I Loaded the Occult Panel

On the third day of the Easter holiday, the rain finally stopped.

It was a rare spring day in Briston when the sun actually showed its face.

Richard had settled in his room early that morning.

Spread out in the center of his desk were the rubbings of the twelve sets of Boundary Stone inscriptions.

[Erudition] erected all twelve sets of inscriptions in his mind, rendering the depth of every chisel mark and every moss-eroded edge accurate to the millimeter.

But [Erudition] only laid out the materials.

It was [Reasoning] that could truly read something new from them.

Since [Reasoning] was ignited, its initial sensation—like a sidelight throwing every bump and hollow into relief—had slowly grown into a second set of eyes, a pair specifically meant for picking things apart.

Richard laid out the rough draft of an independent interpretation on his scratch paper.

He had already finished the first through sixth sets.His aunt called him about once a month to hear his progress, offering tiny hints when necessary.

But she never crossed the line: ”It’s your own probatio text. Every extra word I say snatches the pen from your hand.”

Richard spread the rubbings of the seventh through twelfth sets across the desk.

The seventh set was ”Covenant,” the eighth was ”Witness,” and the ninth was ”Banishment.” The tenth through twelfth formed a chain: ”Rest,” ”Wait,” and ”Return.”

At the very end of the twelfth set was that strange symbol—three arcs and three dots radiating from the same center.

According to traditional inscriptiology annotations, this symbol was the trigger structure for ”Return.”

Richard had already read about this in the materials his aunt sent, even before he used [Reasoning] to tear the set apart.

For any three-stage Boundary Stone Array of this type—”Banishment → Rest → Return”—the final set always left such a trigger.

It wasn’t much of a secret.

The sealed entity could not be destroyed, only banished.

According to the rules of duality, if you wrote down a banishment, you had to leave a theoretical door for its return on the other side.

The door was left there, but it was exceedingly difficult to open.

To activate the concentric circles of three arcs and three dots, several nearly impossible conditions had to be met simultaneously.

Richard stared at that line of annotation.

The veil was thinning.

Old weak points were coming loose one after another, and the wear on the seals accelerated with each passing year.

Mr. Hutton had drawn a diagram of the highland seal network that night in Whitcom, personally stating that in twenty or thirty years, there would be a multi-node chain-reaction decay.

In that case, the ”Banishment” inscription decaying below the threshold—a prospect that was ”almost impossible” a few centuries ago—

was it inch by inch becoming ”not so impossible” today and over the next two or three decades?

Their predecessors had written ”future generations need not worry” because, in their era, the veil was still thick. That door had been welded completely shut.

But those predecessors had not lived to see the day the veil thinned.

This was where he could make his argument.

Mr. Hutton had said it was perfectly normal for Scholars of different eras and different Ranks to read different things from the same set of inscriptions.

This was innovation. It was part of how tradition carried on.

Richard dipped his fountain pen in ink and wrote down his argument.

He thought of the Celtic ritual rule: ”A true name can only be written, never spoken aloud.”

Writing it in two directions formed a lock; speaking it aloud was a call.

Therefore, this ”Return” was itself a set of incantations waiting to be activated in the direction of a ”call.”

What if, during the annual reinforcement, they added a procedure that went in the opposite direction?

Not to dismantle it, nor to weld it shut.

Forcefully welding a door of this tier might instead provoke the entity inside into a desperate struggle.

Following the rules of duality, they could preemptively recite a reverse counter-text for this ”Return” set.

Consume that awaiting ”Return” ahead of time, solidifying it from an unresolved door into yet another ”Rest.”

Setting down his pen, Richard read the draft from beginning to end.

Wasn’t this exactly what the Signature probatio in the Scholar track required?

To stand in his own era and clearly fill in the blank that his predecessors had never had the chance to examine.

..................

On the fourth day of the Easter holiday, Mr. Hutton sent someone over to deliver a large envelope to Richard.

Sealed with the wax stamp of the Classical Society North District Office, it contained a sixteen-page application form for a summer seminar.

Richard spread the form out on his desk.

The application was long, and every page had its own detailed instructions.

The first page asked for basic information: Name, Date of Birth, Birthplace, School, Class, and Guardian.

Richard filled it out quickly.

Starting from the second page, things got a bit more demanding.

”Provide family background and internship experience in as much detail as possible.”

Richard stared at that line for a moment.

At this stage of the application, clinging to the Newcomer habit of keeping a ”low profile” would put him at a massive disadvantage.

He set his pen to the paper.

”Family Background:

(Williams family omitted)

Maternal Grandfather: Lord Gerard Ashford.

