I loaded the Mysticism panel.

Richard mentally compared the list Holland had given him.

Alexander Montagu, Eton College, is a strong favorite to win the championship.

The Montague family were close advisors to the royal family and had considerable influence in both the upper and lower houses of parliament.

"The one with the blond hair?" Palmer whispered from behind.

"Um."

"He does look like a handsome young man," he commented, then added:

"The hair looks nice, but I wonder how it's described in Latin."

On the other side of the square, a group of students wearing Cheltenham's dark green school uniforms were gathering.

One of the red-haired girls stood on the side of the line, not chatting with anyone, with her hands behind her back and her eyes scanning the surroundings.

Her chin was slightly raised, and her face had a bone structure typical of people from the Highlands.

The girl has a strong jawline, lacking the traditional feminine softness, which makes her very memorable.

The Harrow School group arrived last.

Their carriage arrived just as the registration deadline was approaching.

When Phillips got out of the car, he was holding a cup of tea. He slowly drank the last sip before handing the cup to his servant.

He was wearing Harrow's dark blue school uniform, the gold buttons gleaming in the sunlight.

His walking style was as leisurely as the way he served tea, almost to the point of being lazy.

Besides the individuals on the list, there were dozens of other contestants in the square, who had come from top schools all over the empire.

The school uniforms came in various shades of color, the school badges were all different, and the accents were also diverse.

Some spoke with a heavy northern accent, some with a colonial accent, and a few unconsciously mixed in Greek words when they spoke.

Most participants were quietly preparing for the competition.

Some people were leaning against stone pillars flipping through shorthand notebooks, some were moving their mouths with their eyes closed, and some were doing their final practice with their teacher.

As for Greenwood, a manufacturing city high school in a northern industrial area, it doesn't even make the list of names.

No one gave them a second glance.

Li realized that this wasn't bad either.

Being ignored is the most comfortable situation, rather than the hostility or contempt one might imagine.

With no one watching him, he can focus on doing his job well.

At 9:00 AM sharp, the main entrance to the chapel opened.

The crowd began to surge inside, with participants and spectators splitting up from the side entrances.

Richard followed Greenwood's group into the Chapel of St. Augustine.

He paused for a moment as he stepped through the gate.

The dome is extremely high, estimated to be at least fifteen meters high.

The limestone ribbed arches rise from the four walls and converge at the highest point to form a star-shaped keystone.

Sunlight streamed in through the narrow, long stained-glass windows on both sides.

Hutchinson exclaimed from behind, "This ceiling is so high!"

Palmer craned his neck to look: "With a roof this high, how much coal will we need to burn for heating in the winter?"

"Can't you have some sense of aesthetics like a cultured person?"

"Aesthetic appreciation can't put food on the table."

Richard ignored them and looked up at the inner wall of the dome.

A huge mural covered the entire dome.

When ordinary participants pass by, they may only notice the grandeur of the painting and the vibrancy of the paint.

This is in the Neoclassical style, with seven figures in toga robes sitting around in the moonlight.

The characters all have different gestures, and their expressions range from contemplation to debate to sudden realization.

The title plaque is inlaid on the stone wall directly below the mural: "The Debate of the Seven Sages".

Palmer patted him on the shoulder from behind: "Watch where you're going, don't just look at the sky."

"Okay." He slowed his pace, but his gaze remained fixed on the dome.

Ordinary people only see the paint and the composition, but he sees something different.

The pigments on the dome exhibit a completely different color spectrum in the etheric field.

The toga robes of the seven philosophers appear white and ochre to the naked eye, but shimmer faintly in the vision of the ether.

Dark gold, bronze, and blue silver—each character has a different color scheme.

The direction of each character's gestures, the orientation of their sitting posture, and even the folds of their robes all correspond precisely to the ribbed arch structure of the dome.

The seven figures are seven anchor points; the folds of the toga robe are a disguise for the inscriptions; and natural light is the activating medium for the entire composition.

The entire mural itself is a huge sealing array.

Painters woven ether into the brushstrokes of paint hundreds of years ago.

He was undoubtedly a true master, both an art master and a sealing master.

The mural is perfect as a painting, and so is the seal.

The two identities are superimposed on the same image, without interfering with each other, and complementing each other.

Even if someone sees the secret in the paint, they cannot break the seal without destroying the mural.

The sealing effect was also very clear; as soon as he entered the chapel, he felt the warmth in the Sun Throne in his chest being evenly suppressed.

The entire chapel is one of the purest areas in the capital, where supernatural powers are suppressed to an extremely low level.

This ensures that all activities taking place inside, including today's Cicero Cup, will not be interfered with by any factors from the mystical side.

Pure academic competition, a fair playing field.

He looked away and followed the group toward the contestants' seating area.

Ms. Grant whispered a reminder from the side: "The drawing of lots is at the front desk. After you draw, find a seat. The first round starts at 9:30."

Mr. Holland has already gone over to the audience area.

Before leaving, he turned to look at Richard, opened his mouth as if to say something encouraging.

After hesitating for a moment, he finally just gave a thumbs up and turned his shiny forehead back.

Mr. West followed behind him, and after taking a couple of steps, he turned back and added, "Don't panic, just play normally."

Ms. Grant nodded to Richard and went to the audience seats as well.

Palmer patted Richard on the back: "Old Ha and I went to draw lots, even though it doesn't matter what we get."

"Good luck."

"You can have the good luck, I don't need it." This guy looked like he was completely giving up.

"Okay." Richard walked to the front desk in line and reached into the divination box to take a bamboo stick.

He turned it over and looked at the words on it:

"The Impeachment of Verus, Part IV, Paragraphs 27-35."

He recalled this passage in his mind.

It's about the accusation of the looting of the Sicilian temples, and it's one of the more difficult passages.

This speech requires finding a balance between anger and restraint.

Being too angry makes you seem out of control, while being too restrained makes you seem hypocritical.

When Cicero said these words, he was addressing a group of Veres's cronies and opportunists in the Roman Senate.

His anger was genuine, but he couldn't let it cloud his judgment.

Because Cicero was trying to persuade not his supporters, but bystanders.

He wanted to make those who were wavering feel: I'm angry on your behalf.

Richard put the bamboo skewer back on the table and found a seat in the contestants' area.

A stranger sat next to me; he had a round face, wore round-framed glasses, and his school uniform was embroidered with the emblem of a school in Bloom.

The other person was looking down and quickly flipping through a card, their lips moving silently.

After flipping through it several times, he suddenly turned to look at Richard:

"What did you draw?"

"Villes, Part Four"

The round-faced boy asked with some sympathy, "The hardest part?"