I Loaded the Occult Panel

A circle represented a person, with a spot slightly above its center marked as the Seat of the Sun.

A curved line extended from the Seat of the Sun, tracing down the right arm to the palm and continuing into a held object.

”The final cycle of Fourfold Breathing.” The old gentleman pushed the piece of paper across the desk.

”You’re already used to concentrating ether into the Seat of the Sun during the breath-holding phase, right?”

”Yes.”

”The nurturing is done during this phase.”

Mr. Hutton traced a line on the diagram.

”Gather the ether in the Seat of the Sun while holding your breath. Then, during the final exhalation, draw the excess ether out from the Seat of the Sun and guide it down the inside of your right arm to your palm.”

”Press your palm against the lamp and inject the ether evenly into it.”

”How much should I inject?””Not much,” the old gentleman said. ”The residual amount at the end of a single cycle is enough.”

”The key is consistency and evenness.”

”Do it every day with the exact same intensity. It’s like watering a tree.”

”Too much water drowns it, too little and it withers. It just needs to be exactly right.”

Richard folded the paper and tucked it into his notebook.

”Nurture it daily, and keep at it.”

”Once your Micro-circulation is stable enough to complete the probatio, you’ll be just about ready for your Signature.”

The old gentleman smiled. ”When that time comes, this Sphinx Lamp will give you a surprise.”

He didn’t explain what that surprise would be.

Mr. Hutton reached out and picked up the Gargoyle.

”This Gargoyle... what is the Spell Formula sealed within its inscription called?”

”Stone Armor.”

Mr. Hutton repeated the name and nodded.

”It circulated within the Church for a while during the Middle Ages.”

”You’ve heard of it?”

”I’ve heard of it, but I’ve never seen the physical inscription.”

He set the Gargoyle back on the desk.

”Low-Rank practical Spell Formulas aren’t highly valued in the academic system; their theoretical worth is limited. A Scholar needs innovation to write academic papers. A topic like ’How construction workers avoided falling to their deaths three hundred years ago’ won’t earn you a promotion.”

”Do you plan to practice it?”

”I already am.”

Richard thought for a moment and decided to lay his cards on the table.

He had already displayed the Gargoyle in full view of Mr. Hutton anyway, and the old gentleman had run his fingers over its inscription from beginning to end.

There was no point in hiding it anymore.

Mr. Hutton nodded.

”Your vigilance is commendable.”

”You know better than to trust anyone completely. You study what you receive on your own first, and even after seeing results, you aren’t in a rush to tell everyone.”

There was no criticism in the old gentleman’s tone.

”When you’re making a living behind the veil, habits like that save lives.”

He stood up and stepped around his desk.

”Stand up.”

Richard stood.

Mr. Hutton extended his right hand, hovering it an inch over the back of Richard’s right hand.

”Follow the flow of the Spell Formula you’ve been practicing. Take it to the second stage—Drawing and Covering.”

Richard closed his eyes and initiated his Fourfold Breathing.

The ether slid down the inside of his right arm to his palm and began to permeate the surface of his skin.

”Stop.”

Mr. Hutton’s voice rang out.

Richard halted the Drawing and Covering.

”Your rhythm is too fast,” the old gentleman said. ”The ether’s conduction from the Seat of the Sun to your palm should remain perfectly in sync with your breathing.”

Richard readjusted his tempo.

On his second attempt at Drawing and Covering, he deliberately synchronized the speed of the ether’s conduction with the rising and falling of his breath.

The skin on his palm reacted instantly.

Richard tapped the armor layer over the back of his right hand. His fingernail clinked against it, producing a crisp sound like striking porcelain.

”How does it feel?” Mr. Hutton asked.

”Thicker than before.” Richard turned his right hand over.

”The density has gone up quite a bit, too. Before, the armor felt like a layer of wet mud slapped on. Now, it’s at least pottery.”

”That is exactly the difference between fired pottery and unbaked clay.”

Mr. Hutton walked back to his desk, sat down, and took a sip from his teacup.

”Don’t celebrate just yet, though.”

As soon as he spoke, the armor on Richard’s right hand began to disintegrate from the wrist.

”Your Micro-circulation’s conduction efficiency isn’t high enough yet,” Mr. Hutton noted. ”But you can start practicing the triggering rhythm now.”

”Don’t rush to armor your entire body. Master thick, localized armoring first.”

”When you can steadily cover your entire arm, maintain it for more than thirty seconds without dissipation, and perform the drawing without needing the Gargoyle as a casting medium, you will have truly mastered it.”

Mr. Hutton pondered for a moment.

”The inscription should contain more detailed operational steps. Follow those instructions closely for a month or two, and armoring your entire arm shouldn’t be an issue.”

”I haven’t studied this specific Spell Formula myself, so I can only guide you this far.”

Richard stuffed the Gargoyle back into his Cloth Bag.

As Mr. Hutton watched him pack up, he suddenly spoke again.

”Once you’re proficient in localized armoring, you can go learn some basic combat frameworks to use in tandem with it.”

The old gentleman set his teacup back on the desk and stroked his beard.

”I’ve actually dabbled in combat myself.”

”A Scholar is more than just someone who sits behind a desk flipping through books, Richard.”

”When necessary, a Scholar also needs to use their fists to protect that desk.”

Richard looked deeply impressed, despite not fully understanding.

Looking at the gray-haired, thin old gentleman who wore a suit jacket year-round, he tried hard to picture him throwing a punch.

