I Loaded the Occult Panel

Richard read for a while longer, then got ready to close his notebook.

Glancing over the final few lines of the translation, he realized he had missed a section.

When copying the original materials from the Imperial Capital University Library, he had transcribed the text paragraph by paragraph, strictly following the page order.

Pressed for time, he had struggled with paragraphs squeezed near the binding seam where the spine partially obscured the characters.

He had been forced to bend the spine open as wide as it would go, leaning in close to identify and copy the text into his notebook character by character.

This final snippet had been dug out from the deepest part of that seam.

Even while copying it, he hadn’t been sure if he was missing characters, so he had marked three doubtful spots in his notebook with parentheses.

Looking back at it now, he saw that two of the three spots could be restored through context.

The third was missing a declension ending, but it didn’t affect the overall meaning.

He copied this isolated cipher text onto a fresh sheet of paper and ran through the deciphering process again.The first restored line made him sit up straight.

”There is one more thing I did not mention in the main text, as it belongs to the closely guarded knowledge of the major traditions.”

The encryption method for this snippet was completely different from the earlier sections.

The previous paragraphs had used standard single-layer substitution paired with inverted word order—a textbook, entry-level cipher.

But the encryption level here spiked a full tier.

Whoever wrote this clearly did not want every reader who could decipher the main text to read this part.

The barrier for the main text was basic cipher knowledge and a reference table; this final section added another layer on top of that.

A filter placed within a filter.

Richard lowered his head again, resting the pencil tip against the paper as he restored the text word by word.

”The second Signature is not merely about tapping into a lineage.”

”When you carve your Signature into the core of a tradition, you establish a conduit between yourself and its founder.”

”The conduit is two-way.”

While copying the original materials, he had left a small question mark beside this exact spot.

Because the original text bore clear traces of alteration.

The handwriting was much messier than the surrounding text. The character spacing fluctuated, as if dashed off in a single breath after a long hesitation:

”To found a tradition is to plant a tree in the world behind the veil.”

”Every practitioner who connects to this tree becomes one of its branches.”

”The more branches there are, the stronger the tree grows, the deeper its roots plunge, and the more nutrients it draws from behind the veil.”

”The holder of the trunk enjoys the nutrients supplied by every branch, and also holds the power to prune any of them.”

”Most of the time, the holder will not exercise this power.

Allowing the branches to grow freely is most beneficial to the tree; frequent pruning only damages the roots.”

”But the power’s existence does not vanish simply because it goes unused.”

”It hangs over every single branch.”

Richard set his pencil down, flexed his aching fingers, and picked it back up to continue the restoration.

”You might say, I just need to choose a trustworthy tradition.

The Solar Tradition has a long history, the Moon Hunting Tradition is honorable, and the Hearth Fire Tradition is strictly regulated. Why would anyone abuse this power?”

”That is a reasonable thought, but a naive one, because you are handing the power of choice to someone else.”

”When the founder of a tradition dies or transforms, ownership of the core will change hands.”

”The person you trusted when you signed your second Signature and the person sitting at the core a century later might not be the same individual.”

”Even if it is the same person, a century is long enough to change many minds.”

”And once your Signature is carved, it can never be erased.”

The lamp’s wick flickered slightly, casting the notebook’s handwriting into claw-like shadows.

The house was completely silent, both upstairs and down. His parents and Evelyn were fast asleep.

He set the pencil down and prepared to close the notebook.

The pencil hit the desk and rolled a half-turn, stopping against the base of the Gargoyle.

He didn’t pick it up. His head felt too heavy.

It was said that anyone capable of cracking a cipher usually had the foundation to withstand its contents.

But withstanding it and withstanding it easily were two different things.

Tonight, he had digested the remaining contents of On Ascension Within the Veil in a single sitting.

The classification framework for the five major traditions, the specific requirements for advancing to the Minor Adept and Major Adept Ranks, the basic procedures for the two rituals, the existential nature of those above a Major Adept, and finally, that most critical warning...

His temples throbbed faster and a swollen pressure built in the back of his head, as if something were pushing outward from the inside.

The edges of his vision blurred slightly, the light bending and warping.

Richard immediately set the notebook aside, placed his hands flat on his knees, and closed his eyes.

He ran through three full cycles of his breathing method, continuing until his breathing settled back into its steady training rhythm.

The swollen pressure didn’t vanish completely, but it receded to a tolerable level.

He opened his eyes and looked down at the notebook and translated manuscript spread across the desk.

That was enough for today. He couldn’t touch any more materials.

He still had several untouched original texts brought back from the Imperial Capital University Library.

