I loaded the Mysticism panel.

The image of Sofia behind the veil when she presented her arguments was now completely obscured.

It was originally a wooden frame, but all four legs were of different lengths, and the inscription "Scholars in wartime should..." was cut off halfway through.

But the image she established when she talked about Diogenes and those graffiti in Pompeii remains:

An old man, no bigger than the palm of my hand, was sitting by the wooden tub, sunbathing.

A little further on, there are ancient Roman city walls covered in volcanic ash, with dense writing crawling all over the surface.

But these things weren't enough to alarm Richard. What truly made him wary was the dense crowd of people surrounding him.

He counted for a while and found at least thirty or forty.

Richard only breathed a sigh of relief after spreading out the still water for testing.

These people who surrounded us were all shallow, shallow regrets, not even worthy of being called wandering spirits.

The sealing array of Imperial Capital University has blocked everything that should be blocked outside; only weightless fragments can squeeze in.

Since it has no weight, it naturally isn't hungry; it was simply attracted by the commotion here.

A figure in the back row tried to squeeze in for a long time but couldn't, so he simply climbed onto the back of the person in front.

"Richard, what are you looking at?"

Sophia climbed up from the table and activated her spiritual vision, following his gaze.

Upon seeing this, that perpetually smiling face turned deathly pale.

She reached her right hand to touch the side of her skirt.

Richard initially thought she was going to wipe the sweat from her hands, but Sophia pulled a pistol out of her skirt instead.

It was a women's pistol, just the right size for her small hand to hold.

Each edge of the gun body has its own unique characteristics, clearly handcrafted by a craftsman.

Richard silently compared his senior's pistol with his own ebony pistol.

The results showed that the level of detail was not the same thing at all.

The ebony was made by an old alchemist and was originally designed for hunters; every part of it exudes extreme pragmatism.

Sofia's weapon, on the other hand, is an extreme example of material stacking.

Richard was a discerning person; looking at the inscriptions, enchantments, and various precision parts, he was secretly amazed.

He had always thought that Sophia didn't go home because she had nowhere to go, but now it seemed that things were much more complicated than he had imagined.

:

Richard.

"Um."

"Did I...did I attract something?"

Sofia, standing beside her, spoke faster and faster, her voice trembling uncontrollably.

"When I read it, I didn't dip my fingers in salt or draw circles. I didn't do anything; I was just telling a joke!"

"If my advisor knew I'd made such a mess, she'd throw me off the third floor."

Richard stood by the window, feeling both amused and exasperated.

"Senior, don't shoot yet."

"But……"

"If you really fire, they'll come after you."

Sofia's hand stopped on the trigger.

"They're not coming for you."

"Who are they coming for?"

"Charge me."

"what?"

Richard touched the Hermes mask.

It wasn't getting hot at all tonight, and honestly, he even suspected that the mask was eavesdropping.

"I have an alchemical item that can help dead souls open doors."

He tries to say only what he can say.

"That door is usually left open but it's not very useful because nobody wants to come in."

"Someone has agreed today."

Sofia slowly put the gun away.

"...So they're here to hear me tell jokes?"

"Yes, I'm listening to you tell me about what Diogenes did at the marketplace."

Sofia's face turned from white to red.

:

"What about Catullus's half-sentence?"

"They listen most attentively."

Sofia covered her face with her hands: "...It's rare to find so many people willing to listen to me finish what I have to say, and all I get to hear is this."

Richard couldn't help but laugh, and the innermost circle of spirits trembled along with it.

"Look, they're laughing too."

"Stop talking!"

When the spirits realized there was no excitement to be had, they dispersed.

The process was very orderly: the back row went first, and the front row went last. No one went over the bucket; they all went around it.

The teaching and research office fell silent.

Richard walked over, squatted down, and pressed the still water against Diogenes's barrel, discovering that the object was more tangible than the form he had just created.

