I Loaded the Mysticism Panel

The remaining work of reinforcing the Seal took a full three hours.

Mr. Hutton was severely drained, but he insisted on completely replicating and resealing the sixth through ninth rings, and even added a new node to target reverse infiltration.

Throughout the entire process, Mrs. MacNeil was in charge of activation, while Lady Mod and Mr. Spence filled in the wax and applied the silver powder.

Winterworth and Major Aud stood guard on the perimeter, watching for any other disturbances from the bottom of the pit.

Richard kept his camera up the entire time, photographing every step of the process.

Once the reinforcement was complete, all nine stone rings lit up again, forming a ”well cover” even more secure than before.

Major Aud inspected it.

”This year’s wave was more vicious than previous years.”

The cavern fell silent for a moment.

”Pack it up. Let’s get everyone topside.”

The post-battle cleanup began.

The Answering Head’s corpse contained many salvageable materials.

The response groups that had been cut apart also left pools of residual material woven from expired sound on the stone slabs, which Lady Mod carefully scraped into a porcelain jar with a silver spoon and sealed shut.

But the most surprising development was that a ”Harmony” from one of the response groups had been captured alive.

The leader of Team One brought the man over under escort.

He was a man of indeterminate age. His miner’s uniform was covered in coal dust, and his sallow skin was stretched taut over high cheekbones.

With his hands bound behind his back, his knees buckled and he knelt on the stone slab, his posture unnaturally submissive.

He didn’t struggle or tremble. Even his Breathing was as steady as if he were in a deep Sleep.

Winterworth shoved the man into the brightest part of the light.

The Inspector’s expression was grim.

The period of weakness from using Moon Nail · Reflection hadn’t passed, and that flanking strike had drained the last of his explosive power.

But that wasn’t the main reason he looked so grim.

The body of Team Leader Two had just been carried onto the cage lift, his face covered with a comrade’s jacket.

From the moment the body was covered, Winterworth hadn’t said a single word.

He simply walked over and squatted down in front of the live captive, getting very close.

”Who ordered you to do this?”

The Harmony raised his head. His eyes rested on Winterworth’s face for a moment, and his lips moved.

”Who ordered you to do this.”

He was repeating the question.

But what made the hairs on the back of Richard’s neck stand on end was the voice.

When the Harmony spoke, he used Winterworth’s voice.

It was just as deep, just as cold, just as filled with rage.

Even the slight, hoarse tremor at the end of the sentence, born of exhaustion, was perfectly replicated.

It was as if Winterworth were interrogating himself from behind another man’s face.

”What is your motive?” Mrs. MacNeil tried a different question from the side.

The Harmony turned his head to look at her.

”This is how it should be.”

This time, he had switched to Mrs. MacNeil’s voice.

”Why should it be this way?”

”This is how it should be.”

”Do you have any idea what you’re doing?”

The Harmony smiled.

Smiling, he tossed the same sentence right back.

”Do you have any idea what you’re doing?”

Winterworth’s hand clamped down on the Harmony’s shoulder, his five fingers digging directly into the flesh.

The flesh and muscle of the shoulder deformed under his grip with a sickening, grinding sound.

But the man’s expression didn’t change in the slightest; he didn’t even blink.

”I’ll ask one more time,” Winterworth said, his entire hand squeezing harder. ”What were you trying to Nail into the Pit Core?!”

The Harmony didn’t answer.

His head slowly tilted to the side.

It tilted toward Xiaoma, who was still squatting on the ground nearby, utterly grief-stricken.

”Xiaoma, stay close!”

It was the voice of Team Leader Two.

Xiaoma’s head snapped up, tear tracks still wet on his face.

”Lead—”

”Shut up!”

Team Leader One shot forward, clamped a hand over Xiaoma’s mouth, and dragged him back several steps by the shoulder.

”Don’t answer it!” she hissed, the old scar on her brow bone trembling.

”That’s not him! He’s dead! Do you hear me? He’s dead!”

Xiaoma froze in place, clutching the piece of cloth he had torn from Team Leader Two’s jacket as fresh tears streamed down his face.

Richard stood in the innermost circle, his chest tight with anxiety.

Team Leader Two had been dead for less than half a day. His expired sound had not yet dissipated, still lingering in the air.

And this Harmony was preying on the raw grief that everyone was still struggling to process.

It picked up the dead man’s voice and wielded it like the dullest, cruelest of knives.

It didn’t even need to understand sorrow; it just mirrored sorrow’s shape, reflecting it back at them.

Mrs. MacNeil reached out and stopped Winterworth.

”Questioning him like this, you could go on until dawn and learn nothing.”

”Let me try.”

She squatted in front of the Harmony, took a pinch of salt from her leather case, and sprinkled it on the stone slab before his knees.

She then took out a sharply pointed charcoal stick and drew a closing sigil over the salt.

”I’ll try a different line of questioning.”

The Spirit Medium didn’t ask with her voice.

She extended her right hand, hovering it an inch from the Harmony’s forehead, and closed her eyes.

Richard watched with his Spiritual Vision.

Mrs. MacNeil’s Ether was searching for his true name.

