cut in the newspaper.

"I have a problem: I need less sleep as I get older."

Often waking up around two or three in the morning with nothing to do, I'd take out that copper plate and play with it, looking at the image.

"What are you taking pictures of?"

"Take a look at the fish in the canal, and see if anyone in the department office forgot to turn off the lights."

He tucked the small piece he had cut out into the book.

"Your dorm room is right in the area I can see."

Richard stood by the window, silent for a moment.

"Professor, the worst-case scenario..."

"At worst, I can still get you out of here with my old bones."

Mortimer closed the book.

"That's enough."

"Not enough." The old man looked up.

"But this is the only way for now."

He took off his reading glasses and wiped them with his sleeve.

"It's the same on Old Mike's side."

Richard raised his head.

"Does Catherine also live on campus?"

"Yes." Mortimer put his reading glasses back on.

"Old Mike moved a chair to his office and said he was going to read all night."

"Every time he says he wants to study, there are fewer people outside the house."

Richard suddenly felt a little less tense.

"What's wrong? Feeling more at ease now?"

Mortimer glanced at him.

"...A little."

"That's the advantage of having someone guard the door for you." The old professor put the scissors on the table.

"You feel at ease now because you've done a lot of things for others."

Favors are something you don't see when you're accumulating them, but you never miss out when you need them.

When Gerrard was asked a series of questions by his grandson, he remained silent for a long time.

"If your father breaks a section of the bridge while building it, he can just tear down the broken section and rebuild it, and the bridge will still be a bridge."

"No, it's not a loop."

He pulled the shovel out and knocked the mud off the upper of his shoe.

"The loop grows out of your body. As it grows, it follows the bones, blood vessels, and nerves all the way down, taking more than ten years to complete."

Margaret's main road was blown up when she was twenty-six.

The area that was blown open caused all the connecting paths to shrink back.

"How far should it shrink?"

"Shrink to a place where we can still supply, and leave the rest that can't reach just sitting there empty."

"What happens if it idles for more than ten years?"

The old man sat down on the stone bench.

"Like a machine without a load." He thought for a moment and used a way that Richard could understand.

"Your father's profession has this word, right? It means that everything turns into heat and can't dissipate, so it burns inside."

The lung problems she's had over the years were caused by fever.

"Then how do we stop it from spinning idly?"

"She felt lighter after the treatment stopped, but her circulation was still impaired."

Richard copied the sentence into his notebook and then drew a question mark next to it.

By the time Richard asked about the third person, he had almost given up hope.

It was late May, at the northernmost slope of the highlands, in the evening when I was collecting the last rubbing.

He mentioned it to McFaye, just as a casual remark.

The white-haired giant shoved the flat wine jug back into his arms and turned to look at him.

You should have asked me sooner.

"……professor?"

"The Moon Hunter tradition produces the most hunters." McFee sat down on the grass.

"Kid, do you want to hear the truth or something that makes you feel better?"

"truth."

"The truth is: if the loop is broken, it's broken."

"All you can do is stop the idling and reduce her fever."

The white-haired giant patted his knees.

"The lung problem will subside, I can sleep through the night, and I no longer need to sit by the window for half the night on rainy days."

"You can go upstairs without stopping, and for the next twenty or thirty years, you can live the same life as ordinary people."

The train passed a switch, and the carriages swayed slightly.

The three experts' answers ultimately boiled down to the same sentence: Not thorough, but enough to die a natural death.

He closed the notebook and stuffed it into the innermost compartment of his canvas bag.

The lowlands receded outside the window, and someone was cutting the first crop of grass in the fields.

After each round of cutting, straighten up to catch your breath before starting the next round.