I Loaded the Mysticism Panel

After clearing the dishes and heading upstairs, Richard closed his bedroom door.

He carefully took the Oil Lamp out of his schoolbag and placed it on his desk.

Once he unwrapped the oil paper, the bronze face of the Sphinx gleamed with a dark green patina under the light of his desk lamp.

The dark patina on its wings was thicker than he remembered, likely from sitting in the shop for over a month.

He turned it over to its base. The Seal—a circle enclosing a triangle—was still there.

The curves of the short lines extending from the triangle’s three sides perfectly matched the sample he had recorded in the Imperial University Library.

It was the standard ”safety valve” structure of a Priest’s Inscription from the middle reaches of the Black Earth River.

Whatever was inside the Oil Lamp was suppressed by the Seal. The only way forward was to find a way to break it.

But he wasn’t in a rush today.

Several consecutive nights of high-intensity decryption had overloaded his brain.

The information density in the document, *On the Ascent in the Veil*, was immense. After digesting it all, he felt like a wrung-out towel.

He needed to rest.

.........

On Sunday morning, Richard had the rare luxury of sleeping in.

He could hear Evelyn and their Mother talking downstairs, their voices mixed with the clatter of a frying pan and dishes.

His Breathing Skill progressed through daily practice, and Scholarship through reading and decryption. He had just activated Eating and Sleep, so their experience accumulation was still in the early stages.

With the three ”Body” Skills active simultaneously, his physical condition was indeed improving at a visible rate.

Evelyn had been complaining about his ridiculous appetite lately. The hash browns yesterday afternoon had actually been an extra snack she’d made just for him.

Richard lingered in bed for another five minutes, running through his plans for the day.

’My brain needs a rest. I have to put a pause on deciphering the code.’

The free time was perfect for taking care of another important matter.

His aunt, Isabella, had mentioned the Classical Society’s recommendation list back in the Imperial Capital.

Those on the list were eligible to be hired as tutors by wealthy families in the Imperial Capital, earning an hourly fee equivalent to a common laborer’s daily wage.

Mr. Holland had said the same thing even before that.

’But no matter how good the tutoring market is in the Imperial Capital, I’m here in Brighton. I can’t just take the train to the Imperial Capital for lessons every week.’

Fortunately, the recommendation list covered the entire country. And while Brighton was a northern industrial city, it wasn’t without its own share of wealthy families.

Warren’s father was the vice-chairman of the North District Coal Mine Union, and the Grey family owned factories as well.

The children of these families attended Greenwood because it was already considered the best school in Brighton. The only step up from there was a boarding school in the Imperial Capital.

But not all wealthy families sent their children to the Imperial Capital. Some preferred to keep their children close and hire private tutors for supplementary lessons.

Richard got dressed and went downstairs.

Evelyn pushed a plate of fried eggs and toast in front of him. ”What are you up to today?”

”Looking for a job.”

”What kind of job?”

”Tutoring.”

Evelyn set down her teacup.

”Teaching what?”

”Latin, the classics... depends on what they need.”

Evelyn gave him a once-over, her eyes scanning him from head to toe.

”That shirt won’t do.”

”What’s wrong with it?”

”The collar is frayed, and the color has faded to a dingy gray.

If you show up at a rich family’s house wearing that, they’ll think you’re there to apply for a handyman job.”

”I’m just going to talk with them, not attend a ball.”

”First impressions are important.” Evelyn stood up, running upstairs without even taking off her apron.

Two minutes later, she returned with a shirt. It was white with fine blue stripes, a crisp collar, and a subtle pattern embroidered on the cuffs.

”This is Dad’s. He’s barely worn it.”

”Dad’s will be too big for me.”

”I already altered it. I used your old shirt as a guide—took in the shoulders by half an inch and shortened the cuffs.”

Richard took the shirt and unfolded it for a look.

The stitching was fine and even. She had added two subtle darts at the waist, tailoring the wide cut for a snugger fit.

’She didn’t just start preparing this yesterday.’

”...Alright. Thanks.”

”And a tie.” His sister produced a dark gray tie.

Richard took the shirt and tie upstairs, changed, and adjusted his appearance in the wardrobe mirror.

The shirt was a good fit, the tie looked respectable, and combined with the improved complexion from his Breathing Technique, he could easily pass for a university student.

When he came downstairs, Evelyn was waiting at the foot of the stairs. She looked him up and down. ”Passable.”

”Would it kill you to pay me a compliment?”

”Just go, already.” His sister waved a dismissive hand.

.........

The Classical Society had liaison offices in every major city.

Brighton’s office was on the third floor of an old building downtown. A brass plaque on the door read: ”Classical Society North District Office.”

Richard pushed the door open and stepped inside. The space was smaller than he’d expected.

There were two desks, a row of filing cabinets, an old-fashioned typewriter, and a half-dead fern on the windowsill.

A man in his forties sat behind one of the desks. His hair was neatly combed, and the pince-nez perched on the bridge of his nose looked like it was about to fall off.

”Hello, I’m Richard Williams. I’m registered on the Classical Society’s recommendation list.”

The man looked up, adjusting his glasses. ”List number?”

Richard recited a string of numbers.

The man opened a register on the desk, his finger tracing down the densely packed list of names.

”Williams... Williams... Here we are.”

He drew a checkmark beside the name with his pencil. ”Second place in the Cicero Cup, Greenwood Middle School, correct?”

”That’s right.”

”The current registered tutoring needs in the North District are...” He flipped through a few pages. ”There are three openings.”

He turned the register around for Richard to see.

The three requests were from three different families.

The first was from the family of a retired military officer in the West Suburb of Brighton, who needed a tutor for their twelve-year-old son in Latin and Ancient Greek.

The notes section read: *Prefers a tutor with a military academy background.*

The second was from the family of a textile mill owner. They needed to prepare their fourteen-year-old daughter for an entrance exam, with subjects including Latin, history, and geography.

The notes section was blank.

The third listing caught Richard’s eye.

Client Name: Lady Edmund Dawn.

Student: Tom Dawn, age twelve.

Subjects: Latin, Classics.

The notes section had a two-line entry:

”Has already gone through three tutors. The student is not very cooperative. Applicants are asked to be patient.”

Richard stared at the phrase, ”Has already gone through three tutors.”

’Three tutors have already been dismissed. That means either the parents have very high standards for teaching quality, the child is extremely difficult to handle, or both.’

But something else caught his interest.

The address in the notes was Helfier Road—the most expensive street in the North District.

Coal barons, shipping magnates, partners in banks... those were the kinds of people who lived on Helfier Road.

”For the Dawn family’s listing, what’s the hourly pay?”

The clerk checked the notes. ”Two shillings an hour.”

’Two shillings an hour.’

’Mr. Holland wasn’t exaggerating when he said an hour’s tutoring fee was equal to a common laborer’s daily wage.’

’A common laborer’s daily pay was about the same. One hour of tutoring was worth a full day of digging coal in the mines.’

If he taught for an hour on each of the two weekend days, a month’s work would come out to a little more than one and a half pounds.

That was fifty percent more than the one pound he had estimated.

”I can give this one a try.”

”Alright.” The clerk made a few notes in the register.

”I’ll send a letter to the Dawn family with your information attached.

If they agree to an interview, we will notify you of the time and place.”

He took a form from a drawer and pushed it across the desk.

”Fill this out with your personal information. You’ll need to include your school transcripts and the award letter from the Cicero Cup.”

Richard took the letters of recommendation from Mr. Holland and the school out of his bag, placing them on the desk along with the award certificate from the Classical Society.