I loaded the Mysticism panel.

Chapter 537 Joy and anger are like clothes, easily put on and taken off.

At this moment, Viola was still sitting in front of her dressing table in the hotel.

She kicked her high heels aside, put her feet on the soft stool opposite her, and held a cigarette between her fingers.

Grey, Clara, and Catherine stood opposite her.

Evelyn had already been led downstairs and was going to wait for her grandfather in the Ashford family's carriage.

Sophia accompanied Edith to take a public carriage, leaving only the four of them in the room.

Viola took a drag of her cigarette and slowly exhaled.

"Don't worry, you four..."

"What four?" Clara frowned.

"Including the one with the pencil."

None of the three spoke, and Viola flicked the ash from her cigarette into her teacup.

"I'm actually less interested in him than in a carburetor." Grey paused, then asked, "A carburetor?"

"It's a part in a car that mixes gasoline and air and sprays it into the cylinder."

If you do well, the car will run well; if you don't, the car will stall.

I've repaired quite a few carburetors in Calais, and every carburetor has its own quirks.

She took out the spark plug again and placed it on the dressing table.

"I swore to my family elders that I would stay with my car for the rest of my life."

"When the old men in my family heard about it, they were so angry that they slammed their fists on the table at the family meeting and said that not a single daughter of the Blackburn family had married a car in the past three hundred years."

Grey couldn't help but laugh out loud.

Clara smiled too.

Catherine didn't smile, but the corner of her mouth twitched slightly.

Viola smiled at them, then took another puff of her cigarette.

Grey walked over and sat down on the soft stool next to Viola. "Aren't you afraid driving an ambulance alone by the battlefield?"

"I'm scared." Viola nodded.

"My smoking habit is due to too much pressure, but I'm afraid I have to keep going, there are wounded soldiers lying behind me."

Clara and Catherine also came over and sat down on her other side.

Viola's interruption eased the tense atmosphere considerably.

After everyone had left, Viola called Catherine aside:

"Your name was actually on that booklet, besides Lecturer Fafield's."

Catherine looked at her, her expression somewhat complicated.

"You used to rank very low, which is a good thing," Viola recalled.

"Your name has moved up in the rankings in the last two years; it's now somewhere between above average."

Catherine opened the notebook and wrote a line: "Thank you for telling me."

Viola glanced at it and waved her hand. "No need to thank me, our family never forces marriages."

If someone hands you a booklet, just refuse it.

After the two finished talking, Grey and Clara were already waiting for her outside the side door.

The three of them walked together toward the carriage yard in silence, as the best man would be riding back in Ashford's carriage tonight.

………………

"It's time. You may begin your poem."

Matthew didn't look at his watch, but he stood up precisely after fifteen minutes.

Richard also came up with many countermeasures during the preparation time.

Begging for mercy... is too despicable, and experts don't fall for it at all. The more pitiful he begs, the more convincing Matthew's furious face will appear.

Running away would be utterly foolish and beyond redemption. He's on Matthew's path, so no matter where he runs, he's still on the road.

His strongest single-hit attack is currently his great-grandfather's bone needles.

But using a powerful, all-out attack on the Zadar is like a mosquito trying to bite an elephant, or even worse. The most feasible option is actually to call for Lady Mary; the black cat might come, but more likely it won't.

Richard was very clear-headed. Even if the cat incarnation really came, it would be like using a teacher to suppress a student, completely offending Matthew.

The other party may give him face at the wedding banquet today, but they can teach him a lesson elsewhere tomorrow.

If none of those work, then only the question itself remains.

The rules were also set by the other party; Matthew controlled when the lights would go out from beginning to end.

If it gets tired of listening, Richard estimates that he won't even have walked out of two patches of lamplight before he'll reach the alley entrance.

Therefore, this question doesn't consider any artistic merit of the poem; it simply depends on whether it can tickle the other person's itch.

Richard turned around and looked at Matthew.

"Mr. Matthew, I recited this poem from beginning to end, without writing it down."

Tonight, you're the only one listening in this alley.

"You are the first one."

Matthew's frustrated expression froze, then his face became completely expressionless. "...Read it."

Richard couldn't write poetry out of thin air for the time being, but he had ready-made poems in his mental database.

This time, the history he borrowed was Matthew himself.

Singing about one's own achievements in front of an expert can be a paean if done well, but it can also expose someone's secrets if done poorly.

