I Loaded the Mysticism Panel

By the time he returned to Waste Rock Lane, it was already completely dark.

Richard unlocked the door and went inside. Only a single table lamp illuminated the living room.

His father was flipping through a newspaper under the lamp, Mother was sitting by the Furnace Fire knitting, and Evelyn was hunched over the dining table doing her homework.

”You’re back?” Evelyn didn’t even lift her head.

”Yeah.”

”You were out all day.” Evelyn’s pen paused. ”Find a job?”

”Submitted my resume. Waiting to hear back.”

Mother put down her knitting. ”Have you eaten dinner?”

”Didn’t get the chance.”

”There’s still some potato and meat stew warming on the stove. Help yourself.”

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

More than half of the raw material he had copied from the Imperial University Library remained untouched. The encrypted texts lay quietly in the back of his notebook, waiting for him to pry them open, bit by bit.

A little before eleven, he blew out the table lamp and crawled into bed.

The Sleep Skill slowly began to work in the gentle warmth of his mattress and covers.

Not four breathing cycles after his head hit the pillow, his consciousness was gently swept away.

「The next day was Monday.」

Richard went to his classes as usual.

Mr. Hutton’s history class was about resource allocation in the New Continent Colony. Mr. Holland’s Latin class had entered the close-reading stage of Cicero’s letters.

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

Mr. Hutton had recently granted him a special privilege.

A small storage room on the third floor was made available for him to store the books and notes he needed to consult repeatedly during his decryption process.

A brass plaque on the storage room door read, ”Faculty Materials · Students Keep Out.” Only Mr. Hutton and he himself held a key.

The room wasn’t large, about four paces square. A long, narrow wooden table stood against one wall, with two simple shelves nailed above it.

This was his most private workspace at Greenwood.

For security reasons, he didn’t dare bring all of the notebooks and translation drafts from the Imperial University Library home with him.

Evelyn was at home, and she occasionally came into his room.

If even a single page of an unencrypted translation draft was accidentally glimpsed, the consequences would be more than he could bear.

So, he kept some of the encrypted original texts and reference books in this storage room.

Richard locked the door after entering and prepared to take the reference book he had been halfway through yesterday from the shelf.

As he reached for it, his hand froze mid-air.

Right in the center of the desk, in the exact spot where he always put his notebook, there was a moth.

It was grayish-white, with ring-shaped patterns on its wings.

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

Richard very slowly moved his bag away from the edge of the desk and took half a step back.

Any living moth indoors would instinctively fly toward a light source; it would never remain so rigidly still.

Besides, the storage room door was always locked.

The air vent was sealed with a fine iron grate, so it should have been impossible for such a large insect to get in.

As he backed away, the moth began to disintegrate on its own, leaving two items behind.

A small ceramic coin and a letter, folded into thirds.

The letter bore the imprint of an owl encircled by a laurel wreath—the emblem of the Classical Society.

The way the moth dissipated reminded Richard of a similar description he had read about in a book.

’A Spirit Realm Messenger. A Delivery Technique from the Secret Direction.’

’It materializes an object from one fixed point to another. The Casting cost is very high, and the requirements for the Caster are extremely demanding.’

’The greatest advantage of this Delivery Technique is that it doesn’t require much knowledge of the recipient. You just give it a direction, and the Messenger will fulfill the request on its own.’

With this in mind, Richard used a long ruler from the bookshelf to gently nudge the letter open.

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

It wasn’t long.

”To the esteemed Mr. Williams:

Your performance in this year’s Cicero Cup has attracted the attention of our society’s research committee.

After deliberation by the committee, we now sincerely invite you to participate in the academic exchange activities of our society’s ’Divine Pantheon Salon’.

This event is a private symposium established by our society for scholars of exceptional potential and is held every two months.

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

Enclosed with this letter is one token of admission.

Before retiring for the night, please place the token by your pillow. Guidance will be provided at the appointed time.

The emblem engraved on the token is your temporary codename at the Round Table. A formal codename will be confirmed upon your first attendance.

The assignment of the temporary codename is based on our society’s preliminary assessment of your academic direction. Should there be any discrepancy, it will be corrected at that time.

Participation in this event is entirely voluntary. If you do not wish to attend, simply discard the token. There will be no further contact.”

There was no signature, no date, and no return address at the bottom of the letter.

But in the bottom-left corner, there was a line of extremely small Latin text:

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

(Knowledge is a gift; he who accepts it remains free.)

Richard used the ruler to flip the letter over.

The back was blank.

The small ceramic coin was an ocherous, earthy yellow, and slightly smaller than a common copper penny.

Stamped in the very center of its face was a snake coiled around a short staff. Its body wound up from the bottom of the staff, its head slightly raised at the top.

’The Rod of Asclepius.’

Richard stared at the pattern, a little puzzled.

’Asclepius, son of Apollo, was struck down by Zeus’s thunderbolt for being able to raise the dead and was deified after his death.’

’His single-serpent rod is a symbol of healing, and also the emblem of the Medical God Temple.’

’The letter stated it clearly: ”The assignment of the temporary codename is based on our society’s preliminary assessment of your academic direction.”’

’But the only thing about me that had any connection to the Medical God was the introductory Breathing Technique I practiced.’

’The Golden Path, which originated from the Medical God Temple.’

’They had detected the origin of my Breathing Technique and assigned me this symbolic emblem.’

’It made sense logically, but that was all.’

’I can’t heal anyone, I have no professional medical knowledge, and I’ve never been in contact with any organization or person related to the Medical God Temple.’

’This means their knowledge of me is probably very limited.’

’That’s the biggest red flag. If this really was an inner circle of the Classical Society, inviting me wouldn’t be this complicated, and they would know more about me.’

’Besides, if it were a subsidiary organization of the Classical Society, my aunt Isabella would have surely mentioned something.’

’The owl emblem could be forged, the official-looking paper could be custom-made, and the writing style could be imitated.’

’If their goal was to phish, then using the Classical Society as a front was indeed a good strategy.’

’Winners of the Cicero Cup would naturally have a sense of trust towards the Classical Society.’

’The most likely scenario is that they were borrowing some of the Classical Society’s credibility to carry out targeted recruitment of promising individuals.’

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

’First, I’ll see if the panel reacts.’