I loaded the Mysticism panel.

The wind lifted the hood slightly, and Richard instinctively wanted to look at his face.

There was nothing under the hood, except for the place where a face was: the contours of the cheekbones, the lines of the jaw, and even the shadow cast by the bridge of the nose.

But I can't describe what kind of face it was.

It's like looking at someone through a pane of glass that's been blown out of shape—you know they're an acquaintance, but you can't quite place them.

Richard shifted his gaze to the rest of the group.

The young man wielding the axe, the man in the red coat, the old man who wanted sheepskin shoes... they were all the same.

He had dealt with this team twice, but he could never figure them out.

When Richard activated the Mirror Condensation Technique and poured the still water onto the person, he suddenly understood everything.

I can't see my own face clearly, but I recognize the way back.

A main road descends from the left shoulder, with an old crack in the middle.

The outer side of the cut was covered with a dense row of needle marks, running from the elbow up to the lower edge of the deltoid muscle, with the spacing exactly the same.

Richard had recorded in his notebook: the number of times, the interval between treatments, and the changes in circuit brightness before and after treatment.

That notebook is still in my drawer in my dorm room at Beijing University.

"How long has this man been here?" Richard asked casually.

"soon."

"How long exactly?"

The old scholar remained silent for a while.

"About six months."

Half a year has passed since April 30th.

"Could you tell me what happened?"

The old scholar closed the book on his lap.

"Then let me make it clear to you."

"The spirits we take in won't die again, that's a good thing."

"The downside is that with each trip, their very existence is worn down."

"At first, he would forget how people called him: his mother's call, the string of numbers during roll call in the company, a familiar face shouting across the table in the tavern... all of that is gone for now."

"Next, it's about what you look like. If you ask him to look in the mirror now, he'll see a stranger looking in the mirror."

"What he forgot in the end was why he was there in the first place."

"At that point, all he has left is his skill in his hands."

The old scholar's voice was weary:

"The skills you have will not be forgotten. Those who can ride horses will still ride horses, and those who can forge iron will still forge iron."

"We have a carpenter here from six hundred years ago who doesn't even remember if he ever had a wife."

But if you give him a piece of wood, he can plane a line straighter than any machine can now.

Richard nodded, causing the shadow to shift its gaze back.

The man sat on the saddle, his left hand loosely clasped in front of him.

Richard was very familiar with this gesture; the three fingers of the "Moon Nail" gesture were joined together, with the thumb, index finger, and middle finger pinching the needle.

This guy doesn't even remember his own name anymore, but he still remembers how to pinch his hands.

"Could outsiders take the initiative to remind them?" Richard asked.

The old scholar turned his head.

"If you tell him... he will indeed remember that he lost something."

"Then he would try hard to remember, and if he couldn't remember, he would keep thinking about it."

"The more you think, the faster you wear down your body; the less you think about it, the more you retain."

The old scholar himself was the kind of person who didn't think about it at all, so he can still remember what he did in his lifetime.

Although I don't remember the specific people, times, or places.

The shadow remained motionless on the saddle.

The bugle sounded again at the front of the column, but in a different tone.

The entire team veered to the left, brushing past the scouts.

The very ordinary mount suddenly veered off course and turned this way.

The person riding on it seemed to pause for a moment, then reached out and pulled the reins back.

He didn't know why, but he turned his head to talk to the person next to him.

"That envoy had a certain smell about him, like... a room I used to stay in."

"It's so boring, there's someone writing all day long."

The person next to him snorted but didn't reply.

He opened his mouth, as if he wanted to add that the room was somewhere else.

If I really can't figure it out, I might as well shut my mouth and look ahead again.

The column stopped once above a field of rye.

Only three households in the village below have their lights on tonight.

The bundle of hay stood by the threshold, and the pack of dogs went down and circled around but didn't bring anything back.

Only the lame little dog darted back, carrying half a piece of rope that had been thrown away in its mouth.

When the group dispersed to rest, the person under the hood walked over from the middle.

He walked three steps in front of the shadow, stopped, and raised his hand in a military salute.

Go to Must Search

"Your Excellency."

The shadow responded.

"I have something I'd like to ask you," the man said.

Richard waited.

"I vaguely remember that someone owes me a meal."

The chatter in the group stopped on its own. The man in the red jacket, who had been arguing with someone about whether this year's fire was brighter than last year's, turned around halfway through the argument.

"I don't remember who said it, or which year or where it was said."

I only remember this one thing: I haven't eaten yet.

"Your Excellency is in charge of recording."