In form, he borrowed from Homer, opening with a reference to the Muses.

He took the first step.

With that step, my foot landed and I was already standing under the second lamp.

Behind me, the first light went out.

"Sing, Muse, sing of Kerick with his withered hair."

Sing of the Empire's Expeditionary Force, a thousand spears, a single cross flag.

Head towards the sunset, in search of the seven golden cities the monk spoke of...

That underworld city-state shone at the end of all maps. Matthew walked beside him, pausing for a moment.

When the "dried hair" fell down, Richard didn't dare look at its face.

The second step involves placing your foot under the third lamp, which is further away than the first step.

The second light went out.

He walked in front, past the last survey stake, across the river that no longer had a name.

The plains we traversed were wider than the beach beneath the city of Bitroy;

On the seventieth evening, seven cities rose from the horizon.

The golden city gates were all wide open.

A thousand people, eyes wide open, marched in formation, singing military songs, into the deep realm.

third step.

"In the city, there's a stove, bread, and a mother sitting by the window combing her hair."

Someone called them by their childhood names, so tenderly; but Kelly saw not a soul in the entire city.

Not a single child grew up, and not a single bird flew away.

No one dreams at night anymore, because they are already walking in their dreams.

The third light went out, and Richard glanced at it from the side. Matthew's face remained expressionless.

But this step was very far, much farther than the alley itself.

Step 4.

"The general was the first to enter the city gate and never came out again."

The Mantuans wrote long ago: It is easy to go down to Avernus.

That dark door is open day and night; turn back and see the wind of heaven again.

This is true hard labor, this is true drudgery.

They were still alive, still hungry, still standing on that plain.

The funeral arrangements have already been completed for them. The fourth lamp went out.

The fifth step suddenly felt shorter.

Suddenly, just as Richard lifted his foot, the fifth lamp was already hanging above his head.

Matthew didn't want to hear this part.

He probably didn't sleep a wink during the nights when soldiers knelt at the city gates begging him.

Richard had originally prepared two sections for this part: one about how the soldiers pleaded, and the other about how he took roll call.

[Critical Thinking] In the blink of an eye, the two sections were twisted into one.

"Kerik ordered them to turn back, and the soldiers wept; some knelt down and begged him."

They said that their wives had died in childbirth and their children had died young in the city;

He drew his sword, pointed it eastward, and called out their names one by one;

When someone is mentioned, they will remember that they are still alive.

Without a lamp, he burned his own blood until his hair withered like grass on the wasteland. Without a rope, he made everyone hold onto the belt of the person in front of them.

There was no road; the path we came by had long been taken back by the plain.

He walked at the very front, and with each step he took, the road seemed to extend a step further.

Matthew raised his hand and patted the top of his head, then put it down again.

The flame of the fifth lamp flickered for a moment before going out.

The sixth step became even longer, seemingly without end.

The lights hung far ahead, as if they were hanging on another street.

Richard walked for a long time before finally reaching its base.

"The seven cities did not pursue."

They simply rise again from the horizon each evening.

The city gates were open, and long tables were set up outside the city, with bread still steaming.

They walked through the entire winter, and not a single one of the nine hundred and ninety-nine people was lost, like Xenophon's ten thousand men treading through the snows of Armenia;

Until one morning, the people ahead climbed the ridge,

He turned around and shouted hoarsely: "The sea! The sea!"

Matthew remained silent.

Richard turned his head and saw that his lips were pursed.

When the story reached a crucial point, I forgot what I was supposed to look like on my face.

The sixth light went out.

Step 7.

"A new monument stands at the mountain pass, with the names of a thousand of them engraved on it."

Behind the monument is a repaired seal, and behind the seal are the muzzles of our own guns.

Later historical records say that the expedition yielded nothing.

They brought back not a single piece of gold, not a city, not a single land deed; the name of the military guide was printed at the very end of the list.

History records nothing about what he brought back… only nine hundred and ninety-nine people who still remembered their names.

The seventh lamp went out.

The alley suddenly became pitch black, so dark that Richard couldn't even see the bundle in his arms.

He stood in the darkness waiting, but there was no movement for a long time.

Matthew's voice was particularly hoarse: "Nine hundred and ninety-nine, you counted correctly."

"I can still call everyone by name to this day."

