I loaded the Mysticism panel.

Richard had always thought that the three sections of the honorific title were just rhetoric: introduction, praise, and conclusion, similar to the three-line form in classical poetry.

He only learned tonight that each of the three segments had its own origin.

The first paragraph describes one's position: where one stands and with whom one travels.

A minor expert writes the first paragraph, a major expert writes the second paragraph, and the third paragraph must be written by someone who has reached that level.

Only when all three parts are present can the honored name be pronounced in its entirety.

On the other side, the witness Wyndham's voice was a little hoarse: "The response has been received. Promoted individuals, please take your places."

A wisp of spirit suspended above the center began to slowly descend, and Clara closed her eyes at that moment.

A moment later, the ether mixed with the spirit completely disappeared into the tuning fork, which emitted a long sound on the ground.

Before the long cry had faded, all the darkness beneath the mudflats surged up.

Richard recorded in his transcript: "About three seconds after the sustained note, the concentration of ether in the mudflats outside the circle suddenly increased, with no fewer than a hundred places of unknown origin."

The edges of the entire mudflat bulged up simultaneously.

The evil creatures that surged up were all attracted by the long ringing of the tuning fork. When a living person announced his identity in front of the curtain, the evil creatures rushed towards White Mark from all directions.

At the same moment, figures emerged from the mudflats.

The first one, dressed in a high-necked dress from two hundred years ago, stood on the west side of the center, raising his hand and moving his lips.

The second and third then surfaced, spreading outwards layer by layer.

Richard observed silently. Among the hundreds of figures, he was one of the newer ones, judging from his clothes, which looked to be from twenty or thirty years ago.

The figures kept moving inwards, and the style of clothing worn by the innermost people was something he had only seen in illustrations in history textbooks.

The figures all stood around the white mark, all chanting something.

Richard only caught a few scattered words, some in Latin, some in Ancient Greek, and the last few in the language he was speaking were probably ancient languages ​​he hadn't yet mastered.

These are every scholar who has stood at the center of the circle over the past four hundred years.

After they died, they left behind images on the mudflats, and the long chirping of the tuning fork awakened all the images at once.

"Don't look at them," Wyndham said, taking a step forward.

The highly knowledgeable professor slightly raised his hand and made a page-turning motion in the air, much like when he flipped through files during departmental meetings.

The moment the hand fell, hundreds of afterimages around the mudflats fell silent, standing still as their outlines gradually faded away.

This professor's approach is different from Mortimer's and McFee's; I wonder what kind of tradition it is.

:

Beyond the white mark, the evil creature collided with the fourth boundary line.

Greer's voice came through the barrier: "Coming, coming, the small forward is reacting!"

"Don't panic, just follow the procedure."

The evil object bounced off the boundary line, and soon only a few remnants remained, which were collected by the two graduate students in a copper pot.

"Position 3 is cleared!"

"Two players have arrived for position four, both of them are juniors."

"Are there any more materials?"

"Yes! This one is in good condition, don't break it!"

Richard stood in the circle, listening to the two graduate students arguing about the quality of an evil creature, and the tension he had been holding for so long finally eased.

The same group of evil creatures, if moved to a place without an outer circle, would be enough for a small team to slip in.

They were just there to deliver materials to the foundation of Imperial Capital University.

The advantage of having a powerful backer is this:

The venue and ceremony were designated by the college, and a highly knowledgeable professor was present to witness the event.

Clara only needs to stand firmly at the center of the ritual, present a wisp of her spirit, and after the announcement, merge it into the signed artifact.

All external interference factors have been eliminated, and the only possible problem throughout the entire process is oneself.

Richard looked down at his feet; his shadow had been lying still all night, completely still.

When he stands on the stage at the promotion ceremony, who will be the one to draw the outer circle for him, send guards, and sit in the witness seat?

"Cleaning complete," Greer called out from the outer circle, sounding somewhat reluctant to leave.

Wyndham lowered his hand: "Then everyone can call it a day."

Isabella felt a little dizzy after removing the etheric ring.

Richard, who was closest, reached out to support her.

"I'm fine." She pushed Richard's hand away and turned around.

