I loaded the Mysticism panel.

By the time we got back to the slag heap, it was completely dark.

Richard unlocked the door and entered the house; only a table lamp was lit in the living room.

The father was flipping through the newspaper under the lamp, the mother was knitting by the stove, and Evelyn was doing her homework at the dining table.

"You're back?" Evelyn didn't even look up.

"Um."

"You've been running around all day." Evelyn paused, her pen pausing. "Did you find a job?"

"I've submitted my resume and am waiting for a reply."

The mother put down the yarn: "Have you had dinner yet?"

"I didn't have time."

"There are still potatoes and broth hot on the stove, help yourself."

Richard ladled a bowl of food from the kitchen and took it upstairs to his room to eat.

More than half of the original materials copied from the Imperial University Library remained untouched; the encrypted texts lay quietly in the back half of the notebook, waiting for him to pry them open little by little.

Before eleven o'clock, he blew out the lamp and crawled into bed.

Sleep skills work slowly in the warmth of the mattress and blankets.

Less than four breaths after my head hit the pillow, my consciousness was softly enveloped.

The next day was Monday.

Richard went to class as usual.

Mr. Hutton's history class covered the allocation of resources in the New World colonies, while Mr. Holland's Latin class moved into the intensive reading of Cicero's letters.

After school, he went to the third floor of the Greenwood library.

Mr. Hutton recently granted him an extra privilege.

In a small storage room on the third floor, he could store the books and notes that he needed to repeatedly refer to during the decryption process.

A brass sign hung on the door of the storage room that read "Teacher Materials - Students Not Allowed," and only Mr. Hutton and himself held the key.

The room was small, about four steps square, with a narrow wooden table against the wall, and two simple bookshelves nailed on top of the table.

This is his most private workspace in Greenwood.

For safety reasons, he didn't dare take all the notebooks and translations he copied from the Imperial Capital University library home.

Evelyn lives at home and occasionally goes into his room.

If any unencrypted page of the translation were accidentally glimpsed, the consequences would be beyond his control.

So he kept some of the encrypted manuscripts and reference books in this storage room.

Richard locked the door after entering the house and prepared to take down the reference book he had half-read yesterday from the bookshelf.

His fingers stopped halfway through reaching out.

A moth had appeared in the center of his desk, where he usually placed his notebook after entering the room every day.

Grayish-white with ring-shaped patterns on its wings.

This gray moth was twice the size of the house moths he had ever seen, almost half the size of his palm.

Richard slowly moved his backpack away from the edge of the table and took a half step back.

Any living moth indoors would instinctively chase the light and would never remain stiff and motionless like this.

Moreover, the door to the storage room was always locked.

The ventilation openings were sealed with fine iron grilles, so it shouldn't be possible for such a large insect to get in.

As he retreated, the moth began to disintegrate on its own, leaving behind two things.

A small ceramic coin and a letter folded into thirds.

The letter was printed with an owl surrounded by laurels, the symbol of the Classical Society.

The way the moth disappeared reminded Richard of a similar description he had read on his hand.

"Spirit Messenger," a technique for delivering messages in a hidden direction.

The cost of making an object appear from one fixed point to another is very high, and the requirements for the caster are also very demanding.

The biggest advantage of this delivery method is that it doesn't require much knowledge about the recipient. Just give the messenger a direction, and the messenger will automatically fulfill your request.

Thinking of this, Richard used a long ruler from the bookshelf to gently lift the letter.

When the letter was unfolded, the handwritten text was revealed.

The content is not long.

"To Mr. Williams, for your perusal:"

Your performance in this year's Cicero Cup has attracted the attention of our Study Committee.

After deliberation by the committee, we cordially invite you to participate in the academic exchange activities of the association's "Theogony Salon".

This activity is a non-public seminar mechanism established by our association for scholars with outstanding potential, and it is held once a month.

Participants anonymously engage in free exchange and resource sharing on cutting-edge topics in classical studies, epigraphy, and related fields.

A membership certificate is enclosed with this letter.

Please place the voucher beside your pillow before going to bed; you will be guided at that time.

The emblem engraved on your voucher is your temporary code name at the round table; your official code name will be confirmed upon your first appearance.

The temporary code name is assigned based on the Association’s preliminary assessment of your academic direction. If there are any discrepancies, we will correct them ourselves.

This activity is entirely voluntary. If you do not wish to participate, you may simply discard your voucher; there will be no further contact.

The letter had no signature, no date, and no contact address at the bottom.

But in the lower left corner of the letter was a line of very small Latin text:

"Scientia donum est; qui accipit, liber manet."

(Knowledge is a gift; the recipient remains free.)

Richard turned the letter over with a ruler.

The back is blank.

The small ceramic coin, a muddy yellow with a reddish-brown tinge, was slightly smaller than a regular copper penny.

A snake is embossed in the center of the front of the staff, its body spiraling upwards from the bottom and its head slightly raised at the top.

The Staff of Asclepius

Richard stared at the pattern, somewhat puzzled.

Asclepius, son of Apollo, was killed by Zeus with a thunderbolt because of his ability to bring the dead back to life. After his death, he was elevated to the status of a god.

His single serpent staff is a symbol of healing and the emblem of the Temple of the Healer.

The letter clearly states: "The allocation of the temporary code name is based on the Association's preliminary assessment of your academic direction."

But the only thing about him that could be considered related to the God of Medicine was the beginner breathing technique he had practiced.

The Golden Way originated from the Temple of the God of Healing.

The other party detected the source of his breathing technique and assigned him this symbolic symbol.

It makes sense logically, but that's all.

I don't know how to treat illnesses, I have no professional medical knowledge, and I have never been in contact with any organization or person related to the Temple of the Healer.

This suggests that the other party probably has very limited understanding of you.

This is the biggest point of suspicion. If this were truly a circle within the Classical Studies Society, inviting someone wouldn't have required such trouble, and one wouldn't know so little about it.

Moreover, if it were a subordinate organization of the Classical Society, Aunt Isabella would not have remained completely silent.

Owl emblems can be copied, official stationery can be customized, and writing style can be imitated.

If the other party's goal is to fish, then using the shell of a classical society as a cover is indeed a good strategy.

The winners of the Cicero Cup naturally develop a sense of trust in the Classical Society.

The most likely scenario is that the other party used part of the Classical Society's credibility to conduct targeted recruitment of potential individuals.

Thinking of this, he didn't rush to touch the token.

First, check if the panel is responding.