A person’s true name is the Nail that binds them to their own self.

An ordinary Spirit Medium only needs to touch the edge of a person’s true name.

From there, they can unravel that person’s origins, thoughts, and secrets, one layer at a time.

But Mrs. MacNeil’s fingers traced a circle, and then another.

Her brow slowly furrowed.

”It’s gone.”

”What’s gone?” Winterworth asked.

”His true name. It’s been carved out,” the Spirit Medium said, opening her eyes.

”A clean job. Not even a trace was left behind. This is the Echo Society’s handiwork, but there’s no telling what level of operative arranged it from behind the scenes.”

She closed her eyes again, this time trying to call to the man.

She called out a common male name.

The Harmony grunted in response.

She called another, completely unrelated name. He answered that one, too.

She called out five or six completely unrelated names in a row, and the man responded to every single one.

Mrs. MacNeil’s fingers moved downward, stopping over the Harmony’s heart.

”There’s something here.”

She had Lady Mod hand her a Silver Dagger and pricked the pad of the Harmony’s left index finger.

Blood trickled out.

But unlike the blood of a living person, it didn’t darken or thicken in the cool air.

It remained an overly vibrant red as it trickled down his finger, forming a small pool on the Salt Talisman, refusing to coagulate.

Mrs. MacNeil stared at the pool of blood for a long time.

”A Blood Covenant. The same kind that was on the Answering Head.”

”He’s an Anchor point, too?”

”Half of one,” the Spirit Medium replied, covering the pool of blood with salt.

”The Answering Head was the core. This man was the backup.

If something had gone wrong with the Answering Head before it could be Nailed into the Pit Core, it would have been his turn.”

She stood up, looking down at the Harmony, who still knelt on the ground with a placid expression.

”From the day the Echo Society picked him up, he began turning himself into an object.

Even if we had done nothing to him today, he would have handed himself over on his own in a matter of days.”

Winterworth still wasn’t satisfied.

He circled behind the Harmony, leaned down, and roared, his mouth practically against the man’s ear:

”What do you get out of this? You people, hollowing yourselves out like this—what for?!”

The Harmony didn’t answer in Winterworth’s voice.

Nor in Mrs. MacNeil’s, nor in Team Leader Two’s.

This time, he spoke in a withered, calm voice that nobody recognized.

It was probably the last trace of his own voice that the man had left.

”This is how it should be.”

”Says who?”

”This is how it should be.”

”Who told you it should be this way?”

Richard lost count of how many times the question was asked.

The hint of a smile on the man’s face never once faded.

”It’s no use.” Mrs. MacNeil finally called a halt to the interrogation.

”He can only respond now. He can no longer initiate speech.”

”Interrogating a member of the Echo Society is like interrogating a tape recording.”

”You’ll never hear an echo speak its own words.”

”I know. But I had to go through the motions.”

Winterworth stood up, his knees popping softly.

Only then did Richard understand.

His persistent questions hadn’t been intended to get answers. It was just a formality.

With Team Leader Two’s body lying nearby, he, as the Inspector in charge, had to go through these motions for everyone present, especially the newer members.

Even if it was just to complete the full sequence of questions from start to finish.

The cleanup concluded.

The ascent from the shaft was a Mirror image of the descent.

The iron cage rose, level by level.

This time, no voice called out to them.

The thing at the bottom of the pit, having just been forced back by Major Aud borrowing the Expert’s power, remained silent for the time being.

But inside the cage, everyone still held a piece of salt under their tongue.

No one dared to open their mouth prematurely.

Richard held the fresh piece of salt under his tongue, watching the silver plates on the shaft wall retreat downward, level by level.

It was quiet in the cage, save for the creaking of the chain and pulleys.

The cage reached the top. Major Aud was the first to step out. The sky outside was already completely dark.

Almost in perfect sync, everyone in the cage spat out the salt from under their tongues.

The air outside the mine shaft was cold and damp.

In the distance, the West Suburb Mine Area was giving off smoke thicker than usual—the product of burning buildings.

The riot in the mining district had been suppressed with an iron fist.

Police officers and hired militia had used clubs and rifle butts to beat back the thousands of workers who had been shouting in unison.

There were new bodies in the streets.

Richard stood at the mouth of the shaft, gazing into the distance in the direction of the smoke.

He remembered the vision of the surface that Mrs. MacNeil had spirit-woven before the battle.

Above and below, two separate battlefields, both ending in a brutal, crushing defeat for one side.

Major Aud’s squad loaded Team Leader Two’s body onto a vehicle.

Xiaoma followed behind them, looking as if he’d lost his soul.

The female team leader from Team One—the one with the scar on her brow—helped Xiaoma into the vehicle.

”Stop clutching that piece of cloth.”

Richard watched the vehicle carrying Team Leader Two’s body slowly pull away from the shaft entrance.

Winterworth walked over.

”A word with you.”

The two of them walked for a stretch along the abandoned dirt road outside the shaft entrance.

Once they reached a spot where they couldn’t be overheard, Winterworth stopped.

”Thanks for that shot, back in the pit.”