I loaded the Mysticism panel.

After leaving room 314, Richard walked alone for a long time down the alley behind the Petrie Building.

He stopped in front of the notice board as it was getting dark.

The recruitment poster at the top has been changed; it features a mother holding her child amidst the ruins.

A rough piece of paper was pasted next to it; it was a notice for this week's charity sale.

He reached into the inner bag; the pressed-dry leaf was still there.

"Take it and brag about it." That's what that guy said at the time.

Richard held the edge of the leaf, hesitant.

Matthew only met him once, and the two exchanged fewer than twenty words in total.

Mrs. Mary's cat avatar made it very clear to him: "You're not my student, so I'm not going to take the blame for you."

If she herself doesn't take responsibility, why should her students take responsibility?

Most importantly, why would he think that an expert would fight over a junior's seat?

Richard suddenly remembered the list in Hecate's letter.

Minerva, the star chart tradition, the great master.

Would a scholar who is well-versed in the astrological tradition not be able to come into contact with enlightened beings?

Star charts are used for observation, measurement, and prediction.

When this tradition is mastered to its fullest extent, the unseen star map overhead can cover half the empire.

If she wanted to hire someone, it would definitely be easier for her than for someone like me who works in the industry.

So here's the problem.

If experts can interfere in this kind of thing at will, what's the point of these small fry fighting in team battles?

"There must be rules," Richard told himself.

He carefully put the leaf back in its place.

Back in his dorm, Richard spread the leaf on the table and silently recited the name in his mind.

Matthew Carey.

After I finished reading it, nothing happened.

He waited for about ten seconds.

The gas lamp in the room was burning very lightly, and the smell of coal smoke filled the air—the kind of smell that mingled with a hint of damp wool on a winter morning in Briston.

Richard looked up and saw a pair of boots in front of him taking two steps.

"Yo."

A man with hair like a clump of dry straw stepped out from behind the wall and looked around.

He frowned in disgust.

"Your room... is smaller than the one I rented in Edinburgh back then."

"Sir." Richard stood up.

"Call me Matthew." The man stretched his leg under the table, the sole of his boot almost touching the edge of Richard's bed.

"Speak, what do you want from me?"

Richard stood there without saying a word for a moment.

Matthew curled his lip.

"If you're not going to talk about this, then I'm going back."

Richard had no choice but to speak.

"I'd like to ask you a question first."

"ask."

"Can experts intervene in the competition for seats?"

Matthew narrowed his eyes.

The ether inside the room began to sag to the ground, becoming completely submissive.

But only for a moment.

"No," Matthew said.

The etheric field has loosened.

Why?

"Because of the rules."

"What rules?"

Matthew put his arms behind his head and leaned back in his chair.

"Let me put it this way, have you ever played cards before?"

"I've played it."

"You were betting one shilling with someone at the card table, and halfway through the game you called your father over. Your father was the local sheriff, and as soon as he walked in, he overturned the table."

"...Then this game won't be interesting."

"Yes." Matthew snapped his fingers.

"Those old fogies behind the curtain have been playing this game for who knows how many years. If they wanted to make a move, it would only take a single word."

He shrugged.

"They've already made their move, so what are you all arguing about?"

Today I'll overturn your table; tomorrow you can bring someone even bigger to overturn mine.

In the end, the entire ceremony was completely destroyed.

"So they set their own rules." Richard understood.

"Yes, everyone who can sit in that position knows it."

Richard made a mental note of this.

"What exactly are the rules?"

"It's very simple." Matthew held up one finger.

"In the competition for seats, experts are not allowed to directly participate."

"You must not go off the field directly," Richard repeated.

"right."

"What about indirectly?"

Matthew smiled, his sun-reddened face crinkling with wrinkles.

"Kid, you're even worse than I thought; you've got way too many indirect tricks up your sleeve."

"I just want to know the answer."

Richard sat on the edge of the bed.

"So, experts can't just come as outside help?"

"cannot."

At this point, Matthew's eyes narrowed again.

"But I'm not quite the same."

Richard sat up straight.

Matthew pointed to himself with his finger.

"My roots aren't here."

"What do you mean?"

"I have advanced westward into the central mountains of the New World."

He pointed out the window.

"I walked this path myself, step by step, and my roots are planted in the soil there."

"The rules that the old folks on the Old World established over hundreds or thousands of years are deeply rooted in the Old World."

"My main body is in the New World, so they can't control me."

The room fell silent.

Richard sat on the edge of the bed, and the breath in his chest suddenly eased.

"So you..."

Matthew grinned like a fox who had stolen a chicken.

"If I happened to pass by that night, they would at most curse me a couple of times from behind the curtain."