"Where did you find this?" it asked, its voice devoid of anger, sounding more like genuine curiosity.

"This happened only a little over a decade ago, it's easy to investigate," Richard replied cautiously.

"There is a 1902 report from the branch office in the professor's office, and the Imperial University has a bound volume of the Yearbook of Abnormal Events in the New World, which contains the list of survivors."

The *Beijing Morning Post* published a short news item titled "The Second Expeditionary Force Returns Unsuccessfully."

"The rest is hidden within your own name." Matthew counted, "...more than ten years, it turns out only a little over ten years have passed."

There was a moment of silence in the darkness, and then all seven lights suddenly came on.

The golden light shone all the way to the alley entrance, making the wet stone pavement look like it was covered with a layer of gold leaf.

A horse-drawn carriage slowly drove by on Brook Street outside the alleyway.

The driver hunched his shoulders and looked up at the incredibly bright alley.

Matthew laughed so loudly this time that the gates of several stables in the alley rattled.

He put his arm around Richard's shoulder: "Good brother!"

The man hugged him and shook him hard twice, almost causing the bundle to fall off.

"Muse! Get me a muse! I've been soaking in the mud at the mouth of the River Styx for over a decade, and this is the first time someone has ever gotten me a muse!"

"One poem every two months! Come along with your penny-denominated booklet! Don't write! Just read! I'll listen!"

"I'll come every two months. I'll go wherever you are, recite it on the way, and then leave!"

"I'll leave you a bowl and chopsticks at the mouth of the River Styx! If you ever come to the New World as a guest, I'll personally cook fish for you, and I promise it won't burn!" "If anyone bullies you..." it said, then let out a soft "uh".

"Don't mention my name, it won't do any good. Tell him to come to the New World to find me."

As it spoke, its sun-reddened face beamed with the joy of meeting a kindred spirit.

Richard, with his arm around him, smiled and cooperated fully.

Fifteen minutes ago, this same face, with the same genuine expression, was discussing with him which valley to throw him into for "some fun."

If that arm had given him a gentle push back then, he would probably be stuck in some town, endlessly replaying that five-minute mining disaster.

And Matthew would stand at the entrance of town, and with the same smile he has now, he would shout at him: "Hey bro, have fun!"

The man suddenly released him and made a sound of surprise at the pocket on his left side.

"Your pockets are pretty cramped."

Richard knew this guy was mocking him, so he just pursed his lips and didn't reply.

Matthew gestured with his chin in the direction they came from.

"You've passed this test, but there's another one over there." "I just passed by over there and took a sniff; its heat is even stronger than the cauldron at the mouth of the Styx."

The sweat on Richard's back had just dried a little when it started to break out again.

"Let me tell you a joke," Matthew said.

"……Now?"

"That's why I'm only talking about it now." It cleared its throat.

"Do you know what we call someone surrounded by girls on all four sides in our maze tradition?"

"What's your name?"

"Dead end."

The alley was quiet, and Matthew burst into laughter.

Richard stood there, his face expressionless: "This isn't funny."

"If it's not funny, that's fine; it's called a lame joke."

Matthew wiped away the tears from the corners of his eyes. "Don't be afraid. There's an old saying in our maze tradition: Where there's a wall, there's a door."

"The more walls there are, the more doors there will be."

Matthew watched him laugh for a while, but then his smile slowly faded.

"To be honest, I was worried about you."

"Why worry about it?"

"I worry about when you'll end up like me." Matthew glanced at the lights at the alley entrance.

"When you walk too far and look back, you can't find who you are."

It opened its mouth again and gestured towards the carriage and horse yard.

"Now I don't have to worry about anything. From now on, as soon as someone lifts you up, several hands will grab your trouser legs from below."

Richard opened his mouth: "...Are you praising me or scolding me?"

"Of course I'm praising you," Matthew said smugly, walking to the seventh lamp.

"What's the next song?" "The one about the first general to walk through the city gates," Richard said.

Matthew pointed at Richard and laughed heartily.

"Good lad, you've learned how to flatter people! Did you learn that from the guy upstairs?"

"I learned it from the people who were rushing me to finish my work."

Matthew waved and stepped out of the alley, then disappeared.

Outside the alleyway is Brook Street, which is deserted under the streetlights, not a single footprint in sight.

One by one, the seven lights dimmed back to their original positions. A policeman in a raincoat poked his head in from the alley entrance and shone his flashlight inside.

