I Loaded the Occult Panel

Returning to his room, Richard began his nightly routine of practicing his breathing method and nurturing his supernatural item.

The temperature of the lamp’s body spiked from lukewarm to scorching, then dropped back to a critical point somewhere between scalding and tolerable.

A wisp of pure ether automatically separated from his Spiritual Capacity; mixed ether flowed through his fingertips, and the lamp responded.

He was as practiced at this as tying his shoelaces.

Because it was second nature, his mind was free tonight to wander to other matters.

He thought about the failed transaction at his first gathering.

Ares’s 3rd Circle Enchanted Bullets.

Logically, everyone present could have used enchanted bullets of that caliber.

The enchanted bullets didn’t rely on the shooter’s ether. They took effect upon impact, allowing even a Newcomer to fight spiritual targets far beyond their own rank.

Yet, in the end, Ares had packed those six rounds back into his Iron Box.Richard had kept the matter in mind at the time without puzzling over it on the spot.

Now, during the downtime of nurturing his supernatural item, he mulled it over.

Ares hadn’t traded away his enchanted bullets, and not just because the others didn’t have what he wanted.

When Dionysus had unfurled the parchment detailing the perception-shielding Spell Formula, Prometheus had kept his eyes glued to it.

But he hadn’t said a word. He didn’t ask about its effects, its side effects, or its casting limitations.

At the time, Richard hadn’t understood why Prometheus didn’t ask more about the Spell Formula’s details.

Now, he understood.

Prometheus had no way to verify it.

Dionysus claimed the parchment contained a complete Spell Formula that a Practitioner could cast independently, granting six hours of evasion against long-range perception locks.

The truth of those words, the side effects of the spell, whether there were any hidden backdoors in the casting process—none of this could be confirmed on the spot.

Taking a Spell Formula manuscript home... what if Dionysus had hidden a backdoor inside it?

Prometheus was never going to gamble his safety on an unverifiable Spell Formula.

The same applied to Ares’s enchanted bullets.

Were the inscription rings on the warheads truly 3rd Circle?

Was the outermost ring actually meant for ’anchoring,’ or something else entirely?

These details couldn’t be judged with the naked eye, and no one at the round table was qualified to appraise them.

Hecate could use Spirit Realm Messengers to deliver items between members.

She could handle deliveries, which meant she could also handle appraisals.

Yet the other three remained guarded. Partly out of mistrust, but also likely out of fear that Hecate’s ”discretionary” fees would be too steep.

Having turned the matter over in his mind, Richard pulled his right hand away from the lamp.

The lamp’s scorching temperature slowly subsided.

[Spiritual Capacity] 9/10.

He took his notebook from the drawer and flipped to the ’Middle Tier’ column.

He wrote down the word: Handler.

He glanced down at his Panel.

The Panel could directly confirm whether an object was a supernatural item.

When an ordinary Practitioner appraised a supernatural item, they had to rely on Spirit Vision, cross-reference inscription diagrams, and verify historical origins... A mistake could happen at any of those steps.

But every time he handled a supernatural item, he gained points from it.

Perhaps his career as an intermediary appraiser could set sail right here at the Theogony Salon.

The prerequisites for an intermediary appraisal business were accurate identification, zero damage to the commissioned items, and client trust.

Many supernatural items bore outer seals that could not be opened during the appraisal process.

Once opened, the contents might be damaged, dissipate entirely, or catch innocent bystanders in the crossfire—the memory of that night in Nail Alley was still fresh in his mind.

A qualified appraiser needed to read the seal’s structure, estimate its integrity, and judge the general density and nature of the ether inside the supernatural item—all without breaking the seal.

This required a high enough precision in Spirit Vision to ’see’ what lay beneath the seal.

As for trust, that could only be accumulated slowly through time and successful cases.

There were no shortcuts; he simply had to pile up a track record.

He could distinguish the real from the fake at a glance, but that wasn’t enough.

He also needed to clearly see what was inside the seal and whether the supernatural item itself harbored any trigger traps.

Only with adequate Spirit Vision could he clearly see a sealed object.

Divination could verify if an item had trigger traps before he even handled it, but his current basic divination likely wasn’t up to the task.

He had already grasped the basics of wax reading.

But after wax reading came stone reading, and beyond that lay even more advanced divination methods. Even Old Biggs admitted he hadn’t learned them all.

Now that [Perception] was illuminated, his rate of progress in this area would be much faster. He just needed to find a higher-level teacher.

Richard added a note beneath the ’Divination’ line: Stone reading and above, mandatory.

...

Early Saturday morning, Evelyn didn’t come downstairs.

While his mother was in the kitchen frying eggs, Richard walked in and started helping out.

”Mom, Evelyn almost cried last night,” he said.

”I know.” Margaret scooped a fried egg onto a plate. Her movements were crisp, and the yolk didn’t break.

”She doesn’t want to go to prep school.”

His mother rested the spatula on the edge of the stove and wiped her hands on her apron.

”Your father’s way of thinking makes sense. It really is hard for someone without a diploma.”

Margaret flipped a piece of toast.

”He walked that path himself, so he believes in it. You can’t say he’s wrong.”

”I’m not saying he’s wrong.” Richard arranged the plates on the tray one by one. ”I’m saying Evelyn isn’t suited for that path.”

”Whether she’s suited for it is one thing. Whether your father is willing to accept that is another.”

Margaret transferred the sliced bread to the plates, scooped a small dollop of butter from a jar, and set it next to the toast.

Four portions of breakfast were lined up neatly on the tray.

She carried the first portion out and set it on the dining table at Rogers’s spot.

Then she returned to the kitchen, preparing to hand the remaining plates to Richard.

Before passing him a plate, his mother’s fingers lingered on the rim for a moment.

”Once you’ve settled down, will you be able to look out for your sister?”

The question was incredibly direct.

Richard took the plate without a hint of hesitation. ”Of course.”

Margaret nodded in satisfaction.

The kettle on the stove began to steam, its lid rattling softly under the pressure.

”If it really comes down to it, I’ll write a letter to my father,” she said.

Over the whistling hiss of the steam, his mother spoke casually.

”Your grandfather actually helped arrange futures for all the relatives in the Ashford House who completely lacked circuits. Evelyn is his granddaughter. He couldn’t just ignore her.”

Richard placed the plate on the tray and frowned.

”Mom, let’s not go down that road unless we absolutely have to.”

”We’ll see when the time comes.” Margaret poured two cups of tea.

She pushed one toward Richard and kept one for herself.

”Let your father cool off for a few days first. These things can’t be rushed. He needs time.”

”But what about Evelyn missing breakfast?”

”Leave her be.” Margaret set the teapot down.

”With her temper, she’ll behave once she goes hungry for a bit. After you and Rogers leave, she’ll definitely sneak down here to find something to eat.”

Thinking of that scene, Richard almost laughed out loud.

His sister might throw a tantrum, but her stomach never took the same side as her pride.

”I’ll keep her portion warm under a pot lid for when she comes to get it.”

Margaret turned the stove down to a simmer.

While the two of them were talking, Rogers had already wolfed down his breakfast in the dining room.

He grabbed his coat and briefcase, called out a goodbye to his wife and son, and hurried out the door.

At 9:30 AM, the Dawn Family carriage pulled up to the Williams house right on time.

Richard climbed aboard, carrying a satchel that was bulging even more than last week.

Aside from textbooks and notebooks, he had brought an extra item today.

Upon arriving at the Dawn Mansion, a maid led him into the small parlor.

Tom was already waiting at the table.

Charlotte walked in, carrying a teapot.

She set the teapot on a side table, her eyes falling on the roll of kraft paper tucked under Richard’s arm.

”Another new teaching aid today?”

”You could say that.”

Richard untied the string securing the kraft paper and unrolled it across the table.

The sheet was about a yard square, its edges neatly ironed flat.

Evelyn had ironed it for him in passing while pressing his shirts.

Drawn on the kraft paper was a map.

It featured crooked coastlines, several small islands, a few crudely sketched sailboats, and an expanse of ocean represented by wavy lines.

Various symbols decorated the islands—coconut trees, treasure chests, skull-and-crossbones flags, and caves—with a Latin word labeled next to each.

Tom’s eyes instantly lit up.

”Is this...”

”A pirate map.”

Richard pinned the four corners of the map down with plates from the table.

”Today, we’re learning the second declension.”

”Servus, slave; dominus, master; puer, boy...”

Tom rattled off a few words flawlessly. These were the ones Richard had assigned for preview last week.

”Right.”

”But today, we aren’t going to just memorize word endings.”

Richard pulled a sharply pointed pencil from his satchel and handed it to Tom.

”There are eight islands on this map, and a different treasure is hidden on each one.”

Tom gripped the pencil tightly.

”The treasures take different forms. There are gold coins, wine barrels, slaves, boys, masters, books, battlefields, and gifts.”

”The treasures are all labeled with Latin words, but the pirates hid the treasure on each island in a different way.”

”All right. Let your adventure begin.”

Learning through play made the time fly by.

By the time Richard rolled the map back up, Tom felt for the very first time that a lesson had ended much too soon.

”Will there be pirates next week too?” Tom asked.

”...I’m fresh out of pirates.”

”Then will there be something else?”

Richard thought for a moment. ”A factory, then.”

Tom blinked. ”A factory?”

”Yes, a factory.”

Richard tucked the map away in his satchel.

”I’ll be turning screws at the first station, you’ll be painting at the second, and someone else will be installing gears at the third... The action at every station is part of the same process; the only difference is the person in charge.”

”The verb root is the manufacturing process, and the suffix is the station number.”

Tom crunched on a cookie, his eyes bright with excitement.

”Then I want to see the factory drawing next week!”

”I’ll draw it.”

Lunch, as usual, was prepared by the Dawn Family’s cook.

Today’s main course was roast chicken legs with potatoes, accompanied by a small side dish of shredded carrots in vinaigrette.

Since Richard’s [eating] attribute had leveled up, he extracted every last drop of nutrition from every bite.

After the meal, Charlotte walked him to the door.

As they reached the edge of the steps, she pulled a small envelope from her apron pocket.

”Here is your teaching fee for the week.”

”Thank you.”

”Also, Mother asked me to give you this.”

She produced a second envelope.

Richard took it and weighed it in his hand. It was much heavier than the first one.

”This is?”

”Tom took a Latin test this Wednesday. He placed seventh in his class.”

Charlotte was visibly delighted as she said this.

”Last term, he ranked fifth from the bottom.”

”...That’s quite a leap in progress.”

”It’s more than just a little leap.” Charlotte smiled.

”When Mother received the notice from the school yesterday, she nearly dropped her teacup.”

”She called my father that very night, and he said we had to give you a bonus.”

Richard opened the envelope.

Inside were two brand new sovereign gold coins—which amounted to two pounds.

”Please thank Mr. Dawn for me.”

Charlotte watched him walk toward the carriage, then called out to stop him.

”Mr. Williams, will you have time to continue his tutoring over the Christmas holidays?”

Richard blinked, having almost completely forgotten about it.

He really couldn’t take on any lessons during the Christmas break. Mr. Hutton had arranged a winter internship for him.

”As for the Christmas holidays, I might need to take a trip out of town,” he said, keeping the details vague.

”My teacher has assigned me a study task that will probably require me to travel around a few northern cities.”

”For about how long?”

”At least a week.”

Charlotte’s expression remained unchanged. ”Then we’ll resume when the next term starts.”

”All right.” Richard began to assign homework.

”Have him do one translation exercise every evening during the break. The difficulty isn’t high; he can finish it within half an hour.”

”Also, have Tom draw a map of his own and sketch out the vocabulary he learned this term according to a setting. Pirates, a factory, a temple, a market—he can choose whatever he likes.”

”As long as he finishes those two assignments, he won’t forget what he’s learned this term by the time school reopens.”

Charlotte took the paper. ”Mother will definitely keep a close eye on him to make sure he does.”

”Don’t watch him too closely.”

Richard had fully settled into his role as a teacher. ”A holiday is a holiday. It doesn’t matter if he misses a day or two.”

Charlotte tucked the homework list away. ”We’ll set a time during the first week of the new term.”

”Understood. There are still lessons tomorrow morning and next week, so I’ll see you then.”