The only official website address for this novel is: ".". The website owner has only this one website, and other websites may be discontinued at any time.

"Senior Sophia."

"Huh?" She was still covering her face.

"Come and take a look."

"...Huh? My argument collapsed, but my joke didn't."

She squatted down and reached out to poke at the bucket, but her finger couldn't get in.

"...much more solid than my argument."

After this blunder, Richard gained some insights and reached into his canvas bag to take out a book.

It was Sir John Stuart Mill's book, "On the Weight of Judgments".

Sofia leaned closer and read aloud the line: "The weight of a judgment lies not in its words, but in the listener."

"A single word can carry immense weight because it resonates deeply with the listener."

She returned the book: "I know this."

"You know?"

"My advisor told me this in my first year."

Sofia wagged her finger, showing off: "She said the easiest way to turn a word into a name is through a story."

:

After she finished speaking, she realized something herself.

She swung her two long braids and suddenly looked at him very seriously.

"Richard, my mentor made me read Thucydides countless times over the past six years, and I've also read many different commentaries."

"Do you know how many lines I can still recite?"

"A few sentences?"

"I can't recite a single word."

She shrugged.

"But I remember what Diogenes did in the marketplace, and the man on the wall of Pompeii who came here, did that thing, and went home."

Do you know why?

Sofia answered herself.

"The dumbest way to make someone remember something is to reason with them."

"The quickest way is to make him laugh."

"Stories are what truly touch people's hearts."

Richard's gaze shifted downwards, looking at the Hermes mask he had placed back behind the curtain.

Hecate said at the round table: "The mask is a tube with the name of a god that has been recited for thousands of years on it."

By fulfilling the duties of this divine name, one can gain sufficient resonance.

He dutifully did as he was told, letting his shadow, wearing a mask, perform Hermes's duties behind the curtain.

But he always thought about using it sparingly after taking precautions, never considering that he could influence the mask in return.

"Senior Sophia, do you know Hermes?"

"Of course I know! Even a three-year-old knows that!"

"So tell me, what's the first thing that comes to mind?"

Sofia blinked without hesitation.

"Stealing a cow!"

Richard nodded, looking at her with encouragement.

"He crawled out of his cradle on the morning of his birth, and that afternoon he stole fifty of Apollo's cows."

:

Sofia was encouraged and became even more animated as she spoke.

"He was afraid of leaving hoofprints, so he drove the ox backwards."

Apollo followed the tracks back, and after searching for a long time, he actually found himself at the entrance of his own cattle pen.

"and then?"

"Then Apollo came to him, lying in his swaddling clothes, and said: 'I am a baby who was born yesterday and I do not even know what a cow looks like.'"

"And then what?"

"Then He played the lyre He had made from a tortoise shell that morning, and Apollo was stunned. He abandoned the ox and wanted to exchange it for His lyre."

After Sofia finished speaking, she laughed so hard she slapped the table.

"Don't you think this god is incredibly deserving of a beating?"

Richard stood there, silent for a long time.

"...Senior."

"What's wrong?"

"Do you remember anything else?"

"Others?" Sophia thought for a moment, then struggled to answer.

"...It seems they also manage something else, merchants? Or letters?"

She scratched her head: "I can't remember, but I've remembered the story of stealing cattle ever since the maid told me about it when I was little."

Richard slowly stood up and began packing his things.

"Senior, your talent for telling jokes is actually more valuable than your arguments."

Sofia was initially puzzled, then a little embarrassed.

"Don't make fun of me."

I'm serious.

"Really what?" She wiped her hands on her skirt.

"I just can't remember the important knowledge points. My tutor says my brain is full of useless information."

"That's because Auntie didn't see it."

Richard raised his chin towards the still-standing wooden barrel.

:

Sophia looked in that direction: "...Why is it still here?"

"It will be here for a long time."

As the event ended, Sofia, carrying the old debate topic, walked to the door and suddenly turned back.

