I Loaded the Occult Panel

He paused.

”But what I want to talk to you about today has nothing to do with the Gatekeeper.”

”This next matter concerns your illness.”

Gerard held up the booklet. ”Are you familiar with the terms ’supernatural item’ and ’infection’?”

Richard shook his head.

Gerard flipped to a page in the booklet.

”Normally, as ether flows through the world, most of it naturally dissipates back behind the veil. But a minuscule amount is retained by objects.

”Paracelsus named this process Tinctura, or infection.

”After objects undergo years of infection, the ether forms stable deposits. These can aid in cultivation or serve as spellcasting mediums, and any ciphered text carved into them will rarely corrode.

”Such objects, in our line of work, are called ’supernatural items’.”Gerard looked at Richard.

”The pendant Vincent gave you is a supernatural item. Under normal circumstances, it wouldn’t harm anyone.

”For Muggles—no, ordinary people with absolutely no latent circuits—they could wear a supernatural item around their necks for a lifetime and nothing would happen.

”Any seeping ether simply passes through them and dissipates. It’s like pouring water over an iron plate—not a single drop sinks in.”

His tone turned pointed.

”But people with latent circuits are different. The ether seeping from a supernatural item flows along those circuits, washing over them and expanding them until they activate.

”This process triggers a rejection response: fever, fatigue, muscle soreness...”

”So my illness was just a rejection response,” Richard said, finally understanding.

Gerard nodded, then shook his head.

”A typical rejection response lasts a day or two. It’s uncomfortable, but absolutely not fatal.”

He studied Richard’s face for a few seconds, his brow furrowing.

”When I had Vincent bring you that pendant, my intention was to test whether you had latent circuits.

”If you did, surviving the rejection response would qualify you to step into the mystic side.

”If you didn’t, the pendant would be no different from a plain copper piece to you.”

His voice dropped.

”But I never anticipated your physical foundation would be so poor.”

The charcoal fire in the hearth quietly consumed itself. Its red glow flared and dimmed, deepening the wrinkles on the old man’s face.

”Your body almost failed to withstand a rejection response that a normal person would shake off after a two-day fever.

”A low fever escalated into a high fever, and the high fever dragged you into a coma... That was my responsibility.”

Richard looked at his grandfather. The man’s guilt didn’t seem faked.

Besides, he didn’t think he was currently important enough to warrant an act.

Silence lingered for a few seconds before the old man’s expression grew serious again.

”But in the end, you survived.”

”Frankly, when I received the letter your mother sent from Briston, I had already prepared for the worst.”

Preparing for the worst likely hadn’t meant mourning the accidental death of his grandson.

The death of a grandson he had barely seen since childhood was entirely insignificant.

Instead, the real loss would have been wasting the supernatural item used for the test, leaving the family with one less candidate for its reserve of young blood.

Figuring this out, Richard found he wasn’t particularly angry.

Rather than calling the man cold-blooded, it was more accurate to say he was maximizing efficiency.

Anyone managing resources would run the same calculations. It had nothing to do with kindness.

Passing the test meant gaining a reserve talent; failing meant keeping an ordinary grandson. Both outcomes fell within controllable parameters.

The only uncalculated variable was that his frail body had nearly succumbed entirely to the rejection response.

It was a misjudgment born of information asymmetry, not intentional murder.

Once Richard sorted through this logic, his mind completely calmed.

That was the greatest benefit of dealing with smart people.

A clear logic of self-interest drove their every action. Understanding that logic was enough.

He looked back at his grandfather.

Gerard didn’t seem to want to dwell on the topic either. The guilt had been expressed; it was time for business.

”Since the circuits have been activated, you’ve taken the first step yourself.”

He glanced at Richard’s chest.

To Gerard, noticing the presence of the Ether Micro-circulation was probably as obvious as seeing whether a person had a beard.

”The next question, then, is which path you intend to take.”

”The court and administrative systems contain several undisclosed committees dedicated to handling supernatural affairs. You could consider them the Empire’s official branch. Our Ashford House has held positions within this system for generations.”

”The official branch? Are they the strongest?”

”They have the most resources, the tightest organization, and the greatest ability to mobilize power.”

Gerard chose his words carefully.

”But a word like ’strongest’ depends on your definition.”

He didn’t elaborate, pivoting instead to introduce another faction.

”Aside from the official branch, the major top-tier universities house certain departments—superficially dedicated to classical literature, archaeology, or linguistics—that are actually academic institutions researching the theories of the mystic side. The academy system maintains a cooperative relationship with the official branch, but remains highly independent academically.”

The old man looked up at Richard.

”The Cicero Cup you’re participating in is hosted by the Classical Society, a peripheral organization of the academy system.”

He smiled and asked casually, ”Someone from their side has likely already approached you, haven’t they?”

Richard concealed the crucial details. ”A teacher at school has been rather helpful.”

His grandfather didn’t pry. ”Let’s just leave it at that, then.”

”Beyond the official branch and the academy system, there are also mediums, diviners, alchemists, and herbalists. People across various trades with ties to the mystic side loosely form the Civilian Guild, maintaining their own spheres of influence.”

”Personally, I recommend the official system.” He leaned back in his chair.

”Take the Ashford House path. Enter the civil service system from the ground up, and I will arrange the resources and connections.”

He looked toward the window. The curtains were drawn tight, though a sliver of light leaked from beneath the fabric.

”You can also take the academic route through the Classical Society.”

”The two paths are not mutually exclusive.

”Many people are active in both systems simultaneously. You’ll meet some of them at the competition. That includes your aunt; she has a foot in both camps.”

Richard made a mental note of the word aunt. His mother rarely spoke of her siblings.

Gerard met Richard’s eyes.

”Even if you choose not to enter the official system, the family will provide you with the necessary support.”

The study fell quiet for a few seconds.

”Is this compensation?”

”Consider it a debt I owe you.”

With that, he rose from his chair, walked over to the far right side of the bookshelf, and bent down to rummage for something.