He lowered his head slightly, very respectfully.

"Could you check for me whether this matter can be fulfilled, and whether the person who owes me that meal is still around?"

The entire cloud became quiet.

Richard certainly had the meal in hand; he had even chosen the private room at the Royal Grand Hotel.

But the shadow only said one simple sentence.

"I checked, it's still owed."

The man stood there for a moment, then nodded.

"That's good."

He turned around and walked back towards the scouts.

After walking a few steps, Richard saw him raise his left hand again to check something, and only put his hand down after he had done so.

The person in the red coat clicked their tongue in disapproval.

"The worst feeling is when you're owed food."

"Shut up."

"The year I died, someone still owed me two shillings."

"That's what you deserve, who told you to gamble?"

Laughter echoed from one end of the line to the next, continuing even where it could no longer be heard.

The old scholar glanced at the shadow.

"Young man."

"Old sir."

"You answered that question correctly."

"What's so good about it?"

"Fortunately, it's short. If it were just one more word, he would have to start recalling."

Richard watched as the figure on horseback gradually blended into the group, and he could no longer tell which one was him.

To keep Coleman, Coleman has always owed him a meal.

He kept owing it, until... he himself didn't know when it would end.

Maybe one day he'll be able to get Coleman out of this team.

Maybe that day will never come, but as long as that meal is still owed, Coleman will still retain something that belongs to "humanity".

Even if he forgets his mother's name and his own face, he still remembers that someone owes him a meal.

The wind on the cloud ridge changed direction.

The hunter leader raised the horn at the front of the procession, and this time the tune was very short, two long notes followed by one short note.

"Assemble." The old scholar closed the scroll. "Squads are being formed."

The group split in the middle, and Richard looked to both sides through the shadows.

The eastern branch stretched out, with tens of thousands of riders pressing down on the clouds. Those in front were no longer visible, while those behind were still pushing forward.

The group heading south had only about a hundred people, and their formation was very scattered, with each person potentially going their own way at any time.

The hunter hung the horn back on the saddle, pulled the reins, and turned his mount to face the shadow.

"Tonight is different from usual."

Richard awaits the next installment.

"When we go out to hunt at night, all the evil creatures and vengeful spirits of the Old World will also go out."

"Halloween is everyone's night, we're just the ones that run the fastest."

"The battle for position, the swallowing of tables, the preparation for promotion, the infusion of power into the mask... everything that can only be done behind the curtain is gathered in these few nights."

"So, I've assigned you work tonight."

Richard had his shadow steady the staff of two snakes.

He had expected it; the hunter had given him a title that exempted him from obligations and treated him with great courtesy.

But he knew this miser's character well enough to not let him get away with anything.

The old scholar flipped back two pages of the roll of names on his lap.

"Although we won that night, April 30th."

"But we paid a price. Hundreds of riders from the rear guard got caught in the Shadow Abyss, and hundreds of mirrors were unearthed, wiping out our team members in droves."

Richard remembered.

That night, the shadows were on the cloud top, watching the rear ranks darken into the distance.

At the time, all he could think about was how to hide, and he never thought that the Wild Hunt members who were caught in the shadow of the Black Earth River Master would actually be gone. No wonder the Hunter Master was so angry back then.

The hunter spoke.

"The war on the Old World continues, and the deaths make the weak points more numerous year by year. In the future, the number of hunts will only increase, not decrease."

"That's why I'm short-staffed."

Richard asked, "Isn't the hunting log supposed to be filled every night?"

"They're taking in the dead."

The hunter answered quickly, saying it had been bothered by this for more than a year.

"Dead people are easy to use; they don't complain about being tired, they don't ask for wages, and they don't ask why."

"But there are some things that only the living can do."

The hunter raised his antlers slightly in the direction of Bohemia.

"The one at the Scandinavian table."

Richard's heart skipped a beat; Skadi was sitting at that table.

"Loki's table is lagging behind this year, so you can go and bring them into my team."

"What methods?"

"I don't care about any of that, it's up to you."

The hunter wrapped the reins halfway around his palm.

"Aren't you an envoy? What envoys are best at is finishing their sentences and then stepping out."

"I can handle the murder myself; I don't need you to."

The hunter added another sentence:

"But I need you to convince them to work wholeheartedly for me."

"Otherwise, I'll keep an eye on them every time we go hunting, to see if they'll run away on their own halfway through."

"I can't do that, you do it."

Richard immediately understood the expert's plan.

The hunter could have forced it.

It's an expert; forcibly dragging that Nordic group into the group is just a matter of lifting a hooves.

