I loaded the Mysticism panel.

Chapter 535 Only the Cradle Will Never Be Empty in the World

A large truck turned from Brook Street into Hanover Place at an alarming speed.

The wheels rolled over puddles, splashing mud and water onto the carriages parked by the roadside.

By the time the driver jumped up and started cursing, the carriage had already sped past.

It turned out to be an ambulance, painted olive green with red crosses on both sides.

The driver's side door was pushed open, and a young woman jumped out.

She was wearing a khaki uniform, her high-top boots were covered in mud, and her left arm patch read: f...y. (Emergency Nurse Team).

The girl had very short hair and similar red hair to Catherine's, only darker in color, and wore round-framed glasses on her nose.

She was very beautiful, after all, the excellent genes of the Earl's family were there; she had delicate eyebrows, a straight nose, thin lips, and two red patches on her cheeks from the cold wind.

If you just stand there without saying a word, it's like a young lady sitting in a study reading poetry.

He had the cheapest fivepence cigarette dangling from his lips; it was the kind of cigarette that soldiers on the front lines loved to smoke.

The girl strode aggressively up to Richard and snatched the feather away with a single stroke. The woman who had given him the feather stood there, stunned.

The female driver held the feather in her hand and twirled it around: "Is this an ostrich feather?"

The woman's face flushed red instantly: "You..."

"What he's doing is far more dangerous than what your husband, a staff officer in the Army Department, is doing."

The female driver flicked her cigarette ash.

"I'll keep this feather; I just happen to need a duster in the car."

The windshield was covered in Calais mud; I had to use my sleeve to wipe it every time.

The woman opened her mouth, but said nothing.

Someone nearby recognized her.

"Viola?"

"Good morning, Auntie." Viola nodded into the crowd. "Am I late?"

"No... why did you come in an ambulance?" "My precious car needs to be taken back for major repairs." Viola grinned at her beloved car.

"The factory is in Manchester. I was driving from Folkestone and it was on my way, so I happened to be there in time for my cousin's wedding."

"Is it convenient to go from Foxtown to Beijing?"

"Going north is all on the way."

As she spoke, she tucked the white feather directly into the pocket of her uniform jacket.

The lady finally found her voice: "Miss Blackburn, what's wrong...?"

"Madam," Viola interrupted her directly.

"When it comes to the front lines, I have more to say than you."

Last month, I was driving an ambulance on the road from Ypres to Calais, and I transported about three hundred people in total.

She put the cigarette back in her mouth.

"Many soldiers died without wearing armbands."

When their mothers come to claim them, you can also pin a feather on them. A hush fell over the porch. The woman's face turned from red to white, her lips trembled slightly, and she turned and walked back into the crowd.

Viola grinned at the woman and blew a smoke ring.

Then she turned her head, wiped her hand on her pants, and reached out to Richard.

"Viola Blackburn, bridesmaid."

Richard grasped the hand and found that the other person's palm was covered in calluses, and there was still some engine oil stuck between the fingers.

Richard Williams, Best Man.

"I know you, everyone in our group of girlfriends calls you Big Barrel."

Viola pulled her hand back and burst into laughter.

"Last time you and Phillips got those young masters drunk at the Royal Academy, we saw it all."

She glanced into the church: "By the way, where's my bridesmaid dress?"

Richard was a little embarrassed by being called "Big Barrel," and turned to lead the way: "In the robe room, Constance already had it delivered in advance."

Viola threw her cigarette butt on the ground and stubbed it out: "Fine, I'll go with you, Mr. Best Man." Grey, Clara, and Catherine were already waiting inside.

They came together; Grey and her aunt set off from Ashford House in that old car, picking up Clara and Sophia along the way.

When they arrived at the church entrance, they ran into Catherine, who was coming out of the sanatorium.

Duncan insisted on having his niece come, saying she was so tired of lying in bed that her bones were practically rusting.

The Earl of Blackburn deserves credit for being able to gather them all together for a wedding.

According to Albion's old custom, the wedding is organized by the bride's family, and the invitations are also sent out by the bride's family.

Although Phillips said at afternoon tea that he was "only inviting relatives and friends," the Earl actually wrote the invitations by hand over several days.

"I said I'd only invite relatives and friends," Phillips later complained to Richard.

"The Earl said it was no problem. The Blackburn family has accumulated about four hundred relatives and friends over the centuries."

In the end, St. George's Church was full, and the hotel banquet hall was also fully booked.

It was indeed a rare occurrence at this stage of the war.

The social season was cancelled last year; there were no balls, rowing events, or Royal Ascot races. So when invitations were sent out, replies came in like snowflakes.

Someone pulled several strings just to get on the list.

The people from the Mystic side were even more complete. Old Phillips had worked at headquarters for decades, and those who missed his funeral were all there this time.

Clara was even personally mentioned by the Earl, after all, at the age of 24, she had already become a minor prodigy, which was already considered a rising star with some fame in the imperial circle.

Sophia came as Fafield's companion.

"I'm here to eat wild game," she said matter-of-factly from the car.

"We haven't seen a whole piece of meat in the department cafeteria for two months, so why shouldn't we come?"

Once inside the robes room, Viola could no longer be as carefree as she was outside.

She yelled, "Who designed this dress? Are those buttons on the back for a person with three arms?"

Before they arrived, Grey and the others were very curious. Constance even said: "My cousin is much better than me."

Grey tossed and turned all night, unable to sleep. In the morning, she restyled her hair several times in front of the mirror.

Clara pondered for days how many ways the word "excellent" could be understood. Catherine had heard it from Sophia, whose gossip had spread the word throughout half of the Classics Department.

And now...

"Can you do me a favor?"

Half a head peeked out from behind the screen; the girl's short hair was messy, and her glasses were askew on her nose.

"Whose fingers are thinner?"

Grey hesitated for a moment, then walked over.

Behind the screen, Viola stood with her back to her, and Grey buttoned her clothes.

"Thanks." Viola smiled sweetly. "You must be Grey?"

"You know me?"

"My cousin told me about it." Viola looked down at her light purple dress.

"She also mentioned Lecturer Fafield and Miss Blackwood. She introduced me to each of the female guests who came today, as if I were going to war."

Grey finished buttoning the last button and took a step back. Viola turned around; the dress fit her perfectly, and the pale purple made her skin appear even whiter.

She took off her glasses and looked into the full-length mirror next to her.

"Do I look like a purple onion?"

Grey couldn't help but laugh.

Clara stood outside the screen and found this person particularly strange.

Since her promotion, she has been able to discern the pitch of a person's breathing, heartbeat, and the rhythm of the ether moving through the circuit.

The ether of the person behind the screen has a strange rhythm.

It has a four-stroke cycle, similar to the four-stroke gasoline engine in the engineering school.

Catherine's scales bowed before Viola.

This woman had transported three hundred dying soldiers to the front lines, and the scales of Nemesis respected her.

Catherine also respected him, for he had done what she had not done on the battlefield.

Twenty minutes before the wedding was to begin, Richard and Viola waited for the emcee to call them in.

The girl pulled one foot out of her shoe, letting it dangle in mid-air.

"Did you all hear from my cousin that I'm better than her?"

Richard did not respond.

Viola chuckled. "When I was seventeen two years ago, I signed my name and chose spark plugs from the Rocky Brothers factory."

She took a spark plug from a hidden pocket in her skirt and held it in her palm.

"When the old men in my family saw this, their faces turned green."

"A man of the Blackburn family, whose most famous artifacts are swords left behind by the Crusaders."

After their meeting, they finally added me to the booklet—the one we used to match young people with—with the comment, "Value diminished."

She put the spark plug back into the hidden pocket.

"Later, when war broke out, I went to Calais, where I was tempered by the battlefield and my value increased."

She deliberately stopped there. "Speaking of that booklet, you're fourth in priority among the family's current marriage partners."

Richard turned to look at her.

"The top three are basically the direct heirs of earls and higher nobles, or those who have become minor proficient in their early twenties."

Viola was still dangling her foot that wasn't wearing high heels.

"The first one is from the Duke's family, the second is from the Admiralty, the third... never mind, anyway you're fourth, which is two places higher than last month."

"Why are we moving forward?" Richard asked, but he already had a premonition.

Viola didn't answer and tucked her feet back into her high heels.

"Don't worry, it doesn't matter what's written in that breeding book. We'll just act for one day."

"If you ever get caught by our family, remember to let me know in advance."

She flashed that bared-tooth expression again: "I need to go hide on the front lines for a while."

The emcee waved from the other side.

Richard said he needed to tidy up his things and told Viola to go ahead. He went into a smaller storage room, took things out of his coat pockets, and put them into the pockets of his morning suit.

Catherine put the stack of IOUs into the left inner pocket.

McFee had said that if this stack of papers fell into the hands of an outsider, her abilities would be rendered useless, and she had to keep it close to her.

The left inner pocket is close to the heart, where it is most secure.

Then there's the pencil.

When he picked up the pencil, he felt that warmth again at his fingertips.

He put the pencil and the IOU together, stuffed them into the left inner pocket, and buttoned it up.

Richard silently thought about what he needed to remember next:

The Blackburn family is very patient; they've waited a year, and they won't just let him come to the wedding today.

Therefore, signatures on the register are not made with one's own pen;

Do not touch any of the Blackburns' belongings;

And, don't spend too much time alone with the bridesmaids... Just as I was repeatedly reminding myself, the organ started playing outside, with the prelude being Mendelssohn's "Wedding March".

Richard reached up and adjusted his top hat.

When they arrived at the wedding venue, Constance had already walked in.

She had already changed into her wedding dress, an ivory satin gown with a long train, and her veil was pulled back over her head.

Mrs. Blackburn, standing behind her, kept talking.

"Constance! The groom is still here! The groom isn't allowed to see the bride before the wedding, this is..."

"Mother, we've known each other for over a year now."

Constance ignored all of this.

"He saw me in hunting attire, he saw me in hospital gowns, and he even spent a whole night with me lying in the snow on the front lines."

"Looking at the wedding dress a little longer now won't cause any trouble."

Phillips had already raised both hands and covered his eyes.

"I didn't see it." Mrs. Blackburn opened her mouth, then sighed and turned back to the side corridor.

Phillips removed his hand from his eyes.

"Alright, let's go through the process once."

Since the organ couldn't be played for the time being, Phillips hummed along.

He hummed off-key halfway through and was glared at by Clara peeking out from upstairs at the organ.

Viola took Richard's arm.

When she reached the third row of benches, she turned her head and leaned close to Richard's left chest to take a breath.

It's very casual, much like someone walking in the cold weather and casually taking a breath of cool air.

But for Richard, with his heightened senses, the traces of the other party's ethereal presence were all too obvious.

It's a hunting method.

This was recorded in the breathing technique outlines that his aunt showed him; each deep breath was a form of tracking.

The two walked to the church entrance, then turned back. Reaching the altar steps, Richard couldn't help but press his left chest.

Viola stood next to him and smiled:

"Best man, what's in your left pocket?"

"Pocket watch."

"A pocket watch." Viola clearly didn't believe it. "Yes, a pocket watch."

At the formal wedding ceremony, the count handed the bride over to the groom.

While signing the register in the vestry, in front of a room full of guests, Phillips signed his name in the "Father's Name" column, but the ink slipped away.

Constance, who was standing next to her, quickly took the pen and wrote down "deceased, Inspector General" with great force.

The church bell ringer began to ring the bells.

This year, all the bell ringers were old men; the young ones had all joined the army.

The old teapot in Phillips' coat pocket began to hum.

Richard could hear a response coming from far to the east—a bell without a hammer. His grandfather placed his hand on Phillips' shoulder and whispered, "The old man's here too."

At this moment, someone outside the robe room also began to play the violin.

The sound of the piano flowed in through the crack in the door. The first note was long and low, spreading slowly under the vaulted ceiling and gradually suppressing the remaining sound of the bells.

It's Bach, "Airs on the Strings".

Everyone in the robe room stopped what they were doing. Richard turned his head and looked out through the crack in the door.

Clara had already stood downstairs at the organ tower, her violin nestled between her white neck.

Another court musician, invited by the count, sat at the organ and gently pressed the chords for her.

The senior student had her eyes closed, her dark green velvet dress trailing to the ground, and the silver tuning fork at her neckline shimmered as she played the violin.

This melody was originally written for string orchestra.

Later, someone modified it to only use the lowest string of the violin, without changing the string from beginning to end.

The senior student used only one string, yet she brought out the weight of the entire band.

The entire church was listening. The elderly women in the front row put down their handkerchiefs, and the children in the back row stopped fidgeting.

On the bench, Grey sat in the fifth row by the aisle, her fingers tightly intertwined.

The music stopped, and the last note lingered under the arch for several seconds before slowly dissipating.

The church was silent for a moment, then everyone began to applaud enthusiastically, and Sophia stood up abruptly.

My aunt also smiled; having such a student certainly made her proud.

………………

The wedding banquet was held in the banquet hall on the first floor of the hotel.

Richard was seated at the head table, right next to Viola.

He looked around and saw Grey at the table by the window, surrounded by Ashford family members and friends.

Clara was in the middle of the hall, surrounded by Sophia and other veteran scholars from the capital.

Catherine was closest to the door, next to Duncan, and two distant cousins ​​of the Blackburn family.

The four men were seated at four different tables, clearly arranged intentionally by the Blackburn family. The Earl stood up before the soup was served.

The Blackburn family put down their knives and forks first, followed by their relatives.

Finally, there are the guests who know nothing and only see others put down their knives and forks.

Richard then noticed that at the head of the main table, there was a small round table waiting for someone else.

Each plate had a place card in front of it, marked only with silver ink:

A sun corona, an anvil, an arc, ears of wheat, bone flutes, seashells, and thin lines stretching into the distance…

A white candle was lit in front of each chair.

Viola lowered her voice and explained to him, "These are reserved for the guests upstairs."

"above?"

"Expert." She gestured with her chin toward the small round table.

"According to our family tradition, wedding invitations are burned in the fireplace of the chapel for both weddings and funerals."

Burn these for those who are on good terms with the Blackburns, or at least not enemies. Set up a few chairs the next day for every few that can be burned.

"Have you been here before?"

"Not a single one has come," Viola scoffed.

"The most exciting time was when my great-grandmother got married. A silver fork in front of a chair moved by itself, and the whole family has been discussing it for decades."

She paused.

"Oh, it's not fair to say that none of them have come."

The count, carrying his soda, turned to the small round table, bowed slightly, and moved his lips a few times.

He read very softly, and only a few people who were closest to him could probably hear him; Richard was one of them.

"...hidden behind a thousand gates, the same age as the newborn."

"...He single-handedly determined the fate of all the kings' descendants."

"...The faces have become many, the names have entered thousands, only the cradle will never be empty in the world."

After reading the honored name, the Earl raised his voice. "Today is the wedding of the Blackburn family. First, let us toast to those seated in the highest esteem."

The flames of eleven candles stood upright.

Richard spread some still water over there, then quickly pulled it back.

The invitations were sent out without a trace, and the experts had no time to pay attention to the wedding of a junior.

Only the candle flame flickered on the chair at the very head of the table.

The temperature in the banquet hall rose slightly as a result.

The people at the Blackburn tables all lowered their heads, and the Earl relaxed his shoulders, letting out a long sigh of relief.

"That chair belonged to our ancestors."

Viola's voice softened considerably.

"It comes over to take a look every time, and that one look is enough for it to bless the newlyweds."

After paying respects to their ancestors, the soup was served.

The count sat back down and smiled at Gerald across two tables. There was even a hint of smugness in that smile, which was rare for this middle-aged man who rarely showed his emotions.

Gerrard lowered his head and drank his soup, ignoring him.

The Ashford family has no powerful backers, which is something they can't help.

After the soup was finished and the fish was taken away, the waiter served everyone another round of tea.

The emcee tapped his glass, and the banquet hall fell silent.

"Now, please let the best man give a speech."

Richard stood up, without his manuscript in his hand.

He glanced at the head table, then at Phillips.

Cicero wrote a small book called "On Friendship".

A few people in the banquet hall chuckled softly, probably thinking that quoting Cicero at a wedding was a bit too academic.

"The book says that a true friend is another version of yourself," Richard said.

"The reason I brought up Cicero is because I met Phillips the autumn before last at the Cicero Cup. Later, we bumped into each other at the Imperial University Library, and he asked me if I wanted some tea."

I told him I don't drink tea, and he said, "Then you must be a very boring person."

Laughter erupted in the banquet hall, and Phillips covered his face at the head table.

Cicero also said that friendship makes good times brighter and adversity easier.

Richard paused.

"He has experienced a lot in the past year or so, some bright and some dark."

The banquet hall gradually quieted down.

"Because of friendship, those who are not present are also present."

"On this day, there is someone who should be sitting at the head table."

Richard looked at the main table.

There was an empty chair next to the bride and groom's seats in the center of the main table.

"The groom's father..." He opened his mouth to say the name, but the words slipped from his lips.

"...that chief inspector," Richard could only say.

"Here today too."

He didn't say anything more, and raised the teacup in his hand.

"A toast to the bride and groom."

Everyone in the hall stood up, raising their glasses—tea, soda, ginger ale—clinking together.

At the head table, Phillips' mother covered her eyes with a handkerchief.

Brother Phillips stood beside the empty chair, his teacup trembling.

Phillips stood there, his eyes red.

He raised his glass, nodded toward Richard, and downed it in one gulp.

He drank the tea dry, as if it were alcohol.

When the main course was served, Richard discovered an unexpected surprise. He took a bite of roast chicken, and as the meat went down into his stomach, the nutrients traveled along his main meridian to his limbs, along with ether.

So little that it's almost imperceptible, mixed in with every bite of meat.

He looked around.

My aunt at the main table took a bite of roast chicken, paused for a moment, and then took another bite.

Catherine's uncle put down his knife and fork, rubbed his injured arm, and had a strange expression on his face.

Grandpa sat not far from the main table, eating very slowly, chewing each bite for a long time.

Viola, sitting next to him, cut a large piece of venison pie and stuffed it into her mouth.

"This is our family's feast," she said, chewing.

"It's good for your health to eat this."

Viola gestured towards the old gentleman at the next table.

"For someone like him, eating is enough."

This must be one of the secrets of the Daren family, Richard thought to himself. Just then, the girl put down her knife and fork and said, "I heard you can eat a lot." She pushed the venison pie in front of her to the middle of the table.

"The rule on the front lines is that the mess cart only comes once. If you eat slowly, you only get to lick the bottom of the pot. Shall we have a competition?"

Richard looked at her.

Viola had already rolled up her sleeves, revealing her forearms with some muscle definition.

At the head table, Phillips heard it first.

"A competition?" He suddenly perked up: "A eating contest between the best man and the bridesmaids?"

"Yes!" Viola nodded vigorously.

"Montague!" Phillips shouted at the table next to him, "You be the referee!"

Montague put down his teacup, sighed, and stood up.

In the banquet hall, guests gradually turned their heads.

The waiter brought out two plates of venison pies, one for each person.

Montagu raised his hand: "Begin." Viola ate quickly, her knife and fork flying across the plate.

The meat and pie crust went into his mouth piece by piece, he chewed a few times and swallowed, just like he was going to war.

Richard didn't eat very fast, but his stomach seemed bottomless; it could hold as much food as he could eat.

The count, seeing the two gradually becoming close friends, smiled broadly and waved to the side.

The waiter then brought over two plates of venison pies and two servings of candied pears.

The pears were so sweet that juice spilled all over the plate, and Viola got tired of them after eating only half of them.

"The last course." Viola finished her meal with difficulty and stood up again. "The last course will decide the winner."

The banquet hall doors opened, and four waiters carried in a trolley.

On the trolley was the three-tiered wedding cake; Phillips held the knife handle, and Constance held his hand.

As the knife tip fell, the aroma instantly filled the entire banquet hall.

The bride cut the first slice, and according to tradition, distributed the cake pieces to each guest.

The moment Richard tasted the vanilla, he tasted the wish he had made in July. He sat there, fork hanging in mid-air, motionless for a long time.

[Eating level 4...98%...99%...100%]

The requirements for advancement have been met.

The panel lit up in front of him, waiting for him to click.

[Eating] When you reach level 5, your body will change, and you might feel nauseous at the moment of leveling up.

Viola sat right next to him, and with a single breath, she could smell him from head to toe.

He put down his fork and slowly finished the last bite of cake.

"The best man won!" Fisher shouted from behind. "There are still half of the bridesmaids left!"

"Fine, I give up."

Viola looked down at her plate, rubbed her stomach, and couldn't help but let out several burps.

The count and his wife were exchanging frantic glances, but she didn't even look at them.

The banquet hall became lively again, with guests rising in twos and threes, moving between tables to socialize while holding teacups. The count, along with his wife, also left their seats to make connections at other tables.

Viola took the opportunity to lean towards Richard, her breath still tasting of vanilla pods.

"My uncle added a line to your page last week, which I didn't see clearly before."

"What, you see clearly now?" Richard raised an eyebrow.

"This morning, he asked me to bring the booklet in from his car," Viola said.

"I just flipped through it casually."

She raised the teacup to her lips, obscuring half her face.

"It says that the Ashford family's fortunes have increased dramatically this year, and the source is suspected to be hunting. It is advisable to arrange a marriage as soon as possible."

Richard's hand, holding the teacup, froze in mid-air.

His luck suddenly increased; wasn't this the "luck that comes with him" that the hunter had given him?

Furthermore, the fact that they knew the source of the wild hunt suggests that the Earl, or rather, the wise ancestor behind him, had already sensed the presence of the Wild Hunt.

Meanwhile, the count circled the banquet hall, finally returning to the head table and raising his glass once more. The first time, it was an invitation; the second, a thank you.

Thanks to those experts who didn't come; their absence means they meant no harm.

"The Blackburn family thanks you, esteemed guests..."

Just then, the flame of the second-to-last candle suddenly veered outwards.

The corresponding chair moved back a little, making a soft scraping sound on the floor.

Richard suddenly smelled the coal smoke of a winter morning in the slag heap, mixed with the scent of soap from his mother's apron.

Beside Gerald, Evelyn also sniffed, looking somewhat confused.

"Grandpa...can you smell that? It smells a bit like ours..."

Before Gerrard could answer, a chorus of sniffing sounds rose from the surrounding guests.

The young waiter who was refilling the tea was so engrossed in his work that he didn't even notice the tea overflowing the cup.

The lady with the white feather was also there, her hands gripping the edge of the tablecloth tightly, her face as white as a ghost.

Although everyone smelled different things, they all smelled the same scent from their neighborhood. Then, a strong sense of oppression suddenly arose.

A little girl cried in her mother's arms, and several white-haired gentlemen instinctively stood up.

People associated with the mystical side reacted in various ways.

Gerrard sat on the table with little change in expression, but the veins on his hands were bulging.

The teacup in Isabella's hand cracked with a clatter.

Clara heard a sound, very long, with neither beginning nor end in sight.

The scales above Catherine's head dared not budge.

A whale swam past the scales, and she had no idea where to begin weighing it.

The count, holding his teacup, turned to look at the man who had somehow ended up sitting there.

The man was very tall, and his hair was piled up in a messy, straw-like mass.

He was wearing a black tuxedo, and his leather shoes were covered in river mud.

The man looked up and greeted the people frozen in the hall. "Sorry everyone, I'm late. The road is a bit difficult to navigate."

The count, of course, dared not be negligent, and spilled some soda water from his hand when he put down the teacup.

"You are... the one from the mouth of the River Styx..."

"Don't be so polite, just call me Matthew."

The count straightened his tailcoat and walked toward the small round table.

He stopped three steps away from Matthew, bowed deeply, and was about to say something.

"Alright, step back, I'll take care of you."

A clear, childlike voice rang out, and everyone in the hall looked in the direction of the sound.