I loaded the Mysticism panel.

Another drug addict easily subdued his accomplice when he saw Richard.

He was clearly starting to panic, pulling out a folding knife and brandishing it wildly.

A high wall separates the unarmed from the armed.

Richard almost instinctively reached into the side pocket of his coat and rubbed his thumb vigorously.

The fibers cracked with a slight snapping sound, and the grass clippings scattered in the palm of the hand.

A long, gentle breath blew across the crumbs in my palm.

Ether flowed out from the palm of his hand.

In an enclosed space, the interference field of the fog wall technique is like pouring water into a cup; the cup wall is the boundary, and even when the water is full, it cannot overflow.

Instead of casting a fog wall spell in an open area, he splashed water onto the table.

The water will spread out quickly, becoming thinner and thinner, but covering a much larger area than the cup.

The interference field spread outward from his palm at a very fast speed.

The knife-wielder immediately rolled his eyes and began to tremble on the spot.

Richard kicked the knife out of his hand and knocked him to the ground in a few quick moves.

The ether continued to spread outwards, covering an area of ​​about six or seven meters around it.

Ordinary people within this area were all affected to varying degrees.

A middle-aged man queuing in front of a pie stall suddenly felt dizzy, stumbled, and knocked over an iron pot on the stall.

The scalding oil splashed out, and the man instinctively stepped back, stepping on the foot of a woman behind him.

The woman screamed, and the two children chasing her lost their balance at the same time.

One fell to the ground and cried loudly, while the other bumped into a lamppost and got a red mark on his forehead.

A gentleman wearing a top hat just came out of the tobacco shop next door.

As soon as his right foot stepped over the threshold, it was as if he had stepped on ice, and he slid sideways and went out.

The top hat flew three steps away, and the pipe in his hand was flung onto the road.

People within a radius of about six or seven meters centered on Richard experienced varying degrees of dizziness almost simultaneously.

Those who were standing couldn't stand steadily, and those who were walking couldn't walk. Several people were slumped and collapsed on the road.

Some people were dry heaving, some were clutching their heads, and some were kicking their limbs wildly.

When Mr. Hutton taught him the Fog Wall technique, he mentioned:

"Short-term perceptual confusion accompanied by mild memory lapse can be used for subsequent erasure."

Now that sentence has been brought back from my memory.

That's enough, he thought.

Once these people leave the street, all that's needed regarding the earlier scenes is a blurry "it looks like someone was fighting."

But pedestrians further away stopped in their tracks.

They were not affected by the interference field; they simply saw this extremely bizarre scene from a normal perspective.

There was no explosion, no gunshots, and no visible external force.

That small area formed an absurd yet clear dividing line between itself and the surrounding crowds of people moving about normally.

Within the boundary line, people and horses were thrown about, and cries of agony filled the air.

Beyond the boundary line, pedestrians stared in disbelief, some already backing away.

"What happened?"

"Oh my god... someone's collapsed! So many people have collapsed!"

"Plague! Is it a plague?!"

The moment that last word was uttered, panic erupted like water droplets splashing into a pan of oil.

Twenty years ago, cholera claimed the lives of thousands in the northern district, and the shadow of that disaster remains etched in the city's collective memory.

Shouting the word "plague" in the street is as effective as shouting "Fire!" in a theater.

The crowd began to disperse in all directions.

Some people ran with their children in their arms, some squatted by the roadside, too afraid to move, and some rushed into the shops next door and closed the doors.

The pie vendor threw down the overturned iron pot and ran away.

The sound of a patrolman's whistle could be heard in the distance, sharp and urgent.

Richard stood at the eye of the storm, while people around him fled outwards in a circle around him.

He made a quick judgment.

The objectives of taking down the enemy and erasing the footage of my own attack have been achieved.

Those who were closest to him and witnessed the whole thing had their memories of the brief ten seconds that had just passed overshadowed by the chaos caused by the Fog Wall spell.

This is the good part.

The bad thing is that the panic has spread too far, and the patrol officers are on their way.

He stayed where he was and waited for the patrol officers. What he had to explain changed from "why he hit people" to "why a whole street of people are unconscious".

He could still justify the former.

He claimed he acted in self-defense, that the two men were liars, and that one of them even pulled out a knife. The pie stall owner could testify to this, as could the woman pushing the cart.

He had no way to deal with the latter.

go.

Richard turned around and blended into the crowd of people scattering on the outskirts, following the flow with his head down.

Central Avenue was already crowded, and with the panic, the number of people running on the street was several times greater than usual.

A teenager mingled among them, unremarkable in any way.

He walked at roughly the same pace as the woman holding the child beside him, and followed her into the next intersection.

The patrolman's whistle was blocked by a building behind him.

Richard walked two more blocks, circled around to the north end of Grafton Street, and returned home at a normal brisk pace.

"You're back?" Mother poked her head out from the kitchen. "Lunch will be ready soon. Go wash your hands."

"it is good."

Richard washed his hands several times in front of the sink; the water was cold and washed away the remaining bits of gray clover from between his fingers.

Evelyn set the table with dishes: "You left early today."

"I went to the bank to take care of some things."

"oh."

Lunch was potato soup and bread, and his mother added an extra egg for him.

Richard put the food into his mouth bite by bite, but couldn't taste anything.

His brain was working at high speed, going over the events of the morning again and again.

Two swindlers aren't a big problem.

He used a lot of force; I reckon he'll at least give her a mild concussion.

After they woke up, neither of them was sure what had happened.

The real problem lies with the testimony of innocent passersby and witnesses along the entire Central Avenue.

If someone investigates further, the investigation will inevitably deviate from the norm sooner or later.

An investigation that deviates from the norm will touch upon the world behind the veil.

That kind of investigation wouldn't be done by ordinary patrol officers.

He quickly finished eating and helped his mother take the dishes back to the kitchen.

"I have some errands to run, so I might be back a little late."

"Don't stay out too late, be back before dark."

"it is good."

Pushing open the door, the slag alley was quiet, with two children squatting against the wall, searching for ant nests.

Richard walked less than thirty steps toward Grafton Street.

A black van drove up from the end of the alley.

The car arrived at the perfect time; it must have been waiting for him to come out.

The side of the vehicle was painted white with the words: "[Bristol Municipal Health Inspectorate]".

Below is a line of smaller print: [Disease Prevention and Control, Environmental Disinfection, Public Health Inspection]

Richard stopped in his tracks.

He had expected that people from the official system might come, but he didn't expect them to arrive so quickly.

It's only been a little over two hours since the incident on Central Street ended.

He walked around several streets from Central Avenue before returning home, without telling anyone his name or address along the way.

Pushing the police back all the way... finding his doorstep within two hours requires more than just a regular patrol system.

The car stopped in front of him.

The man who stepped out of the back door made Richard's heart sink.

My own microcirculation sensed the other party's ether.

It wasn't particularly powerful, but it was much more stable than itself and had been operating for much longer.

The man's hair was mostly gray, sparsely plastered to his scalp.

The cheekbones were stretched outward by a thin layer of skin, and the eye sockets were deeply sunken, with the eyeballs embedded in them, giving the visual impression of a skeleton coming to life.

He was extremely lean, with narrow shoulders, long arms, and prominent wrist bones.

Richard was no stranger to such physical characteristics.

My maternal grandfather Gerald was this size, as was my cousin Vincent.

Hunters who follow the path of burning blood deplete their own nutritional reserves year after year.

In non-explosive states, they maintain a minimum energy expenditure mode, which manifests as everyone looking extremely thin.

This person is a professional, and the hunter with the highest combat power among the lower ranks!