Clara was still standing in the center of the circle. She picked up the tuning fork from the ground and held it in her hands.

"How is it?" Isabella asked.

"...It's hot."

:

"It will be hot from now on."

Wyndham nodded to everyone: "As is customary, I need to conduct a security check on everyone in the industry before the event ends."

The density of ether inside the circle is several times that outside. If a person stands inside for so long, it is inevitable that impurities that should not be there will get stuck on the path.

The scanning is a standard procedure, and no one will refuse.

Wyndham first scanned Clara: "The loop is complete, there are no obstacles, the artifact fusion is good, do not go out on fieldwork for the next two months."

"Yes."

Then he glanced at Isabella and said, "You've overdrawn nearly 40% of your ether. You'd better rest tomorrow."

"I have class tomorrow."

"The department will reschedule it for next week."

"……good."

Then came Otto Fafield, the old craftsman who stretched out both hands with an impatient expression.

Wyndham glanced at it and then withdrew his hand.

Finally, it was Richard's turn. He had been measured twice recently: once with the school doctor's ether meter and once with Greer's instrument.

Wyndham's hand hovered over Richard's wrist. The first three people each held it for no more than five seconds, but Richard was a little unsure.

One second, three seconds, five seconds passed, and the sounds of tidying up the items on the mudflats gradually ceased.

Greer turned around from the outer circle, and Sophia squeezed in as well. Just as she was about to speak, Isabella covered her mouth.

Half a minute passed, and Wyndham's hand still didn't move.

"Williams, how long have you been using your signature?"

"Less than two years."

Wyndham grunted in response, offering no further comment.

He withdrew his hand behind his back, turned around and walked towards the narrow door.

"Alright, everyone go back and get some rest. You all did a great job tonight."

After the only expert left, the mudflats were quiet for a few seconds.

Sofia finally broke free from her mentor's control and threw herself into Clara's arms.

:

"Clara!!!"

"Don't shake."

"I don't care..."

"It shook my tuning fork."

"……All right."

That evening, the archived copy of the oath transcript was delivered to the department office, and Pendleton stopped at the last page while checking it.

"Recorder, keep an eye out."

This was written by Wyndham himself.

The next day, the list of teaching assistants and lecturers on the department's notice board was updated.

The internal adjustments within these colleges are much faster than those within administrative bodies.

If it were a change in government personnel, the approval process would take several months.

Upon arriving at the university, just the day after the promotion, an extra line appeared at the very end:

The new lecturer is Clara Farfield (formerly a graduate student at Imperial College, working in Associate Professor Ashford's department).

Of course, the fact that it was able to happen so quickly is also due to the combined efforts of many parties.

For the first time, Clara was able to borrow materials from the archives' internal database using her own name, without having to ask her advisor for permission.

The library is more direct. There was a book that she could only read in the library during her three years of graduate studies, and she had to return it to the counter every day after she finished reading it.

That day, she went over as usual, and the administrator took the book out from under the counter and put it directly into her hands.

"Sister Favre, you can take it now."

Clara stood in front of the counter, holding the book, her little mouth slightly open.

Another small thing happened in the corridor.

Six months ago, when Clara mentioned Silas, her eyes couldn't hide her envy.

The two met in the hallway today, and Silas stopped first and nodded to her.

On October 20th, Clara's original plan was to spend the morning in room 314 grading first-year students' homework, then go to the third floor of the archives to look up two rubbings in the afternoon, and go home in the evening. She ended up accomplishing none of those things.

At 9:40, Pendleton entered the room carrying a manila folder and straightened his tie first.

"Lecturer Fafield, this is your official letter of appointment."

:

Position: Lecturer, Department of Classical Studies.

The contract is for three years, after which the candidate may apply for associate professorship.

Pendleton turned to the second page and suddenly coughed.

"What's wrong?" Clara asked.

"The salary grade column was originally set to level five."

"Level 5 is the starting point for new instructors," Isabella interjected from behind the writing desk.

"...Associate Professor Ashford argued with someone for half an hour in the department office last Friday about salary grades."

Pendleton pushed the appointment letter forward: "The final grade I'm giving you is seventh."