But this would draw the hunter deeper into the mire of the Divine Salon and potentially lead to war with other experts.

It doesn't want to get too involved; it's only willing to occasionally offer a little support.

So this was entirely a scheme to get Richard to get something for nothing.

This miser wants people to work for him, but he won't promise too many benefits.

They were unwilling to get involved with other experts in the matter of the Divine Salon... so they handed this hot potato to him.

This is really… Richard sneered inwardly and asked directly, “Tell me the reward.”

The hunter's antlers twitched.

Richard could clearly sense that this person was probably making calculations in his mind.

The hunter slowly began, "If you succeed, they'll be registered under your name."

It was also very reluctant.

"From now on, when they go hunting, I'll only take 50% of the profits, and the rest..."

The old scholar took his pen from the side, wrote a line on the scroll, and then looked up at the hunter.

There was nothing in that glance, and the hunter coughed first.

"Then I'll just take 20%."

"Twenty percent is not much... I will provide the land, the roads, the teams, and keep their places on the register."

"You can distribute the remaining 80% as you see fit; I won't interfere."

"What if it doesn't work out?" Richard asked.

"If it can't be done, then forget it."

The answer was just now, which was fast.

"You've made a wasted trip tonight, and I haven't suffered any losses."

It didn't feel embarrassed at all when it said those words.

Richard, on the contrary, admired its frankness to some extent.

This expert never intended to pretend; he just wanted to take advantage.

"I'll take it."

The hunter was pleased to see a thin layer of frost on his antlers.

"it is good."

The old scholar closed the scroll, took another scroll from his saddlebag, and handed it to him, indicating:

"The room you're going into tonight only recognizes this piece of paper in your hand, so you can safely conceal your true identity."

As soon as he heard those words, Richard realized that his "Rebellious Face" could be opened to its fullest extent.

Any force that attempts to define, name, or rewrite his identity from the outside will be repelled.

But now that the other party has given me a notice proving my identity, I have no more worries.

"Sir, what does this note say?"

The old scholar withdrew his hand from the paper.

"It reads: The holder of this is the hunter."

"Just this one sentence?"

"Just this one sentence; if there were any more, people would start trying to decipher its meaning."

The hunter raised his horn, and this time he blew it for the longest time.

The long note pierced the clouds, heading south to the rolling hills.

"I'll build momentum for you." The hunter pulled on the reins, and his mount turned east.

"The rest is up to you to explain."

The old scholar's mount remained in the same spot.

"Young man, that table is playing their third game tonight."

"The one sitting in that chair is a hunter."

"Winter and the Hunt, Skadi."

The old scholar turned his horse around and headed east.

A layer of specially structured ether pressed down over Bohemia, and Richard made his shadow descend.

The two gold stripes on the ankle of the flight shoe flow smoothly behind the curtain; this side is its home turf.

He held the antler with the reins wrapped around it in his left hand, and rolled up the strip and tucked it between his right fingers.

They walked down to who knows how deep, and then the palace came into view.

There is no porch or steps, just a door.

Outside the door was complete darkness, with nothing at all, except for a sliver of light leaking through the crack in the door.

Richard stopped three steps away from the door and spread the still water over.

The moment he stepped over it, he knew what this palace was.

That ray of warm light was fake.

The light leaking through the crack in the door couldn't illuminate the three steps outside the threshold; it only lit up itself.

There is a fire burning inside, but the fire is not hot; there are cups on the table, but the cups are empty; there is a mat on the table, but the mat is empty.

The entire temple stands atop a pile of promises that were never meant to be kept.

He could hear the fighting going on inside the hall, even through the door.

A tremendous wind, carrying ice shards, crashed out of the hall in all directions, causing the door to tremble repeatedly within its frame.

With the [Perception] buff, Richard could vaguely see a person kneeling in the blizzard.

There was a wound on her left forearm that was not visible in the snow, and her opponent was already within three steps of her.

The snow covered the two people completely; from the outside, all that could be seen were two shadows, one tall and one short, within a white mass.

If the person kneeling can't hold on, her head will rise up and hang in the darkness of the dome.

Richard quickened his pace and knocked on the door twice, once long.

This was the secret code he and a certain girl agreed upon when they went to the abandoned old garden house behind the main building.

After the knocking was finished, the wind speed in the hall, which had been raging like a storm, suddenly slowed down.

In that instant, the silhouette of the masked woman kneeling in the snow seemed to freeze completely.

Then Richard tapped three more times, took half a step back, and raised the antler that was wrapped with the reins.

