I Loaded the Occult Panel

In his dream, Richard felt something clenching his chest.

The moment his grandfather fell, Richard plunged into the darkness and was buoyed upward.

A force lifted him from beneath, bearing him higher than the wind, higher than the flocks of geese.

The darkness accepted him.

Richard finally saw the procession clearly. It crossed the sky, stretching out of sight.

The riders’ silhouettes were blurred. Their mounts had no road beneath their hooves, yet they trod with absolute certainty.

At the very head of the procession was a figure wearing antlers and holding a set of reins. Richard couldn’t see it clearly, nor did he dare look.

His grandfather brought up the rear. He was no longer the hunted, but a member of the hunt.

The procession marched forward. It moved toward the loudest hum, toward that hazy, half-lit expanse in the southeast.

At the back of the line, his grandfather looked back.Through the wind and the cries of the geese, he looked at his grandson and made a gesture.

It was a gesture Richard had just learned: ”The wind is in your favor.”

His grandfather finished the gesture and turned back around.

His figure blended into the endless procession, indistinguishable from the rest.

The geese faded into the distance, but the low hum drew closer and closer.

...

Richard opened his eyes. The hearth fire had died long ago.

He lay still at first, already making excuses for himself.

He had seen too many people and heard too many things over the past two weeks.

The tooth marks on the doorpost, his grandmother’s charcoal portrait, the Runic Blood Pact, the Hunting Register, the Saga Fragments scattered all over Corbin’s desk.

All of this had been stewing in his head for a week. It wasn’t strange for it to ferment into a dream in the middle of the night.

Dreams were just the brain shuffling the events of the day and restacking them.

He even found proof to back it up: the cries of the geese in his dream were probably just the flock by the backyard pond;

That swelling, low hum was just a freight truck rumbling past the Chelsea Road intersection at three in the morning.

He laid out these reasons one by one, almost managing to convince himself.

But the nitpicking gaze of [Speculation: Inner Awakening] turned inward, focusing directly upon him.

He was a man trying very hard to lie to himself. Richard sat up and pulled up his panel.

[sleep Lv.3, Progress 100%.]

[sleep Lv.3 -> Lv.4.]

The change came in absolute silence.

For [Wild Sleep], the threshold between falling asleep and waking up had been completely smoothed over.

He could now slip into a deep sleep in any posture, amidst any noise, and snap out of it at a moment’s notice without the slightest trace of grogginess.

In the span of a single night, his recovery efficiency shifted up another gear.

Richard’s gaze moved further down: [sleep]

”This trait is active. To advance again, the following conditions must be met:

Reach Lv.4, Progress 100%.

Available Points: 2.

Naturally experience a dream during sleep that is later proven to be true (Satisfied).”

Richard stared at that line of text for a long time.

The ”later” from his dream hadn’t happened yet, but the panel had already checked the box.

Richard pulled his Tarot Cards from his canvas bag.

The first question he wanted to ask was the very one he shouldn’t: how many days did his grandfather have left?

Before the first word of the question even took shape in his mind, his Inspiration flared with a warning.

Something from immensely far away, separated by several layers of darkness, slowly lifted an eyelid.

Richard pressed the cards flat against the table and sat completely motionless, waiting for the cold chill to recede from the back of his neck.

He could only ask about himself.

He turned the phrasing over and over in his mind, revising it several times before finally settling on a single question:

”What should I be preparing right now?”

He didn’t ask about the outcome or the enemy; asking that made it far too easy to be tracked.

He only asked what tools would help, and asked what he himself needed to do.

He shuffled the deck, cut it, and flipped three cards.

The first card: [Magician, Upright].

The figure on the card stood behind a table, one hand raised toward the heavens, the other pointing toward the earth.

Four items sat on the table: a cup, a pentacle, a sword, and a wand.

They were laid out neatly, much like a street vendor displaying all their wares for a customer, as if terrified you might think they were hiding something else.

He didn’t need to go anywhere else to find what he needed; everything he required was already on his table.

Richard’s gaze fell on the figure’s head, where a horizontal ”eight” hung suspended in the air.

In the oldest versions of the deck, this card was called the ”Peddler.”

Its true master, however, was Mercury—the planet, and the god.

Or in other words, Hermes.

The second card: [Moon, Upright].