Level 7 is the salary level for lecturers who have taught for more than two years.

Clara pursed her lips, unsure of what to say.

After thinking for a long time, the only thing I could do was hug my mentor from behind.

For someone who has always been reserved in expressing her emotions, this was quite an intimate gesture.

Sophia looked at her mentor's head being completely covered and covered her mouth with a smile.

As the tallest of the three, she tiptoed behind the writing desk and lunged forward to hug both of them.

"You two...you're trying to crush me to death!"

Squeezed to the bottom, Isabella could no longer maintain her previous indifferent demeanor.

Sofia waved, wanting Richard to join in.

He looked at his aunt's threatening gaze, chuckled, and waved his hand dismissively.

Seeing the group joking around, Pendleton left behind some paperwork and wisely departed.

A while later, Casalis, an official from the Ministry of Internal Affairs, arrived.

He was wearing a regular suit and carrying a briefcase. He stopped at the door as he entered.

"Lecturer Fafield, we need to do a routine registration now that you've been promoted."

He spread out the form and asked about each column: name, rank, direction, tradition, guide, signature, time and place of the oath, presiding person and witnesses.

Every word was so polite that Richard, listening from the side, felt something was off.

Casalis' attitude was quite different when he was questioned in Room 103 last year; it only changed when Professor Mortimer came in.

:

Casalis stopped writing: "From today onwards, your file will have an additional cover."

"What does adding a cover mean?" Sophia asked from the side.

"From now on, accessing her file will require a higher-level signature."

"In addition, we will include her in the priority consultation list on the wartime investigation roster."

In the future, if any questions arise related to the seabed or sealing, the Ministry of the Interior will consult you first.

Of course, these are all consultations, and we will pay a consultation fee.

Casalis fastened his briefcase, took a business card from his pocket, and placed it on the desk.

"Here's my office phone number. You can contact me directly if you need anything in the future."

After he left, Sofia picked up the business card and looked at it for a long time.

"He didn't leave a phone number when he came to see Richard last year."

"He came to investigate me last year," Richard said.

Soon, Mrs. McNeil arrived as well.

She wasn't wearing a scarf today; she was dressed very formally.

He glanced around as he entered, then nodded to Clara first.

"Congratulations."

"lady."

She placed a small wooden sign on the writing desk: "I'm passing on a message from the teacher: We can collaborate on any future projects."

Clara picked up the wooden sign.

"Madam, the wooden plaque is..."

"The guild has shown you courtesy, Little Master. From today onwards, you are a person who can speak with authority in the guild."

Going forward, if you need to use their channels, report the information using wooden plaques; if they want to use you, they will also ask first.

She left as soon as she finished speaking, just as quickly as she had come.

Just as everyone was getting ready to go to lunch, the old man from the gatehouse knocked on the door.

"Lecturer Fafield, your email is downstairs."

What was presented was a booklet wrapped in dark chestnut calfskin, with the family crest in the lower right corner of the cover: two swans with their necks intertwined.

:

Sofia snatched it away, asking, "What is this?"

"Don't look," Isabella suddenly stood up.

"Why can't I watch it!"

"I know what it is."

While Clara was still wondering, Richard also recognized where the booklet came from.

He had seen a book with a similar cover at the Phillips house, which contained the names of about twenty earls of marriageable age.

Sophia had already opened it: "Wow! They're all young talents from count families!"

"...Sophia."

"Clara, listen to me first!"

Sofia held the booklet up high, cleared her throat, and began to read it aloud in the tone of a matchmaker.

"Page 1, Anderson Blackburn, 29 years old, a minor expert in the Moon Hunting tradition, head of the Imperial Capital West District Office, holding the rank of major, and fluent in two classical languages."

"Not bad, except for being a bit old, there's nothing wrong with him," Richard commented.

"Joel Blackburn, 24, a senior practitioner of the star chart tradition, is currently an assistant researcher at the Royal Observatory."

"This person is the same age as the senior student."

"The third one..." Sophia's voice changed as she turned the booklet to Richard.

"This one is really handsome, of course, but not as handsome as you, Richard."

Richard gave Sophia a half-smile.