"Richard, will you come again tomorrow?"

"Come."

"What if I express my dissatisfaction?"

"If you're unhappy, tell a joke. Everyone loves to hear that, and I love to hear it too."

Sofia stood at the door, smiled, and walked away happily.

The sound of footsteps skipped all the way up the stairs, and you could even hear her muttering to herself:

"...Which part should we talk about tomorrow? We can't talk about Catullus, Clara will scold me for leading Richard astray."

………………

On Wednesday, Donald's shop was piled high with newly arrived goods.

Richard, while wiping the fake incense burner, suddenly spoke.

"Mr. Donald".

"What's wrong?"

Do you know Hermes?

Donald pushed his monocle up a little.

"Who?"

"That one from Greek mythology."

"Greece," Donald thought for a moment.

"I know there's one in charge of blacksmithing and another in charge of fighting, but I can't remember the rest."

Why can't you remember?

"Greek names are too hard to pronounce," Donald frowned.

"My father's generation read Zoroastrian scriptures, while I read account books."

"Young man, I've been in the antique business for so long."

:

I've handled no fewer than two hundred Greek artifacts, and nine out of ten buyers only knew that the images depicted ancient gods.

"Don't they ask who it is?"

"If you ask me, I'll just say it's Zeus, Athena, Apollo, or something like that. They probably don't know much about the other gods."

Richard finished wiping the incense burner and put it back on the shelf.

"...That's true."

Back in his dorm that evening, he had come to a realization:

"The public's understanding of both domestic and foreign mythologies is extremely superficial."

The power of the God's Name Mask comes from the name that has been recited for thousands of years.

...So what if more people read it?

Richard tapped his finger on the table.

The angels of Mons, tens of thousands of soldiers, came forth on the same night;

"Tiperelli" was sung by hundreds of thousands of mouths for half a year, until a net grew on the other side of the curtain... He had witnessed all of this with his own eyes.

"What if millions or even more people knew who Hermes was, not just the name, but also what he did and said?"

"He stole Apollo's ox, guided the dead, his staff settled disputes, his shoes carried obstacles, and his flute put giants to sleep..."

"...So, will I benefit from this?"

On Thursday afternoon, after copying from a book for half an hour, Richard casually brought up the topic.

"Professor, I have another question that has nothing to do with copying books."

Mortimer gave him a disgruntled look.

"When have any of your questions ever been related to copying books?"

Richard put down his pen and said seriously.

"I understand the statement that the more times a god's name is spoken, the more powerful it becomes behind the veil, is that correct?"

The old professor put down the scissors in his hand, and the cloudiness in his eyes cleared up instantly.

"Yes and no."

"What do you mean?"

"Go to the street and ask ten people who St. George is."

:

Mortimer gave an example: "Eight out of ten people know about it because they celebrate that holiday every year."

"What about the ninth and tenth?"

"The ninth one will tell you it's about slaying dragons, and the tenth one will ask if it's a beer brand."

Richard couldn't help but laugh.

The old professor gave him a half-smile: "If you ask them who Hermes is, you'd be lucky if half a hundred could answer correctly."

Why?

"Because nobody tells them."

Richard looked at him: "What if someone tells them?"

He reached into his canvas bag, took out the August issue of the Century Review, and opened it to page twenty-seven.

Two faceless faces stood side by side.

"Professor, I've thought it through. If I don't seize this cultural high ground, someone else will."

Mortimer picked up his teacup and took a sip.

"Speaking of which, the newly established department last month is indeed specifically in charge of wartime propaganda."

"They printed twelve million posters, which featured a mother fastening her son's top button."

The old professor put down his teacup.

"They are creating a name for themselves, promoting the idea of ​​sacrificing themselves for the country."

The results are excellent; now every young person who signs up carries the same story in their heart.

"What are you going to build?"

Richard lowered his head: "I don't know."