Mr. Hutton gave a few more detailed instructions on nurturing supernatural items, then waved his hand.

”That’s all for today. You may head back.”

”Thank you, sir.”

Richard shouldered his bag and glanced back as he reached the door.

The old gentleman had reopened the supernatural item application document and was drawing a circle in one of its columns with his fountain pen.

That circle probably meant ”Application Withdrawn.”

After the office door clicked shut, Mr. Hutton stretched his lower back and sat up straight.

The hallway was already empty. Outside the window, the icy snow pellets had turned into large snowflakes, drifting lazily through the air.

”A Scholar is more than just someone who sits behind a desk flipping through books.”

Thinking back on that line, he found it somewhat amusing himself.

In his youth, he had certainly never been the sort to sit quietly behind a desk and behave himself.

During his Newcomer stage, he had tried all three paths.

Back then, he felt he could learn anything—and that he should learn everything.

The world behind the veil was so vast; wouldn’t it be a waste to only walk a single path?

At the time, his guide had been his university Mentor, who followed the Scholar path with a focus on ritual languages.

At nineteen, he came into contact with the Secret path.

In the southern suburbs of the Imperial Capital lived a sealing master named Russell. He belonged to the Civilian Guild and had some history with Hutton’s Mentor.

With his Mentor’s recommendation, Hutton began learning the fundamentals of sealing from Russell.

He couldn’t say he was bad at it. Back then, Russell had evaluated him like this:

”If you applied yourself, you could become a Practitioner of the Secret path within five years.”

At twenty-two, he crossed paths with the Hunter direction.

There was a retired military officer in the northern suburbs of the Imperial Capital whose surname was Graham.

He was a branch member of the Graham Family. After retiring, he used family resources to run a gun shop and occasionally took on a few apprentices.

Hutton studied the Path of Blood Ignition under him for nearly a year.

He survived the ice-water submersions, and he survived the hyperventilation training.

But when it came to the muscle-lashing trials, he passed out on the training grounds twice in a row.

Old Graham had looked down at him and shaken his head.

”You aren’t cut out for this.”

Refusing to accept defeat, Hutton gritted his teeth and held on for another two months.

After passing out yet again, Old Graham dragged him off the training grounds.

”Kid, your bone density isn’t sufficient, and your muscles lack explosive power. These things are innate; you can’t train them into existence.”

Hutton hadn’t listened at the time.

He persisted for another half-year. After those six months, he simply couldn’t take it anymore.

The daily training intensity of the Path of Blood Ignition caused his body to develop various chronic issues: a persistent cough, aching muscles, and a long-term low-grade fever.

At twenty-three, he quit his training with Old Graham.

Upon returning to the university, his Mentor called him into the office.

His Mentor didn’t get angry, nor did he scold him. He simply laid out all the coursework Hutton had missed over the years across the desk.

”It’s not too late to catch up.”

Hutton spent several years making up for the missed coursework.

During that time, Russell also sought him out once to ask if he wanted to continue learning how to seal.

Hutton shook his head.

”Giving up?”

”If I go back to studying that, I’ll truly be ruined,” Hutton had said. ”I have to focus entirely on the Scholar path now.”

Russell sighed. ”If you had realized that five years ago, you’d already be a Practitioner.”

Hutton hadn’t answered.

He took the books on sealing home and casually continued practicing them in his spare time, but he no longer treated the Secret path as his primary focus.

At twenty-seven, he officially became a Practitioner.

On the Scholar path. Majoring in Ritual Studies, minoring in Inscriptiology.

Right before hitting the maximum graduation extension age of thirty, he achieved several landmark results for the Practitioner stage and published two papers in the academy’s weekly journal.

But he never managed to break through to the next level.

The threshold of Minor Adept kept him stuck for over a decade.

Every attempt to advance ended in failure, always for the same reason: his ether foundation wasn’t pure enough.

He had dabbled in all three paths—Scholar, Secret, and Hunter.

Switching between different breathing methods had left accumulated blockages within his body, permanently preventing him from forming a deep resonance in any single direction.

His Mentor had once lamented over this.

”If you had devoted yourself exclusively to one path in your youth, you would likely be much further along by now.”

Hutton hadn’t argued.

His Mentor was speaking the truth.

Once he passed the age of forty, Hutton formally accepted the reality that he would remain a Practitioner forever.

After his Mentor passed away, he left the Imperial Capital, returned to his hometown of Briston, and took a job at Greenwood School.

The school board gave him an independent office and the privilege of two excused absences per month.

They also gave him access to that special bookshelf on the third floor of the library, granting him a free hand to act as a guide.

Briston was a quiet city, and Greenwood was a quiet school.

It was the perfect place for a greedy man permanently stalled as a Practitioner to slowly grow old, passing on a lifetime’s worth of messy, chaotic knowledge to young people worthy of receiving it.

He could still teach sealing, because he had studied the Secret path.

He could teach combat, because he had trained as a Hunter.

These were all byproducts left behind from walking the wrong paths back then. Now, ironically, they had become his extra capital as a guide.

If his Mentor were still alive to see how he was teaching his student, he would probably scold him like this:

”Hutton, you’re a half-baked amateur yourself. Aren’t you embarrassed to be teaching others?”

Richard was much stronger than he had been at that age.

He was younger than Hutton had been when he first started out, yet he knew exactly which path he wanted to walk right from the very beginning.

Unlike Hutton back then, who wanted to grasp everything he saw.