"He is indeed quite handsome, but this man has too much hair oil on his head, and his hairstyle is a bit flat."

"That's enough, you two!" Clara rarely showed a look of embarrassment and annoyance.

"Page 4..."

"Sofia!"

Isabella remained silent behind the writing desk.

Richard turned his head and saw his aunt covering her face with both hands.

"Auntie?"

"...It's nothing."

:

"What's wrong?"

Isabella lowered her hand, her expression complex.

"I also received a booklet like this when I was in college."

Sofia exclaimed "Ah!" and put the booklet down.

"Professor, who's in your book?"

"The people in my book..." Isabella thought for a moment.

"None of them are as good as Clara in terms of overall conditions."

She looked up at her student, Clara, who was standing in front of the writing desk, her head almost buried in her chest.

"You're much better than I was back then."

Clara blushed, rushed forward, snatched the booklet back from Sophia's hand, and stuffed it into the bottom drawer of the writing desk.

"I'm too busy to talk about this. I'll have my uncle help me decline."

"When are you not busy?" Sofia joked.

"I don't know." Clara pushed the drawer shut and turned around.

"Teacher, there's still half of the first-year homework that hasn't been corrected. Let me do it."

Clara sat down at her desk, picked up a red pen, and busied herself with her work, just as she had before her promotion.

Richard and Sophia went to the cafeteria to buy food, thinking about what they had seen that morning.

Once someone's rank is elevated, their reputation in the external evaluation system automatically improves, giving them bargaining power.

In the evening, a celebratory banquet was held at the Red Elm Tree Restaurant.

After Richard finishes this meal, he has to go on a business trip with Professor Mortimer tomorrow.

Isabella's entire staff was present: Sophia, Clara, Thomson, Price, and Richard, who wasn't her student but always took advantage of her extra help.

Thomson paid the most, Price was in charge of making errands and booking tables, and Sophia was responsible for telling everyone she met in the Classics Department.

From the moment she sat down, Sofia was anything but serious.

"Hello, Lecturer Fafield!"

"..."

"Lecturer Fafield, could you please pass me the salt?"

:

Clara pushed the salt shaker over and gave her a somewhat annoyed look.

"Thank you, Lecturer Fafield!"

Price couldn't hold back any longer: "Sophia, we're in the same year, what's your 'lecturer' title?"

"That's what it says in the department's official documents," Sophia said earnestly.

"Lecturer in the Department of Classics, Fafield Lecturer."

When the third dish was served, Sofia raised her hand again.

"Lecturer Fafield!"

Clara finally raised her head.

"Lecturer, there's something I don't understand."

Sofia placed her hands neatly on the table, her back straight.

"I've heard that minor proficiency can trap ether from the environment."

"Can."

"Do you still need to eat?"

Clara snatched a piece of meat directly from Sofia's bowl.

"Yes, I need to, and I eat more than you do now."

"After being promoted, you need to readjust to the new system for a while, so it's understandable that you eat more."

Sophia exclaimed "Ah!" and turned to look at Richard, her face showing a look of utter injustice.

"See? She bullies me because of her rank, even when it comes to eating, she has to be one head down from me."

Richard finished the last half of the roast goose and earnestly put down his fork.

"Senior, actually I'm the one who ate the most at this table."

Sofia hugged the bowl to her chest, looked at Clara, then at Richard, and said sullenly, "...Then I won't eat it today, I'll drink soup instead."

"Soup won't do either," Clara said.

"Why!"

"I've already finished drinking," Richard said bluntly.

Price, standing next to him, was laughing so hard he dropped his fork.

:

After a few drinks, Isabella's tongue began to slur.

"Here it comes," Price said in a low voice. "The tutor is about to talk about dislocations."

Isabella slammed her cup on the table: "I'm not talking about conjugations, I'm talking about something else today."

"What are you going to say?"

She waved her hand, sweeping across the entire table from left to right.

"Today we'll talk about room 314."

Her gaze first fell on Clara. "One."

Then he turned to Sofia. "Sofia, next year, or at the latest the year after."

Sophia's hand, holding the cup, paused, her smile somewhat stiff. "...Mentor."

"Adding Sofia makes two."