The reins on the corner loosened by themselves, and the smell of frozen earth, horse sweat, and grass trampled by tens of thousands of hooves wafted out.

At the same moment, the hunter sang his horn in the east.

The sound was very far away; those nearby thought it was just tinnitus.

Soon, tens of thousands of riders landed at the same moment, stepping on the roadless ground.

The thunderous sound of hooves echoed across Bohemia like drums, making the sky behind the entire curtain seem to fall.

All the fire inside the hall was poured towards the entrance, the flames suddenly tilting towards the door, much like a person bending over.

The blizzard stopped, but the ice shards remained suspended in place, refusing to fall.

Lillian, who was kneeling, raised her head. Blood was seeping from the wound on her left forearm, but she didn't notice.

The opponent with the short axe froze in mid-air, his axe-wielding hand still in the air.

He could have killed Lillian, who was kneeling on the ground, with a single axe blow, but his power was weakened when the fake fire went down.

This temple is built on a promise, and whoever stands in this temple draws strength from it.

The door opened, and a shadow stood in the doorway, holding a piece of antler wrapped with reins in his left hand and a strip torn from a scroll in his right.

There are seven chairs in the hall.

Loki, who was sitting at the very top, slowly lowered his crossed legs.

A circle of candidates stood around the perimeter, all wrapped in curtains, making it impossible to tell who was who.

Lillian knelt in the shattered ice, staring at her shadow, and felt inexplicably relaxed, though she didn't know why.

"It's actually the Hunter Lord's Envoy who has arrived." Luo Ji, sitting on the head chair, stood up.

"What an honored guest! It has been so many years since such an honored guest has visited my dilapidated temple."

"The fire isn't burning bright enough, the cups aren't full enough, and the feast is meager, everyone..."

He turned around and glanced at the circle of chairs:

"What are you all standing there for? Make room for the envoy."

No one spoke in the hall. Richard had his shadow stand on the threshold, neither advancing nor retreating.

The rules for messengers were explained by the old scholar on horseback.

Without taking the initiative to act or speak, let the palace figure out what's outside the door first.

Hela reacted the most strongly; the gates of Hades she borrowed were nothing in the face of a real procession of the dead.

She knew better than anyone else in the hall what kind of team was outside the door.

That was the true list of the dead, the souls that had accumulated over countless years and were collected one by one into the register by the hunter.

Tyr placed his hand on the edge of the table, Freya pushed the plate aside, and the golden-red dust retracted.

The illusory flames that filled the hall bowed their heads the instant the real procession passed by.

Although Richard didn't do it, everyone attributed the oppressive feeling to him just because he was standing at the door.

Richard could feel that every gaze in the hall was fixed on the shadow.

Those gazes held surprise, fear, calculation, and an inexplicable sense of awe.

This is what he's been waiting for.

Before the hunter arrived, he had the old scholar hand over all the information about the people at the table to him.

Who does what and where, how many people are in their family, which ports they travel to each year, what happened during their last field mission... everything is included.

Next comes the classic unboxing moment, a time to establish one's authority.

Loki.

The person on the high chair tilted their head, looking somewhat puzzled.

"You are in Copenhagen."

"On the street behind the dock, they acted as guarantors, brokers, and mediators for ships entering and leaving the port."

As long as Denmark isn't at war, your business will continue.

But what you really want is never that commission. You spread rumors without ever lying, only misinterpreting them.

Because lying can be traced back to its source by divination, but misinterpreting things won't.

You adopt the lowest posture because you know better than anyone that you are replaceable.

"If this table collapses, the hunter will find a new head seat and continue the game."

Loki's loose smile froze.

Richard didn't stop; Shadow's gaze shifted to the next chair.

Hela.

Half of the dead face turned around.

"You're at the military hospital behind my brother's lines."

"You register the names of the dead soldiers, once a day, and transfer them to the card book after you've signed them."

You deal with dead people every day, yet you are most afraid of standing in front of a real dead person.

"I'm afraid they'll recognize you just by looking at you, and that the gate to the underworld above your head is borrowed."

Hela didn't speak, but the half of her face turned white.

"Tyr."

"You're in Stockholm, in a small office in the quartermaster department."

You lost your right hand on the eastern front. After losing your hand, you were sent by the army to the rear to be registered.

You wouldn't even make a sound while being tortured, because if you did, you'd lose all your dignity.

Tyr tightened his grip on the edge of the table with his single hand.

"Freya." The shadow's gaze fell upon her.

"The pawnshop on the back street of Hamburg Port, where you appraise, lend, and collect interest, has an accurate ledger."