Aunt: Isabella Ashford, Associate Professor in the Department of Classics at Imperial Capital University.”

”Social Experience:

October, New Calendar 1912: Introduced by Mr. William Bigelow, disciple of Madam Marie Viktorova, to begin studying Spirit Vision and divination.

December, New Calendar 1912: Participated in the winter break internship at Whitcom Mill in the North.

Assisted Mrs. MacNeil in completing the sealing ritual for ’She Who Eats Shadows’.

February, New Calendar 1913: Participated in the spring seal reinforcement mission at the ’Unresponsive Pit’ in the Western Suburbs Mining Area of Briston.

Served as a Trainee Inspector observing the team, and subsequently assisted Professor Mortimer (Tenured Professor at Imperial Capital University) in completing the recasting of the core area’s seal.”

”Writing Experience:

September, New Calendar 1912: Second Place in the Cicero Cup (Awarding Body: Classical Society).

February, New Calendar 1913: Northern Literary Review, Issue 76, ’Young Pens’ column, essay ’An Ordinary Winter Day’.”

Here, Richard stopped his pen and leaned back in his chair.

He had filled out more than half of the sixteen-page form.

Family, academic, social, writing... listed section by section. Behind every single line stood someone.

His grandfather, his aunt, Mr. Hutton, Mrs. MacNeil, Madam Marie, Professor Mortimer... this stack of names laid out on his desk carried a heavy weight.

Just over half a year ago, he was still a sickly kid at the bottom of his class.

Now, filling out a summer seminar application, he had something for every single section.

And precisely because it was so full, he suddenly thought of Lillian, far away.

She had the foundation. In terms of Inspiration and basic academic ability, Mr. Hutton had once said she was no worse than Richard.

But if she were to spread out this exact same sixteen-page form...

What would she write in the ”Family Background” section?

What would she write in the ”Social Experience” section?

It would only be blank after blank.

She probably couldn’t find a single name to speak for her on this form. At most, she could put down Mr. Hutton.

Just as he was about to finish the application, Richard heard his mother calling him from downstairs.

”Richard!”

”What is it, Mom?”

”Come downstairs. Come take a look in the yard.”

Richard set down his fountain pen.

His mother wasn’t one to be deliberately mystifying. If she asked him to come look, it was likely something inconvenient to state plainly.

Richard walked to the window and looked down.

Outside the yard gate, near the base of the neighbor’s wooden fence, a light brown fawn was pacing in circles.

Its coat was clean, its antlers very short, and a blade of sparrow-pecked grass hung from its mouth.

It walked in circles up and down this short alleyway.

It would finish a lap, stop, and snort.

Then it would resume walking in circles.

Richard immediately realized what was happening.

The fawn’s silhouette grew a bit clearer in his Spirit Vision.

The ”feedback thread” connecting its neck to Hecate’s end was pulled taut.

Taut meant: the messenger had arrived within the target range but failed to locate the target.

Richard raised a hand to his chest.

A leather cord held two items—two layers of disguise that had been hanging over his chest all along.

Layered together, they concealed him so thoroughly that even a Spirit Realm Messenger couldn’t find him.

This fawn had probably been wandering around Slag Alley for who knew how long.

Following Hecate’s ”target range,” it had tracked him all the way to Slag Alley.

But it just couldn’t find the ”target,” leaving it to pace around the general vicinity in circles.

Richard hurried downstairs and walked over to that corner of the yard.

The fawn stopped in its tracks, clearly exasperated.

Its large, clear eyes locked onto him.

They held grievance, impatience, and a touch of resentment that clearly said, ’Where the fuck did you run off to?’

Richard silently apologized, bent down, and was just about to reach out...

The fawn lowered its head and drove its antlers straight into him.

The force wasn’t heavy, but it wasn’t light either.

Richard was knocked onto his backside, landing on a damp patch of grass in the yard.

The fawn gave a huff, shook out a folded letter, and bounded over the yard wall without looking back.

Its silhouette quickly dissolved into mist, returning to the Spirit Realm.

Richard sat there on the damp patch of grass.

His mother, Margaret, stood by the living room door, glancing over at him.

She didn’t say anything, merely suppressing a smile.

Evelyn poked her head out from the house.

”Brother, why are you sitting on the ground?”

”...I slipped.”

Richard picked up the folded letter.

He brushed at the damp patch on his trousers and returned to his room to unfold it.

Hecate’s handwriting was more hurried than last time.

”To Hermes...”

”The gathering will convene again on the night of April 12th. Please attend on time.”

”P.S.: A newcomer will be joining us this time.”

”We will discuss the specifics upon arrival.”