Those encrypted texts lay quietly in the back half of his notebook, waiting to be pried open bit by bit.

But picking locks required having the strength left in his wrists to do it.

He closed the notebook, folded the translation and locked it in his drawer, and returned the Gargoyle to the corner of the desk.

He switched off the desk lamp.

Richard took off his coat, hung it over the back of the chair, and lay down on his bed without immediately closing his eyes.

In the darkness, a sliver of light quivered faintly across the ceiling—likely the wind outside rattling a streetlamp casing.

His mind was too crowded. Fully digesting everything in a short time was impossible, so he decided to organize the information that directly affected him first.

First was advancing to Practitioner.

The conditions were clear: his Micro-circulation had to run stably for at least a year, he had to select a professional path and a supernatural item, and he had to complete a probatio.

Of those three, the first was a strict time limit. He couldn’t rush it; he still had over half a year left.

The second held no suspense for him.

For the third requirement—the probatio task—if he took the Scholar path, he would have to independently decipher a previously unbroken encrypted text.

He had already deciphered plenty of encrypted texts.

But those had come with reference tables, and the texts themselves had long been restored by others; it had merely been his first time doing it.

The ”previously unbroken” condition was a strict bottleneck.

It demanded an original breakthrough; he would have to crack a puzzle no one else had touched.

The encryption level of the texts in the Imperial Capital University Library wasn’t particularly high. They were clearly introductory materials translated by countless people before him. Submitting one for his probatio definitely wouldn’t qualify.

As for finding a proper target for his probatio, he would just have to ask Mr. Hutton when the time came, or else acquire an unknown text through more obscure channels.

But since he had a senior figure to ask, it was best not to recklessly seek out texts on his own.

In this world, reading the wrong book could literally get him killed.

Next was his choice among the five major traditions.

The Solar Tradition and the Golden Path shared the same origin, and his introductory breathing method was derived from that very system.

If he took the Scholar path within the Solar Tradition, his breathing method training and his academic research would naturally interface. There would be no compatibility issues.

The text noted that the second Signature didn’t need to be chosen until the Major Adept Rank.

He was still two full Ranks away from Major Adept—Practitioner and Minor Adept—with each requiring years or even decades of steady accumulation.

As for the author’s repeated warnings to halt at the Practitioner stage, he had never even considered it.

Richard rolled over and pulled the blanket up.

He wasn’t going to make a decision right now.

He was still several Ranks away from needing a second Signature for the Major Adept breakthrough. Agonizing over it now was a meaningless waste of energy.

But there was one line in that text he intended to carve into the deepest part of his mind, something to review every time he had to make a choice in the future:

”Once your Signature is carved, it can no longer be erased.”

Making an irreversible choice with insufficient information was just a gamble.

He would wait to sign his name until he had enough information, clear options, and sufficient strength.

Until then, he would just be a freely growing sapling.

Finally, there was the matter of what lay beyond Major Adept:

”Those above the line have already begun to deviate from the human sphere; they themselves begin to become a part of the ether.”

The phrase echoed in his mind repeatedly, growing heavier with every pass.

The candle metaphor was straightforward.

The brighter it burned, the faster the wax melted away.

At a certain point, the wax would burn away entirely, but the flame would remain. At that point, it was no longer a candle flame—it had become something else.

Just how far did he intend to go?

It was far too early to ask that question. In fact, even asking it felt like a luxury.

He didn’t even count as a veteran among Newcomers. His Micro-circulation had only taken shape two months ago, and he wasn’t even qualified to forge a Signature with a supernatural item.

The skill levels on his Panel were also still in their infancy.

He was at least a year away from Practitioner, years away from Minor Adept, and over a decade—if not longer—away from Major Adept.

Anything beyond that was not something he needed to think about right now.

The Latin word from the end of the text surfaced in his thoughts—Cave, beware.

Beware of what?

Beware of the corrosion brought on by power itself;

Beware of the accumulating cost during the ascent;

Beware of looking down one day and realizing there wasn’t enough wax left beneath your feet.

And beware of the eyes watching from deep within the veil.

The brighter the candle burned, the more eyes would see it.

Right now, his flame was so small it was negligible—and that was a good thing.

Small meant safe. Small meant he still had plenty of wax to burn.

As long as he made sure every ounce of wax was used in the right place, ensuring his flame grew steadily rather than flaring out of control, those distant eyes wouldn’t notice him for a while.

Another gust of wind blew past the window. The sliver of light on the ceiling wobbled, then stilled.

Briston’s night was so quiet that only the occasional howl of the wind remained.

Richard closed his eyes.

The rest he could only leave to time.