You've been calculating ever since you sat down in this chair. Everyone knows who you're calculating against, which is why you haven't made a move all night.

Freya pulled the plate back in front of her, but didn't lick it again.

Richard let the shadow finally focus its gaze on Skadi.

Lillian was still kneeling in the shattered ice.

The shadow stared at her for a long time.

Richard, separated by that wisp of spirit, went over what he wanted to say in his mind.

Her mother was in a nursing home; once she looked through that door, she couldn't turn back.

Her hands have been cold all year.

She embarked on this path in search of a power that could cure that disease.

He knew all of this, but he couldn't say a word about it tonight.

Saying it is tantamount to telling the entire hall... that the Hunter Lord Envoy recognizes Kati.

Richard chose the least hurtful one, one that the entire palace already knew.

"Skadi, Winter and the Hunt"

Lillian looked up.

"You have no guide to teach you step by step."

You find it step by step, learn it step by step, and every step you take is one you have walked yourself.

"At this table, you're the only one who crawled up from nothingness."

After saying that, the shadow stopped talking.

Lillian knelt there, staring at the dark mass, her eyes inexplicably welling up with tears.

It's hot, which is a good thing; she hasn't felt hot in a long time.

After Richard finished reporting, no one objected; objection would be tantamount to admission.

The person at the very top finally lowered his hand.

He walked around the corner of the table and took two steps toward the door.

He stopped five steps away from the shadow.

The distance must be just right; getting half a step closer would be offensive, while going half a step further would be cowardly.

"Your Excellency has excellent eyesight."

Loki turned around and glanced at the circle of chairs in the hall.

"Did you all hear that? How many times have I told you, the truly powerful people in this world can subdue everyone without lifting a finger."

Then he turned back and picked up a wine cup from the table behind him.

"Your Excellency has come from afar."

He raised the cup to chest height and lowered his posture.

"This cup is for the hunter."

"Also, respect the envoy."

All eyes in the hall fell on the cup, and a group of candidates wrapped in curtains squeezed forward half a step.

Richard stood three steps inside the door, without reaching out.

"The messenger accepted neither food nor drink nor oaths."

Loki's hand, holding the cup, froze in mid-air, and the smile on his face crumbled.

His most proficient technique is to make others receive the treatment.

Once you accept the wine and say something nice, you'll fall into Loki's rhythm, and then he can properly gauge the true nature of this Hunter Master Envoy.

But the other party wouldn't accept, and he couldn't force them.

Loki held his hand up in the air for about three seconds, then naturally put the cup back and drank from it.

After finishing his drink, he smacked his lips.

"...It's cold."

Inside the hall, two people chuckled softly; it was a woman's laughter.

Loki put the cup back on the table, turned around, and his slouching expression returned.

"Your Excellency, since this is a notice from the Hunter Lord..."

He stretched out his hand.

"According to the rules, this should be handed over to me, the head of the group, to convey the message to everyone present."

Richard knew what he wanted.

Once the proclamation passed through his hands, Loki could read it in its entirety, in half, or pause for a few extra seconds on a particular word.

Richard raised the string between his fingers, realizing why the old scholar had given him such instructions.

"He who holds this will act as the hunter's master."

He turned the note horizontally so that everyone in the hall could see that line of ink.

"You've finished reading."

The hand of the person at the very top, still outstretched, is still in mid-air.

"You all heard that," said the shadow.

"If anyone asks me what 'Hunter Master' means in the future..."

Richard took the note back, rolled it up, and tucked it between his fingers.

"You can ask me."

The hall was silent for two seconds before Tyr snorted through his nose.

Loki slowly withdrew his outstretched hand.

"...Your Excellency said."

He bent down.

"Your Excellency, I happen to have something to discuss with you."

"I need your help to find someone."

"explain."

"The hunter told us to keep an eye on someone."

"It happened more than half a year ago. That night, the Hunter took our table out and tortured us. He just casually mentioned it."

"It said: I saw divine armor above that man's head."

Everyone sitting on the chairs in the hall looked up.

"Double serpent staff, flying shoes."

Loki stroked his chin.

"It should be the table with the Greek mythology, but we don't know which chair it is."

"That person's god name is... Hermes."

In the Milan library, Mortimer looked at his students' facial expressions, which seemed to be trying hard to suppress something, and was somewhat puzzled.

Let him, this Hermes, come find himself?

Richard stood in the main hall, his face expressionless.

He was glad he had no shame tonight, otherwise he might have lost his composure.