He honestly replied, "But I feel that since this land is left idle, I should go and occupy it."

Mortimer put the scissors back on the table and crossed his hands on his knees.

"If you're really planning to do this, let me give you a heads-up."

"Please speak."

"The storyteller can never be the person in the story."

The wind lifted a corner of the copied manuscript paper on the table, and it took a long time to fall back down.

:

Richard pursed his lips, silently savoring the words.

"……I see."

"You don't understand," Mortimer scoffed. "But you will understand sooner or later."

That night, the professor's words kept echoing in his mind.

Richard knew his own limitations; he certainly couldn't bear the name of a god now, but Hermes himself could.

"Let God's name be cursed, let God's name be seen, and let it bear the criticism."

He has always understood his foundation as his position and level of resonance.

Now he knows that was only half of it.

The other half is how famous that name is in the world.

He sat at the table and went through the entire chain of events from beginning to end.

First, spread the story out so that more people know who Hermes was and what he did.

Then, Hermes' power will become even stronger on the other side of the veil.

The final step, filtering... Richard's fingers stopped on the table.

This line of thinking is actually the same as the rule he set for Hugh.

Ministers and vice-ministers are not allowed to have facial features. Anyone can fill in someone they know, but it absolutely cannot be a real person.

The same applies to the names of gods.

Hermes has no face; there are several contradictory accounts of him: a cattle thief, a messenger, a sophist, a guardian of merchants, and a guide for souls.

Because there are so many types, it is essentially none of them.

Richard took the bronze mask from his pocket and placed it on the table.

The thin crack running from the brow bone to the jawline on the mask is still there; it cracked on the night of June 17th when Mercury handed over the position of the Roman envoy to him.

For the past two months, he has tried to nurture the wound and use the mirror method to examine it, but the crack still cannot be closed, nor does it continue to crack downwards.

Richard placed his hand on top, conveying his thoughts:

"What would you do if many people started telling your story?"

The mask scalded, hotter than ever before he had it in his hands.

:

Richard withdrew his hand as if electrocuted, and suddenly understood.

Hermes is the god of commerce, and what he loves most is making everything flow.

And stories are the most readily circulated commodity in the world.

Richard sat at the table and pulled the manuscript paper back in front of him.

This time, when those two words came out of the pen, he didn't think about them for long.

Olympus

He wrote a small note below:

"Including the carrier, each issue has sixteen pages, with pictures as the main element and text as a supplement."

Next is the list of characters.

The first one wasn't Hermes, it was Zeus.

To immediately pique a reader's interest, the first page must feature a name they've heard of.

The second is Athena.

The third is Apollo.

The fourth one is Hermes.

For Hermes' first appearance, Richard arranged for him to do the most famous and funniest things:

On the day of his birth, he stole a cow and was brought before Zeus for questioning.

Zeus was amused after hearing the whole story... and then made Him the messenger of the gods.

Richard, as was his habit, added a note for Hugh at this point:

"This section needs to be drawn in four panels."

The third panel is Hermes' face pretending to be asleep... No drawing of a child, but a miniature adult face placed in swaddling clothes.

The fourth panel shows Zeus laughing. Don't draw Zeus's entire face; just draw his large mouth and white beard.

After writing it, he read it over and felt that he was becoming more and more like a potential client.

It's just that if you watch it, you'll probably curse.

The third Saturday of September, the holiday arrived.

The bruises on his face had faded somewhat, and the three pounds and two shillings royalty meant that he wouldn't need to do any other part-time work this month, except for attending classes at the art academy.

:

"...Hey, the one you mentioned in your letter."

"Come in and speak."

Hugh walked in without any ceremony and plopped down at the foot of the bed.

"Richard, our classes on Greek mythology used to be the last period on Friday afternoons."

"The teacher only read out names."

"He would read out a name and say that this was a god in ancient Greece who was in charge of such and such, and then get out of class would end."