Isabella then turned to Richard, squinting at him and making him feel uneasy.

"You brat, and you too!"

"Auntie, I'm eighteen this year."

"What's wrong with being eighteen?" Isabella slammed her hand on the table.

She held up three fingers.

"One subject with three minor expertise is something that no department in the Department of Classics has achieved in recent decades."

The best is Professor Mortimer's program; he had two students who graduated in succession over a period of more than ten years.

Although some people are promoted to junior proficiency every year, these are distributed among all higher education institutions.

It is truly a remarkable achievement that three people in one teaching and research group have been promoted in a row.

Isabella withdrew her fingers and gripped the cup again.

"If anyone dares to say in the department office again, 'That room in Ashford is full of young girls,' I'll slap the research grant approval form in their face."

Thomson whispered from the side, "Professor, there's still the two of us."

Isabella turned her head: "You two don't count."

Thomson said "Oh," and Price also said "Oh."

The two looked at each other and surprisingly clinked glasses happily.

"Why are you all so happy?" Richard couldn't help but ask.

"Our two wonders have long since stopped evolving."

Price put the cup down without a trace of shame.

"Thomson's tattered book underwent a transformation in 1912, and remained unchanged for the next three years."

Thomson blushed. "It's not a tattered book; it's a copy from 1432."

"Anyway, nothing has changed in three years."

"...That's my wonder thinking."

"Mine is even worse." Price rolled up his sleeve, revealing a very old brass ring on his wrist.

"From the moment you signed your name until today, you've only had one skill: remembering where I put the keys and forms."

"It's quite useful," Richard said sheepishly.

"It really works." Price didn't think it was anything special.

"My supervisor couldn't find the fieldwork orders last week, so I found them for him."

"This is where my life is. I've accepted my fate. If I can't go any higher, I'll just have to endure it for another ten years or so and eventually become a lecturer."

Besides, our research group has three experts in each subject; I can benefit from that for the rest of my life.

Thomson nodded emphatically: "When we teach in the department, we'll have even more energy to speak!"

Isabella raised her glass from the head of the table.

"Alright, from now on you two will look after all the books in this room for me. Books always need someone to look after them."

After drinking her fifth glass, Isabella suddenly put down her glass.

"Once you two get promoted... it's time for me to make a move too."

Clara looked up: "Mentor."

"I know I can't reach that level of expertise," Isabella waved her hand.

"I just want to see what the scenery of Dajingtong looks like."

Scholars move up the ranks, unlike hunters.

Hunters focus on themselves, while scholars focus on where their students have gone, expanding their influence.

She downed the drink in one gulp. "...I'm not going to talk about it anymore. I'll regret it when I sober up tomorrow."

:

Richard sat diagonally opposite him, silently memorizing these few sentences.

One person working alone cannot compete with the help of an entire team of scholars.

At the end of the meal, Thomson and Price went home first.

Isabella pushed aside her wine glass and asked the waiter to replace it with a pot of hot water.

Richard.

"exist."

"You've been thinking about the same thing all night long."

Richard did not deny it.

"I was thinking about the line of text that appeared above the center of the circle. I could read the basic structure: the first part was the location, the second part was the things that were in the same category, and the middle part was connected by a word that referred to 'as with'."

Isabella poured the hot water into the cup.

"Did you push that out yourself?"

"It was pushed away on the spot."

"...Fine then." She sighed.

"Then I'll explain it all at once, so you won't make wild guesses outside and get into trouble if you guess wrong."

She pushed the cup to the center of the table.

"Your name consists of three sentences. All the sentences you heard people recite in the field were the complete three sentences, so you thought that your name was only for accomplished people."

No, everyone who has touched the threshold of minor proficiency and truly crossed it has written the first sentence.

The framework of the first sentence is what you read today: "Place plus accompanying things, where it stands, and with what."

She extended her second finger.

The second sentence is about "someone who has accomplished something by using something".

What you're writing about is a great achievement; by the time you're able to write it down, you've already accomplished it.

The third sentence is the shortest and also the most difficult: "Already...already...only...remaining."

Her voice lowered: "The third sentence can only be written at the moment you hand over your body."