He was intimately familiar with this card. Every time he stumbled into a confusing and complicated event, divination would always yield the [Moon].

The [Moon] represented illusion and shadow. It was the surface of the water that obscured the depths beneath, and right now, there was one sprawling at his feet.

The third card: [Three of Pentacles, Upright].

It depicted an unfinished church. A stonemason stood on a scaffold, a chisel in hand, carving into the stone.

Two figures stood below, holding blueprints and looking up at him. Their expressions suggested they were ready to point out if he struck a single blow out of line.

Stone, chisel, and carvings. Etching a name into the stone, stroke by stroke.

Richard reached into his drawer and pulled out that half-set of stones bearing Rune Glyphs, placing the chipped piece face-up.

The three cards sat side-by-side. He remained motionless for a long time.

The Magician was the mask.

The Moon was the shadow.

The Three of Pentacles was the runestone.

He had all three in his possession. He didn’t need to go looking for any of them.

He aligned them in his mind. Thanks to [Inner Awakening], a sudden realization struck him: these were all just three faces of the exact same thing.

The runes were the names carved into stone;

The mask was the conduit through which the divine name descended;

And the shadow was the hand that could carry that name across the veil for him.

Add to that the pen in his pocket: the [Chronicler’s Pen]. They were all related to names.

Richard stood up and paced in front of the window.

In his dream, his grandfather had swung his blade a thousand times, and the darkness had closed over him a thousand times. That was an unwinnable fight.

It was unwinnable not necessarily because his grandfather wasn’t strong enough, but because he was striking at the wrong place.

Richard rested a finger on the [Magician] card.

On the battlefields of ancient Greece, amidst the chaotic hail of arrows between two warring armies, there was only one type of person who could walk freely from one side to the other to deliver a message. When two armies clashed, they did not kill the envoy.

Harming an envoy meant offending the gods themselves. The bearer of the staff was inviolable.

The Caduceus represented that exact writ of safe passage.

Richard slowly sat back down at his desk. His path forward was split into three steps.

The first step: push his resonance with Hermes up to the ”Radiant Visage” stage.

He needed to obtain that staff—the qualification to stroll into any war camp, say his piece, and walk back out alive.

The second step: fully master the runes.

His grandfather’s pact had been written in runes, and the debt had been recorded in them as well.

If he wanted to alter the ledger, he had to know how to use the bookkeeper’s pen.

The third step: the shadow.

He couldn’t go in person; his Rank was too low. If he went himself, he’d only end up throwing his own life away before saving anyone.

A shadow was soundless, lightless, weightless, and nameless.

He would give it a mask and a name, and let it hold the runestone to act as his herald.

Even if it was destroyed, the backlash was a loss he could accept.

Richard gathered the three cards and shuffled the deck once more.

There was one more question he had to ask:

”Are there any blind spots in my thinking that I haven’t considered?”

He flipped a card: [The Chariot, Reversed].

The figure in the chariot was still standing, his posture imposing, but the two sphinxes pulling it were no longer obeying his commands.

The most critical detail was that this card had never depicted any reins. The charioteer drove through sheer force of will. The moment the card was reversed, that willpower collapsed to the ground.

Richard stared at the card for a long time.

Under the lens of [Speculation: Inner Awakening], he turned the meaning over and over in his head.

The lie he was most likely to tell himself was believing that he held the reins.

The figure in his dream—the one with the antlers—was the one holding the reins.

The reins were in that entity’s hands. At best, Richard was just a passenger along for the ride.

But then again...

”A passenger is still on the chariot, after all.”

When the sky began to lighten with the dawn, after long deliberation, he finally spent the two points.

[Astral Projection: Two Wisps -> Three Wisps]

[Available Points: 1.11]

Plans cannot keep up with changes; he had to spend those two points first.

The shortfall wasn’t too large, though. He was only missing 0.9 points. When [Breathing] eventually reached 100% at Lv4, he would figure out a way to make up the difference.

When the third wisp of spirit was peeled from the glowing tree behind his sternum, the hollow feeling in his chest expanded from the size of a penny to the size of a saucer.

Richard leaned against the edge of his desk and rested for half a minute, running through a full cycle of the Mirror Condensation Method.

The Still Water spread out and then withdrew, finally suppressing the hollow emptiness within him.

He stuffed all three wisps of spirit into his shadow.