"Who lit the lamp in this alley just now?"

"I don't know," Richard feigned ignorance. "It was lit when I came in."

The patrolman glanced at his attire suspiciously, muttered about these rich people, and turned away.

Richard walked back to the overturned wooden box, sat down, and sorted out his thoughts.

At this point, he realized his legs were trembling slightly. The professor had warned him: a person is most valuable when they are being fawned over by others.

He used to think that the expert was nice to him because he was useful.

He thought that as long as he kept making the manuscript useful, interesting, and submitting it, the relationship would last.

Now he understands, that goodness is like the weather.

It's sunny today, and it might be sunny tomorrow, but it could rain even on a sunny day.

What truly dominates is the rules. Matthew followed the rules from beginning to end: the agreed-upon topic, seven lamps, and once it was read, the person was released.

A master's joy and anger are merely clothing; only rules are their underlying code.

Speaking of clothes... he looked down at the smoke glasses in his arms.

Matthew warned us that wearing a mask is like donning the skin/clothes of God, so if you're wearing a mask, never let the mirror reflect your image.

He suddenly had a reverse idea in mind... what if you used a mirror to look at other people?

At the start of the team fight, the seven masks on the opposing team were actually seven perfectly fitting god-tier skins.

He simply lifts the coarse cloth and lets the mirror choose a person. The mask chosen will instantly "become a god," with the god's name overshadowing the person's.

The second step is to go up the steps, and break a flute for every step you take.

What flute did the person chosen play this year?

Cups, staffs, sickles, clubs, bows, whips... these divinely crafted weapons are all ready-made good flutes, one piece breaks with each step you take.

The problem is that the smoke goggles seem to be indiscriminate in distinguishing between friend and foe.

He himself had ways to hide, including the Reverse Envoy Mask, the Hades Helmet, various concealment items, and [Perception & Reflexes].

This can be considered a hidden trump card specifically designed to counter the Divine Salon system, but as the saying goes, it's easy to invite a god but difficult to send him away.

Before you fully understand it, it's best not to use this trump card lightly.

………………

At the end of the alley is the carriage yard next to the Clarridge Hotel.

Ashford's carriage was parked at the very back, with three people standing beside it.

The car door opened from the inside, and Evelyn poked her head out. "Brother, get in."

"Where's the driver?"

"I told him I wanted some hot tea and asked him to get some from the hotel kitchen, but the kitchen was busy today and wouldn't be able to get any right away."

"Grandpa..."

"Grandpa is having tea with the Earl in the smoking room; it'll be at least another half hour."

Evelyn moved over a little and patted the seat next to her.

Richard glanced at the seat, then at the three people outside the car.

Where there's a wall, there's a door, hehehe... He still got on the car.

Grey and Clara followed and sat down side by side opposite him.

Evelyn sat next to him and squeezed him to the very back.

Catherine didn't get on; she was holding onto the door frame with her hands and her feet still on the pedals, completely blocking the car door.

The carriage was dark, with only the headlights casting a dim yellow glow on the two faces opposite each other. "Brother."

Evelyn turned to the side and looked up at him: "What exactly did you do during those two months you were abroad?"

The disappointment in his sister's eyes made Richard swallow back all the prepared remarks he had made beforehand.

The eloquent Hermes was now speechless.

Grey spoke up from the side: "Take the one in the left pocket out."

Richard didn't move.

"Take it out," Grey said again, her voice not loud.

Richard exhaled and reached into his left inner pocket.

The pencil was taken out, and it was still hot to the touch.

"Where did the pencil come from?" Grey asked.

"A friend found this in Switzerland."

Richard mentioned a shop name. He had seen the shop sign while wandering around the streets of Lucerne; it was a shop selling watches and trinkets.

"Does the store sell real pencils?" Clara asked.

"Selling...groceries."

"Can the pencils in the general store hum a song?"

Richard fell silent.

"I'm humming a song with that signature on my card."

Clara's eyebrows furrowed; she had never used such a stern tone with her junior before.

"It's a girl humming inside! You bought a girl who can hum songs at the Lucerne general store?!"

"That is..."

"Stop talking," Grey interrupted him. "You're making things worse."

Catherine remained silent, the scales above her head swaying wildly, clearly indicating her bad mood.