He shrugged: "I didn't remember any of them."

Richard nodded: "That's why we don't say it that way."

He pushed the four-panel annotation over.

When Hugh looked down at the third panel, he suddenly laughed.

"...The face of an adult pretending to be asleep has shrunk and is placed in a baby's swaddling clothes?"

"right."

"You're even harder to please than the soap factory owner."

"Can't draw it?"

Xiu picked up the paper and pulled a blank sheet of drawing paper from the roll.

"May I borrow your pen?"

Richard handed over the pen.

Hugh lay on the table and drew for about two minutes.

He pushed the paper over.

A baby in a swaddling cloth, with a rather simple face inside. The eyebrows are only two strokes long, the eyes are closed very neatly, and the corners of the mouth are slightly upturned.

People who pretend to be asleep are indeed like that; Xiu is quite observant of life.

"...I feel that way."

"real?"

"Yes, this is the one."

Don't put down your pen; lean back on the bed.

:

"Richard, will anyone watch this?"

Richard walked to the window and opened it. On the main road of the college district downstairs, an undergraduate student was arguing loudly with his classmate about whether or not to submit a thesis during the semester. The argument could be heard throughout the entire road.

Further on, factory chimneys stand tall on the horizon, one after another.

"Hugh, how many people does the Empire have now?"

"...How would I know?"

"More than forty million." Richard didn't expect him to know.

"Of these 40 million people, the percentage who have read Greek mythology is actually very small."

He turned around.

"But of these 40 million people, at least 30 million are literate."

Hugh sat there, slowly opening his eyes wide.

"...Thirty million."

"They read a newspaper for a penny every week."

Richard continued, "The newspapers have serialized novels, equestrian competition results, and recruitment posters."

"They don't read mythology because no one has ever told it in a way they can understand."

Richard closed the window: "So it's our turn to speak."

Hugh returned to the table, picked up the piece of paper with the drawing of a baby in it, and then put it down again.

"...How many versions do you need?"

"What do you mean, how many versions?"

"The first issue," Hugh said. "I'm afraid I'll have to draw eighteen more versions."

Richard smiled.

"If you can draw eighteen versions, I'll treat you to eighteen meals."

"Then I'll draw thirty-six versions."

"...Don't die suddenly."

After Hugh left in a hurry, Richard touched the Hermes mask and found that it was still burning.

Hecate, that woman, was always in a hurry.

:

Seven chairs are connected in a circle, and the entire table and ceiling need to be supported by everyone.

Throughout the year, they have been resonating with their divine name in the most laborious way.

Hercules ran to the front lines, Demeter went to plant in the fields, and Dionysus soaked in wine.

One person's time is limited, but what if millions of people spread the word for you?

Richard wrote the last line in his notebook: This is good for the whole table.

"No matter how much Hermes is made the main character, Zeus, Hera, Dionysus, Hercules, the goddess of harvest... will still have their share of roles."

Richard blew out the candle and sat in the darkness for a while.

If the second-place chair is given to you by someone else, it can be taken back at any time.

But what if one day, everyone at this table has to rely on their stories for power?

By then, will it still matter who sits in the head seat?

………………

On September 25th, a departmental meeting was held, attended by all the associate professors.

Pendleton came in carrying a stack of files, his forehead covered in sweat.

This year, he has twice as many miscellaneous tasks as in previous years, as batches of young people from the college who can run errands have been drawn away.

"Gentlemen, the first item... is Farfield's declaration."

He sent all the information over.

"I've checked the first four."

"The signature changed three times, and the workshop issued a confirmation letter. The signature was from the guy on Covent Street."

"The three-year record of the ether foundation is complete, and the doctor's comments are on the second page."

"The application for the venue has not yet been approved."

"She's still writing the declaration."

The doctor attached a separate note:

"The applicant's ethereal origin is singular. The entry point is the Golden Path of Four Breaths, taught by the guide in 1911."