"Just a couple of insults?"

"Yes." Matthew nodded.

"They'll have to think carefully about whether they really want to become my enemy over this. If a war breaks out, they'll have to make a trip to my old lair in the New World, a place they don't want to go."

He suddenly grinned.

"Besides, I've never been one to follow rules very well."

Matthew pulled his legs out from under the table and shifted to a more comfortable sitting position.

"What, are you stunned?"

"I'm settling accounts."

"What accounts are we settling?"

"Let's see if I can afford to hire you."

Matthew laughed heartily.

"You're quite sensible... If you had been so grateful when I said I could help, I would have turned around and left."

Richard raised his head.

"Sir, I don't have much in my hands."

"You don't need the money."

"It's not needed."

"I have a few rare items, but none of them meet your standards."

"That's true."

"Intelligence... I've gathered some in the capital this year, but as you said, you're active in the New World, so intelligence from the capital won't be of much use to you."

Matthew nodded, with an expression that said, "You're absolutely right."

"So, what do you want?" Richard relinquished the right to set a price.

The room was quiet for a while.

Matthew reached out and adjusted the gas lamp shade on the table, but then, finding it pointless, withdrew his hand.

"Do you know what I lacked most during my twenty years there?"

"What?"

"Fun."

Richard was a little confused.

"The New World has everything."

"But there are no more than twenty living people you see at the mouth of the River Styx throughout the year. One of the old friends I know hasn't spoken a complete sentence in all these years; he has lost his ability to speak."

He slapped his hands on his knees.

"So I'm really bored, and your asking me for help this time has given me a reason to come and have some fun."

"Alright, let's get down to business." Matthew spread his hands.

"Although I won't help for free, what I ask for is usually not valuable."

"Please speak."

Matthew held up one finger.

"First, write me a novel."

"...What should I write?"

Write about me.

Richard opened his mouth.

"Little McNeil read your penny booklet to his teacher."

Matthew recalled that once the fake smile disappeared from his face, his whole face looked like a puppet.

"When she read the line 'They don't recognize wet things, they don't recognize cold things,' the teacher smiled. It was rare for her to smile."

He leaned forward.

"So I want you to write me a side story."

"What extra chapter?"

"A side story about friendship," Matthew said confidently.

"I'll write about something from my lousy book, 'The Great Journey of One Man'."

"Don't write your first name or your last name, just write 'Mr. who came back from a very far place'."

A slight smile returned to his face.

"By the way, send me one copy of each issue from now on. I'll tell you the address later."

Matthew suddenly sat up straight, and this time the chair didn't make a sound.

"Also, if you ever reach my level..."

"...An expert?"

"Yes." Matthew nodded.

"When you get to that point, you'll have to come to my old nest in the New World to do me a favor."

The room remained quiet for a long time.

"What is it?"

You'll see when the time comes.

"What about the deadline?"

"There's no time limit," Matthew said casually.

"If you don't want to move up, this option is invalid."

I won't force you to do anything... The vast majority of people who can't continue on this path will not succeed.

"What if I get there, but then don't want to go?"

Matthew grinned.

"Then I'll come to you myself and chat with you."

"...Until I agree?"

"We'll keep talking until you agree."

Richard was silent for two seconds.

"Then I'll go."

"clever."

"Should we draw up a contract?"

"No." Matthew waved his hand.

"Written things can become a weakness, but I don't write contracts; what I say is what I mean."

Richard suddenly asked a question.

"Sir, is that matter difficult?"

Matthew's initial enthusiasm has faded.

"I've been working on this ever since I got promoted, but I haven't been able to get it done."

He didn't continue.

Matthew looked up: "Back to business. Who sits at the head of the table where you're sitting right now?"

Hecate.

"Then why are you risking your life for her?"

The room fell silent as Richard organized his thoughts.

"I wasn't risking my life for her."

"Oh?"

"I was just trying to protect my own position, but I also gained some benefits from the gathering."

Matthew grunted in response.

"That was a good answer, better than I expected."

He leaned back in his chair.

"Then I'll give you an idea."

"Please speak."

"After that night, find an opportunity to pull her off."

Richard was unsure whether the other party was testing him for something.

"...What?"

"Get rid of her, and you can take the seat of honor yourself."

Matthew said it as naturally as closing a window.

"Sir, I am a professional in this field."

"So what? I didn't tell you to go now."

"Three years, five years, ten years, it doesn't matter, I can wait."

Richard raised his head.

"Sir, is this included in the conditions?"

"It depends on your own understanding."

"Is it important to you if I go and pull her off?"

Matthew smiled again.

"I said I wanted to have fun, and this is the fun I wanted."