She leaned half her body into the carriage, reached out and pulled open the morning suit of the person opposite her, her fingers slipping into the stack of IOUs in the left inner pocket. The girl took out the IOUs and counted them in her hand for a while.

Then he reached into Richard's right inner pocket and stuffed the IOU back in.

"...Don't put my IOU with her things!"

After saying that, she coughed twice, covered her mouth with the back of her hand, and turned to leave without paying attention to the others.

Grey stood up and got out of the car without saying a word.

At the other end of the carriage yard, her family's carriage lights were already on.

Clara was the last to get up.

The senior student stopped at the car door, turned around and smiled at him.

"Your signature is quite beautifully written."

She left too, leaving Evelyn alone in the carriage.

Evelyn covered her head with both hands and shook her little head vigorously.

"I won't ask anymore." She held up the shiny black slip of paper and waved it in front of him.

"Anyway, you put the most effort into writing it for me."

The little girl turned her head and made a face at him.

Fifteen minutes later, Gerald got into the car, smelling strongly of cigars, and saw the brother and sister sleeping together.

The old man watched silently for a while, then turned around, went out, chased the driver away, and got into the driver's seat himself.

The carriage swayed and turned out of the alley, and surprisingly, there wasn't a single bump along the way.

………………

Prague, December: The Vltava River is covered with a thin layer of ice.

Lillian sat by the attic window doing her homework, her hands as usual cold.

Around 3 p.m., the sky outside the window was already starting to darken.

Her fingertips suddenly felt warm.

It was very light and quick, as if someone from a very, very far distance had breathed on her fingertips. She froze, looking down at her hand.

The warmth hadn't dissipated before it was pushed outwards.

Then I pushed it twice more, for a total of three times.

The snow outside was falling heavier and heavier, and the spire of Prague Castle on the opposite bank of the river was half covered by snow.

The girl slowly realized that he had written names with that pen; one name was accepted, and the other three were pushed away.

She took the box of matches from her coat pocket, pulled out a match, held it between her fingers, and whispered:

"If I'm telling the truth...did he think of me today?"

She marked it with her name, and the windows in the attic were tightly closed.

The flames initially stood upright, then slowly veered to the northwest.

Lillian stared at the flame until it burned her fingertips without moving her fingers away.

That night, Grey, Clara, and Catherine all put the slips under their pillows.

They dreamed of the same snow-capped mountain. On the snow-covered ground was a pine-lined road, at the end of which stood the door of a small church.

A beautiful young girl stood at the door. Her skin was as white as fine porcelain, her eyebrows were light, and her eyelashes were long. Snowflakes fell on her and did not melt.

Only the general outline of the face could be seen; the features were blurred by the snow's light, making them difficult to discern clearly.

Grey stood in the snow, a thought popping into her mind: I feel like I've seen this person somewhere before.

The girl in front of the church is humming a song:

"le slbers iss yr eyes,

Siles eyey rise…

(In a golden dream, I gently kiss your eyes;)

In the morning light, a smile gently calls to you...

Clara remembers this song.

Her mother sang to her, but she would always stop halfway through, saying that the cello bow hair needed to be replaced.

The girl sang softly, enunciating each word gently, as if afraid of waking anyone. "(Sleep well, you little rascal, don't cry, listen to me sing you a lullaby, rocking, rocking, lullaby...)"

Grey slowly crouched down in the snow.

When I was a child, my family had a nanny from Cornwall, and this was the song she sang while sitting by her bed.

When the nanny sang "Little Rascal," she would always reach out and pinch her nose.

Later, the nanny quit her job and went back to her hometown to get married, and that song never played in her room again.

She squatted in the snow, listening to the girl whose face she couldn't see sing the songs she used to sing when she was a child, and her nose tingled with tears.

Catherine stood at the edge of the pine forest.

Highlanders don't sing this song; their lullabies are about seals, fishing boats, and fathers who never come home.

But as she listened, the scale above her head began to sway.

The girl in front of the church sang the second verse.

"(My sorrow is too heavy, may you rest in peace; you are my concern, I will stay by your side...)"

She paused when she sang "You are my concern," took a soft breath, and then continued the second half of the line. The song then lingered, returning to the line "Sleep, don't cry."

The snow fell even more heavily.

She turned around, pushed open the door to the chapel, and went inside. The door slowly closed behind her.

All three of them woke up.