Richard recalled a few sentences he had heard with his own ears:

Blood has sealed the saddle, bones have become the bow, only the sound of hooves remains to hunt for eternity.

:

The lungs have departed, the bones have become a flute, only the breath remains in the world;

The feet have become a path, the bones have become a bridge, only the way back remains suspended in the world.

"Therefore, only those who can put together all three sentences can be called experts."

"right."

Isabella then seemed to remember something and looked at Clara: "You've passed this hurdle, but I still need to tell them about the pre-selection tradition."

Richard sat up straight. He was no stranger to the primary tradition; Hecate had talked about it all night at the round table last year.

"On the night of the minor mastery, you can choose a tradition for the future major mastery, or you can choose not to."

"In the preliminary rounds, they're a tier above, but their path is locked."

Richard continued.

"Where did you hear that from?"

"I read it in a book."

Isabella stared at him for two seconds, but didn't press further. "It's not all written in the book."

She drew a line on the tablecloth with her fingertip.

"Pre-selection is like carving your first sentence onto the traditional stone edge."

The edges are already there; our predecessors have smoothed them for you for hundreds of years.

"Engrave these sentences, and you'll move forward quickly and steadily."

"What are the downsides?"

"The downside is that if you want to change later, you'll have to cut flesh off your own bones, and you might not be able to get promoted after that."

"What if we don't have a preliminary selection?"

"No pre-selection; the first sentence is written on yourself."

She withdrew her fingertips.

"No edges, no predecessors, nothing at all."

You have to set up the ceremony yourself, find the medium yourself, and if something goes wrong, no one will bail you out.

But if you change your mind, you won't have to pay any price.

"The vast majority of people remain at a level of minor expertise throughout their lives; they all pre-select tradition."

:

"The Old World archives contain hundreds and thousands of fragmented sentences, all of which were left unfinished."

Richard wondered what his first words would be.

As he pondered the location, he already had a vague answer in his heart.

Messenger, guide, border crosser, two sides of the mirror, messenger of the hunter... all titles point to the same place: between boundaries.

He stands between the two worlds, bringing words from this shore to the other, and sending spirits from the other shore to this shore.

As for the items brought along...

After the show, Richard helped his aunt out, while Clara went to the crossroads to find a carriage.

Sofia came out first and stood alone under the streetlight at the restaurant entrance.

She had her back to the street, her hands in her coat pockets, and looked up at the sky.

There was nothing in the sky, but after the blackout, there were more stars than in previous years.

Isabella patted Richard on the arm.

"past."

"...Auntie?"

"Didn't you see it?"

Richard certainly saw it.

Sofia laughed the loudest and offered the most toasts all night.

But every time her eyes fell on Clara, they would linger on the tuning fork that Clara wore at her waist.

Isabella pulled her arm out of his grasp and steadied herself.

"I'll go first."

"You're still drunk."

"I'm not drunk." She took two steps forward, her feet wobbling slightly.

"...I am perfectly sober."

"Hey, mentor." Sophia turned around, her face immediately beaming with smiles.

"Has the chariot been booked? Is Clara still haggling with the driver...?"

"Sophia".

:

"I am here."

"I know you're starting to get anxious after seeing Clara's promotion and me saying things like that in front of everyone today."

Sofia's smile froze for half a second. "...No."

"I've been your tutor since pre-university. I even went with you when you wanted to buy those things for girls."

Upon hearing this, Richard turned his face away, pretending he hadn't heard anything.

Isabella showed no signs of drunkenness at this moment: "Sophia, you can't hide what you're thinking from me."

A carriage sped past at the end of the street, its headlights casting long and short shadows of the three people.

Clara sensed something was wrong from a distance and stopped walking instead of coming over.

Sofia pulled her hand out of her pocket.

"...I'm not in pain."

Isabella remained silent, waiting for her to continue.

"I'm really not feeling bad." Sophia turned her face away, her smile already faltering.

"I saw Clara when she was promoted, and I had only one thought: she's so beautiful."

She chuckled first.

"...Then I realized that I'm a year older than her and I signed my name more than a year earlier."

She looked up and stared intently at the two of them.

"I just feel like... I'm falling behind."

: