I Loaded the Occult Panel

After school the next day, Richard returned to the office.

”Picking up where we left off yesterday,” Mr. Hutton said, pouring a little hot water into his cup.

”This final section, the ’Water Answer of the Blood Pact,’ should be the simplest part of the entire ritual.”

Richard sat down and flipped his notebook to a fresh page.

The opening of the Water Answer section was remarkably clear.

”The living sacrifice is a sheep.”

Richard deciphered the first few lines and lifted his pen.

”It must be a pure white ewe, born that very spring, and never mated.”

”On the day of the ceremony, the sheep is led into the mist, and the high priest performs the deed himself.”

”The blood is caught in a black clay bowl.””As the blood is drawn, an assistant priest holding a white clay bowl scoops water from a designated sacred spring near the ritual grounds.”

”The high priest uses a wooden spoon to stir the blood and water together.”

”The speed, direction, and rhythm of the stirring all matter.” Mr. Hutton drew a spiral on a piece of scratch paper.

Richard’s translation flowed more smoothly now.

”Seven circles clockwise, three counterclockwise, then one more clockwise.”

”Eleven circles in total?”

”In the Celtic numeral system, eleven signifies a ’turning point.’”

Mr. Hutton provided the context.

”When the stirring is finished, symbols will surface on the liquid in the bowl.”

Richard’s pen paused.

”Symbols?”

”The ’answer’ from the entity receiving the sacrifice.”

Mr. Hutton sketched another diagram on his paper.

”The nature of this answer determines the tribe’s fate for the entire coming year.”

”If the answer takes the shape of a favorable pattern, the tribe will enjoy good weather and abundant harvests;

if the answer forms an eerie pattern, the tribe must remain on guard against disasters;

and if there is no pattern at all, it means the entity has rejected their pact for the year.”

”What happens after a rejection?”

”The entire tribe must burn the sheep along with the oak tree, bury the ashes at the edge of the forest, and never dig them up.”

”Then, the following year, they would have to select a new oak, choose a new sheep, and perform the sacrifice all over again.”

”A tribe rejected for three consecutive years would be deemed ’unblessed,’ giving neighboring tribes the right to drive them out.”

Richard’s fingers felt cold as he finished copying this passage into his notebook.

He set down his pen and flipped back through his notes from the past few days.

”The Celts turned death into a language,” he murmured.

”Yes.”

”A structured language, one that the veil could ’understand.’”

Mr. Hutton looked up at him.

”You see it.”

”They traded death for efficiency, just as we trade terminology and mediums for efficiency.”

”Fundamentally, neither method is superior.”

”The only difference is that people today would consider their practices barbaric.”

”And as for what we do today,” Mr. Hutton said, putting down his own pen, ”people a few hundred years from now might find that barbaric as well.”

”All right, your task now is to organize everything you’ve gleaned over the last few days. You’ll use it later as supplementary material for your probatio text interpretation.”

The old gentleman sipped his tea, waiting patiently for him to finish.

Once he finished writing, Richard slid the manuscript across the desk.

Mr. Hutton took it and read it over.

”Satisfactory.”

Richard breathed a sigh of relief.

”As for this manuscript,” Mr. Hutton said, placing the papers back on the desk, ”keep it safe, but do not show it to anyone.”

”Can I show it to my aunt?”

”Showing Isabella is fine; she has read similar materials.”

”But keep it hidden from everyone else, including your classmates or even colleagues who also linger at the edge of the veil.”

”Is there some sort of danger?”

Richard knew that such materials shouldn’t be leaked, but he wasn’t entirely clear on the consequences.

Mr. Hutton drew a small circle on his scratch paper.

”This incantation was used by Celtic priests to summon the entity receiving the sacrifice.

We have only deciphered its structure, not its true name.”

”Without a true name, the structure alone cannot trigger a summoning.”

”However.” The old man drew a short dash next to the circle.

”If someone holding this manuscript accidentally stumbles upon that specific true name...”

Richard understood.

”The two would combine to form a complete summoning incantation.”

”True names cannot be spoken aloud, but they can be read inadvertently, or even re-spelled.”

Mr. Hutton sealed the manuscript inside an envelope.

”Therefore, from today onward, this manuscript must never be casually displayed.”

”It would be best to store your notebook separately as well.”

Richard placed the translated manuscript into a Salt-Sealed Wooden Box, set his notebook in after it, and closed the lid.

The old man watched him complete the process and nodded in satisfaction.

”Alright, that concludes our work for today.”

”Would you like some more tea?”

Mr. Hutton nodded.

Richard walked to the corner of the office and set the tin kettle on the gas stove.

While waiting for the water to boil, he glanced back at the desk.