When Grey woke up, her face was wet, and the slip of paper in her hand was warm.

After Clara woke up, she sat on the bed and hummed the song softly. She couldn't continue humming the second verse, so she covered her head with the blanket.

When Catherine woke up, she was thinking:

She was singing for him; I was eavesdropping outside the door.

The next morning, at the breakfast table at Ashford House.

Evelyn yawned as she spread honey on the bread.

"I had a dream last night."

Grandpa put down his newspaper: "What did you dream about?" "I dreamed about a very beautiful older sister."

"She stood in the snow and waved to me. When I walked over, she gave me a really big cake."

Grandpa grunted and picked up the newspaper again.

Richard sat at the other end of the table, holding a cup of tea but not drinking a drop.

"What does that woman look like?"

"I can't remember." Evelyn stuffed the honey-smeared bread into her mouth.

"Anyway, she's very pretty, even a little prettier than Grey... Don't tell Grey that."

She chewed on her bread and thought for a moment.

"When she gave me the cake, she said something."

"What did you say?"

She said it was a return gift for your brother.

...A dozen miles north of Bremen lies a swamp that the locals call Devil's Swamp.

The Wild Hunt crew rested above the swamp.

The riders, as usual, gathered in groups of three or five. One of them picked up a piece of swamp oak and shaved a die. After shaving it, he couldn't roll a six no matter how he threw it. He cursed and threw it back into the mud.

Another group of people surrounded the peat boat that had just been added to the group, arguing whether it should be considered a mount or a marvel.

The hunter greeted the old scholar: "I'm going out for a bit. Keep an eye on these guys."

Upon hearing this, the voices of tens of thousands of cavalrymen fell silent.

The man carrying the black log poked his head out from the crowd: "The hunter is going out alone? Who's paying for the hotel?"

"Shut up."

The hunter flicked the reins, and his mount strode out of the clouds and headed west.

The lame puppy chased after it for a few steps, but was called back by the old scholar's whistle.

It perched on the edge of the cloud, humming and whimpering, its tail sweeping wisps of cloud across the sky.

There's a low hill in Thuringia, and on its summit used to stand an astronomical monument. In the 1780s, a local duke became fascinated with comets and built it at his own expense.

After the Duke's death, astronomers moved into the city one after another, and the stones were dismantled and used to build livestock sheds for other people.

Today, the site is occupied by a small pub that sells beer and fried sausages in the summer and is locked up in the winter.

On this side of the curtain, the telescope tube is still there.

A reflecting telescope, gleaming with starlight, was set up and aimed at the chaotic sky behind the curtain.

The hunter reined in his horse before the steps of the other party's residence, cleared his throat, and prepared to pronounce the honored name.

"Forget it, who says your name only when you get to the door?"

A woman was speaking; her voice was very soft.

A figure walked out of the door, wearing a long gray woolen skirt that trailed to her feet, with ink stains on the cuffs.

Her hands were very clean; one hand held a thick-faced astrolabe, and the other held a quill pen that had been sharpened to an extremely fine point.

The face is empty, a square blank space, just like the empty spaces reserved on the star chart for stars that have not yet been discovered.

"Leave the dog outside," the faceless woman told him. "I didn't bring the dog."

"Then what's that strip behind your saddlebag?"

The hunter turned around and saw that the lame puppy had somehow slipped away from the old scholar.

It was clinging to the back of the saddlebag, panting heavily with its tongue lolling out at the wooden frame.

"...It came along on its own."

The hunter lifted the puppy off the ground and put it in the snow.

The puppy sat there looking aggrieved, watching its owner bend down and go through the door, its antlers scratching against the doorframe.

The room was filled with drawers on all four walls, each labeled with a number.

There was also a letter pressed against the corner of the table, with a Genoese postmark and the date November 20th.

Seeing the hunter staring at the letter, she said:

"She is one of my juniors, and she blinded herself."

"I just took a ship to the New World last month to compile a star chart behind the veil." The Hunter thought that if he had a capable junior who was a great expert, he would definitely use him until he died.

"You're actually willing to let her go?"

"Before she left, she kept the Turin schedule up until 1925."

There was a rare hint of relief in her tone: "That's like me."

The hunter needed help, so he didn't come empty-handed.

It pulled out a whalebone ruler: "Here, this is for you, it's very accurate."

The faceless woman didn't even look at him: "This divination is free."