I loaded the Mysticism panel.

"Being a practitioner is the most comfortable stage on the entire upward path."

"You possess abilities far exceeding those of ordinary people, enabling you to cast spells, sense the ether, and expel lower-level evil entities."

These abilities are enough to grant you a respectable social standing in the real world.

Whether teaching as a scholar in a university, working as a hunter within the official system, or working independently in the private sector.

"You can live a wealthier, safer, and more influential life than most people."

"At the same time, the light you cast behind the curtain is still very faint."

Those things deep inside won't notice you, so naturally they won't bother you.

Most people can live a peaceful and comfortable life until old age, and die in their own beds.

"If you ask me what advice I would give to a newcomer, my advice is: stop once you become a professional."

"Live your life well in that position, take good care of your family, and do what you can."

"This is not cowardice, this is wisdom."

"I've seen too many practitioners who, dissatisfied with the status quo and eager to take things a step further, end up handing themselves over to those who have been waiting for them."

"The world behind the veil is not lacking in explorers, but in explorers who return alive."

"The probability of surviving at the practitioner stage is far higher than at any other level above the practitioner stage."

"Because at this stage, you don't need to perform any rituals."

Richard noticed that the other party mentioned the ceremony again.

The preceding text has discussed a lot about signatures, but a signature is merely signing an object, not a ritual.

From newcomer to professional, there is no step in the process where you need to "announce" anything to those behind the scenes.

All you need to do is wait for the microcirculation to stabilize, choose a direction, verify it empirically, and then sign your name on the chosen wonder.

The curtain knows you exist, but it won't push the door open an inch towards you because of that.

You stand outside the door, and the light leaking through the crack is just enough for you to do your thing, but the door itself doesn't move an inch.

And what about those above the practitioners?

He turned to the next page of his notebook, preparing to select the next ciphertext word.

The moment the pencil tip touched the paper, I felt a dull ache in the back of my head.

He stopped and waited a few seconds; the pain didn't worsen, but it didn't subside either.

Richard looked up at the sky outside through the gap in the curtains.

It was pitch black; even the streetlights were barely visible.

He looked down at the scattered white papers on the table, which were already filled with four pages of writing, densely packed with comparative analysis and translations.

Two hours passed in the blink of an eye.

Looking at my fingers again, I saw faint red marks from the pencil marks between my thumb and forefinger.

He put down the pencil, leaned back in his chair, and closed his eyes.

Quadruple breathing activation.

Inhale for four counts, hold your breath for four counts, exhale for four counts, hold your breath for four counts.

The warmth emanated from the Sun's Seat, traveled up the spine, and when it reached the back of the head, it collided head-on with that dull ache.

Two feelings briefly intertwined.

After a few breaths, the dull pain was enveloped by the warmth and became less sharp, but it did not completely disappear.

It's like a small piece of ice in your mouth; it shrinks in size as the temperature rises, but it still stands there, hard and unyielding, reminding you of its presence.

Mr. Hutton's words came to mind:

"If someone without a foundation in occult knowledge reads it, it can be very burdensome. Mild cases may result in headaches and hallucinations, while more serious cases..."

He opened his eyes and looked down at the translation on the table.

Four blank sheets of paper, from the essence of hierarchical status to the entire process of authorship, to a brief description of the qualitative changes in practitioners and the author's personal advice.

The information density isn't particularly high, since half of the text is explanatory plain language, rather than a pure collection of technical terms.

But he still felt the weight.

This weight is not a metaphor.

The words he translated didn't resonate with me when I read them.

After reading, the words began to settle in my mind. When they settled to a certain thickness, my brain started to issue a warning of overload.

I have class tomorrow.

Friday's schedule was packed. In the morning, there was Mr. Hutton's history class and Mr. Holland's Latin class, and in the afternoon, there was a geography exam.

If he continues decoding in his current state, his efficiency will only decrease and his error rate will only increase.

And if I walk out of the bedroom tomorrow morning looking pale and sickly, my family will definitely ask me all sorts of questions.

Richard neatly stacked the translated manuscripts in order and locked them in the drawer along with his notebook.

The table lamp was turned off, and the room became dark.

He sat in the dark for a while, letting his eyes adjust.

A sliver of light shone through the gap in the curtains, probably the moonlight on the roof across the street.

His mind was still processing what he had just read.

For practitioners, this is the most comfortable stage of the entire upward climb.

The author's advice was sincere and frank, a heartfelt message from someone who had been through it all.

He recalled his conversation with Phillips in the library after the Cicero Cup.

Going down is easy, coming back up is hard.

But if we don't go down, can we stay where we are?

The two statements are not logically contradictory.

Staying in the profession is indeed a wise choice, provided your circumstances allow you to stay.

What if one day the environment changes, and the things behind the curtain start to come to us on their own?

Richard pulled the blanket up to his chin and closed his eyes.

My breathing returned to its usual gentle rhythm at night.

His last thought was: continue tomorrow night, the second half should be finished in one night.

………………

On Friday morning, Richard woke up before his alarm went off.

The first thing I do when I open my eyes is feel the back of my head.

The dull pain disappeared completely, leaving no trace.

A night's sleep, coupled with the passive repair from the triple [Body] skill, allowed me to digest the knowledge burden that had accumulated last night.

He got out of bed, dressed, washed his face, and walked downstairs with lighter steps than usual.

The sizzling sound of eggs frying in the kitchen mingled with the aroma of black tea, drifting towards the stairwell.

Evelyn got up even earlier today, her apron was already tied, and her hair was tied into a neat ponytail at the back of her head.

"Good morning." Without turning her head, she scooped the fried egg onto a plate.

"morning."

Richard sat down at the dining table.

Evelyn placed the plate in front of her brother, bent down, and took a closer look at him.

"Your eyes have a bit of dark circles."

"Um."

"Did you stay up too late last night?"

"I stayed up quite late reading."

"What book?"

"Latin."

The girl straightened up, her lips pursed downwards.

This phrase has now become a secret code between siblings.

Whatever Richard is doing—locking doors, closing curtains, sweating profusely, staying up late—the final explanation is always Latin.

Evelyn threw her apron on the back of the chair and sat down opposite her, pouting. "...Don't just dip the bread in egg yolk; eat the egg white too."

"oh."