Two Salt-Sealed Wooden Boxes sat on the desk, one containing a parchment scroll and the other a Bronze Fragment. They were separated by a full arm’s length.

Counting the one he had just put his notes in, there were three boxes in total on the desk—three independent, sealed spaces.

The progress bar for his [Learning] Lv.2 had quietly crept up to 92%.

The final 8% should fill up once he completed the practice materials his aunt had sent him.

This three-day stint of deciphering incantations had pushed his understanding of these rituals to new heights.

The water boiled, and he lifted the tin kettle.

Standing by, Mr. Hutton measured out the tea leaves and dropped them into the pot.

”When pouring the water, keep the stream close to the leaves so it stirs them up.”

Richard poured the water as instructed.

The tea leaves swirled in the pot.

”When the Celts brewed herbal tea,” Mr. Hutton said, watching the tumbling leaves, ”they did it just like this.”

”The flowing water stirs up the herbs, and only then will the herbs surrender their deepest flavors.”

”They use the verb ’surrender’ for everything,” Richard suddenly realized.

”Yes.” Mr. Hutton glanced at him.

”They believed that whether it was herbs, oak trees, or the entities receiving the sacrifice, all things had to ’surrender’ a part of themselves to complete a true exchange.”

”Nothing is gained without a price.”

Richard poured a cup for himself and another for Mr. Hutton.

”Sir, no one performs Celtic sacrifices anymore, do they?”

”No one does it publicly.” Mr. Hutton blew on the steam rising from his cup. ”As for whether anyone performs them in secret, no one can say for sure.”

”If someone were to do it secretly today, would it still be as efficient?”

Mr. Hutton answered without hesitation: ”It would be even higher.”

”Why is that?”

”Because in the ’forests’ of today, there is far more death.”

Richard’s hand paused as he lifted his cup.

”Cities are the forests of the industrial age.”

Mr. Hutton stared at the pool of tea in his cup.

Richard finished his tea and stood up to pack his things.

The old man remained seated, his gaze fixed on the three Salt-Sealed Wooden Boxes on the desk.

”Is there something else, sir?”

”Nothing.” Mr. Hutton looked up. ”Just sit for a while and watch these boxes.”

”Why?”

”Salt-Sealed Wooden Boxes need to be watched for at least fifteen minutes every day.”

”...Why?”

”To prevent the things inside from ’waking up’ on their own.”

Richard stiffened in alarm.

Seeing his expression, Mr. Hutton suddenly chuckled.

”I’m joking. The Salt-Sealed Wooden Boxes don’t need to be watched; they are perfectly stable on their own.”

”I just wanted to sit a while longer.”

By the time Richard walked out of the school gates, the sky had grown completely dark.

He planned to finish writing his essay today.

Charlotte had told him to write about something genuine.

He pushed open the gate to his courtyard.

The moment Evelyn heard the gate open, she poked her head out from the kitchen.

”Brother! Do you want to try my new cocoa macarons?”

”Cocoa macarons?”

”Yeah, I piped them using the silver nozzle Auntie sent. They couldn’t be any rounder.”

”How many did you make?”

”Twelve. It took me all afternoon to pipe them.”

”You spent all afternoon just to make twelve?”

”You have no idea how hard it is to pipe macarons,” Evelyn said, planting her hands on her hips. ”Plus, I smashed all the ones that didn’t come out round.”

”You smashed them?”

”Smashed them.”

”How many did you smash?”

”I’m not telling you.”

Richard chuckled.

He changed into his slippers and walked inside.

In the kitchen, his mother was chopping potatoes.

”Dinner will be ready soon.”

”Got it.”

”The materials from Isabella arrived.” His mother looked up from the potatoes. ”They’re on your desk.”

Richard was pleasantly surprised.

”They came today?”

”The postman dropped them off this afternoon. It’s a huge package.”

Richard hummed in acknowledgment and turned to head upstairs.

Evelyn chased after him. ”Brother, aren’t you going to try the macarons?”

”I’ll try them after dinner.”

”You promised! You definitely have to try them!”

”I will.”

In his room upstairs, a large package wrapped in kraft paper rested in the center of his desk.

The handwriting on the wrapping belonged to Isabella; Richard recognized her elegant fountain pen script.

He opened the package to find a thick stack of materials inside.

The top document was titled {Dual Overwrite Practice: Beginner Set 1}.

Beneath it lay a copy of Structure and Evolution of Ancient Gaelic Script: A Facsimile; two copies of annotated Medieval Church liturgical Latin texts; and a Comparative Chart of Late Alexandrian School Variant Extensions.

At the very bottom, pressed under a piece of stiff cardboard, was a separate thin booklet.

Richard moved the entire stack of materials to the center of his desk.

Evelyn’s voice drifted up from downstairs.

”Brother! It’s time for dinner!”