The shadow peeled itself off the floor and stood up. Its darkness was a shade deeper than the night before.

He attempted something he hadn’t been able to do before.

”Messenger.”

”Ferryman.”

The two names landed on the shadow one after another, traveling down the conductive pathway.

The last time he tried to attach two names simultaneously, the ”Sentinel” had tried to scatter, while the ”Shadow Guard” had tried to condense.

The opposing forces had torn at the shadow’s surface for less than two seconds, nearly draining his ether reserves dry.

This time was different.

”Messenger” and ”Ferryman” walked the same path. Because their trajectories aligned, layering the two names didn’t cause a conflict.

The shadow stood in the center of the pre-dawn room, radiating a palpable sense of purpose, as if it was ready to be dispatched at a moment’s notice.

His ether was draining rapidly, but this was the first time he had successfully executed a unidirectional compound naming.

Richard withdrew the shadow.

...

Clara’s urgent telegram arrived at Room 314, accompanied by a parcel.

Isabella pushed the parcel aside to read the telegram first.

”Third dive at Scapa Flow complete. New carvings have appeared in the seabed seal zone.

Something is rewriting the seabed, altering the runic syntax from ’sealing’ to ’guiding.’

The alteration is signed with an antler-and-reins symbol. Rubbing enclosed.

The next spring tide is January 27th. The final dive. —C.”

The rubbing was tucked beneath the telegram. Isabella slid it out and smoothed it flat on the desk.

Richard focused his Spirit Vision on it.

The symbol was incredibly simple: a pair of antlers wrapped in reins.

The path of the reins formed a specific knot. Richard had seen the exact same knot on the rubbings in Corbin’s office.

It was the most ancient form of ”binding” in the runes.

The parcel also contained a letter and some gifts. Isabella read the letter first.

”Mentor, everything is going well here. The seawater isn’t as cold as I imagined.

The diving suits are lined with two layers of wool, so it’s actually quite warm once you’re down there.

The naval medic on the ship is very diligent; he checks our pulses every time we resurface.

Mine has been the steadiest in the team every single time. He even praised me for it.

The seal maintenance is progressing well, and the Admiralty is very satisfied.

I’ve enclosed some local specialties with the letter.

The tin box holds Orkney cheese. It’s lovely sliced thin and served with tea.

The paper parcel contains barley flatbread. The locals call it bannock.

It’s as hard as a paving stone, but it softens right up if you soak it in hot milk. You should give it a try.

The bottle of liquor is from the distillery up in the Highlands outside Kirkwall. They say it’s been open for over a century.

The locals say the liquor tastes of peat and sea breezes.

I can’t tell the difference myself, but the rest of the team insists it’s the good stuff.

Don’t drink too much, and please stop staying up late grading papers.”

At the very bottom of the letter was a line of small print, written far more messily than the rest of the text.

”P.S.: If it isn’t too much trouble, please request another Ether Accumulator as a spare for me.

My original one had some issues during the third dive.”

Isabella set the letter down. Without missing a beat, she pulled a spare parts requisition form for an Ether Accumulator from her drawer, filled it out, and signed it.

She wrote so quickly that her pen dragged a streak of ink from the final letter of her name.

”They all try so hard to keep me from worrying,” his aunt scoffed softly.

”If her Ether Accumulator malfunctioned on the seabed, how exactly did she get back up?”

”Did she swim up on her own, or was she hauled up? Not a single word of explanation.”

The door swung open and Sophia burst in, having just received the news. Her eyes immediately landed on the bottle of liquor on the desk.

”From Clara?”

”Yes.”

Sophia leaned closer and gave the parcel of barley flatbread a squeeze, crinkling her nose.

”This... is as hard as a rock.”

Isabella forwarded the rubbing and the telegram up through the Academy channels.

The reply arrived the very next day: ”The defense of Scapa Flow is under the jurisdiction of the Admiralty. The Academy System has no authority to intervene.”

Isabella slammed the reply down onto her desk with a dry laugh.

”If they can’t see it, it doesn’t exist.”

Isabella looked up at her nephew.

”You look terrible.”

Richard, much like his senior sister, kept the bad news to himself.

”I just didn’t sleep well last night. It’s nothing.”

His aunt frowned, but didn’t press the issue.

The only sound left in the office was the soft scratch of a fountain pen across paper.