In 1912, the traditional method of "deep reading" was adopted for advanced reading of classical texts, and it has remained unchanged to this day; no trace of any other method has been found in the three years of records.

The comments section is very simple to write.

:

"Single, bottomed out."

When Pendleton read this, many people at the long table nodded in agreement.

This kind of evaluation is the highest praise in a scholar's medical examination report.

"Very good." Professor Wyndham nodded from the head of the table. "This one is fine. Let's move on to the next one."

Pendleton turned to the next page, but stopped midway.

"Gentlemen, the next one... is a bit troublesome."

"speak."

"The recorder's medical examination report."

He took out an envelope without an address.

"It was brought by the school doctor last week."

"Who is the recorder?"

Richard Williams.

In the main seat, Wyndham's eyebrows twitched.

"Who in the Classics Department graduated early from their preparatory course this year?"

"Yes."

Pendleton opened the envelope.

"Reserves: Exceeding the median of practitioners, on par with or even slightly exceeding the direct descendants of expert families."

Someone at the long table looked up.

"...Beyond the direct descendants of the Daren family? I've never heard of any nobles in the Empire with the surname Williams?"

"There were no outstanding figures in his family, but that's what it says on the list."

"What about purity?"

Pendleton moved his finger down one notch.

"Purity: Cannot be read."

There was a moment of silence in the classroom, then several people spoke at the same time.

"What does 'I can't read it' mean?"

:

"The school doctor is also part of the Sunshine University tradition; after doing it for so many years, how could he not get into the program?"

"Is the instrument broken?"

Pendleton quickly explained:

"The instrument was just calibrated," the doctor added a note below.

"read."

Pendleton raised the list a little higher.

"Ether comes from too many sources to be accurately categorized into any one category."

As soon as the words were spoken, the long table fell silent, and the sound of the heating pipes could be heard.

Pollock (the one who speaks the current ritualistic language, the one without teeth) spoke first.

"If there are too many sources, isn't that just impurity?"

He's only eighteen this year.

Another senior lecturer also said, "What are the different backgrounds an 18-year-old in the industry can have?"

"The list specifies at least four types."

"Four types?"

Pendleton placed the list on the table and pushed it forward.

"Gentlemen, see for yourselves."

Professor Wyndham took the list.

This full professor is 87 years old this year. He has been in the Department of Classics for more than 60 years and has presided over the re-editing of two general catalogs of seals. He also spearheaded the development of last year's "Battlefield Quick Seal Manual".

After he finished reading the form, he put it back on the table, his hands folded over it.

"...this person."

"What's wrong?"

"This person cannot stand in the circle."

Pendleton paused for a moment.

"Sir, he has enough supplies, but what about the doctor..."

"Sufficient reserves do not necessarily mean cleanliness."

:

Wyndham pushed the list towards the middle.

"At the moment of the oath, the most important thing in the industry is stability."

"If the recorder gets flustered first, what will happen to the person in the industry who's getting promoted?"

He seemed to remember something.

"I've seen one case like this."

No one responded in the meeting room.

"Thirty years ago, when I was an associate professor, I taught a young man from the north."

Wyndham slowly recounted a widely circulated story among scholars in the capital.

"He majored in ritual language, learned the basics of sealing from Russell, and also practiced the hunter's techniques with old Graham."

"He wanted to try all three paths, but he didn't become a professional until he was twenty-seven."

"In the end, I was stuck at the threshold of minor proficiency for more than ten years."

Croft's hand holding the teacup trembled slightly.

Wyndham scoffed, "I still remember him to this day. His name was Hutton."

Pendleton put down his pen.

"Professor, that gentleman is Williams's guide."

"I know," Wyndham waved his hand.

"That's why I feel even more strongly that Hutton might have corrupted perfectly good young people."

He pushed the list to the center of the long table.

"A second examination is necessary; I need to see him with my own eyes."

: