I Loaded the Occult Panel

”A core?”

”Every tradition has a core.”

Isabella picked up her red pen and drew a circle on the desk.

”You can think of it as a crown.”

She added a few radiating lines above the circle.

”The crown isn’t a physical object. It’s closer to an authority, a qualification acknowledged by the veil itself.”

”Whoever wears this crown is the master of that tradition. The power of everyone within the tradition ultimately converges toward the crown.”

”Major traditions like the Solar Tradition and Ignis each have their own crowns. Whoever holds the crown has the authority to dictate where that path leads.”

Her finger tapped the center of the circle.

”You read about the ranks above Virtuoso within a tradition in On Ascension Within the Veil. Master, Archon—these existences that have already deviated from the human realm can only reach that step on the condition that the crown has acknowledged them.””To use a somewhat imprecise analogy.” Isabella paused to consider her wording.

”The crown is the river’s source, and all practitioners are drawing water downstream. The higher the Rank, the closer their drawing point is to the source. The crown is that source. If the source dries up, the entire river stops flowing.”

Richard nodded.

”As for the second kind of extinction.” Isabella steered the conversation back to the main topic.

”Most stem from within the tradition, from fighting over the crown.”

”The records regarding the Tradition of Change are the most ambiguous of any extinct tradition I’ve ever seen.”

”Every surviving fragment from different sources contradicts the rest, and the timelines don’t match up.”

”The only thing without contradiction is the ending: the crown shattered.”

She drew a crack right down the middle of the circle on the desk.

”There are extremely few records about the founder of the Tradition of Change. Not even their gender is conclusively known.”

”The only certainty is that they disappeared shortly after establishing the tradition.”

”As for the reason behind the disappearance, some fragments claim it was a voluntary retirement. Others say they were taken by something deep within the veil. And one fragment used a very peculiar word.”

”What word?”

”Dissolved.”

Isabella glanced at him.

”It was as if the founder and the path they built had melted into one.”

She didn’t linger on this topic for long.

”Once the founder was gone, the crown split. Beneath it were Virtuosos representing three different directions.”

Isabella leaned back in her chair.

”Someone said that a third of the authority was already enough to accomplish a great many things.”

”Another said, then why not try to obtain two-thirds?”

”The descriptions of this struggle in the surviving fragments vary in length, and the details completely contradict each other. But there is one passage that appears in three separate fragments, practically word for word.”

Isabella shifted into a storytelling tone.

Indeed, to the two of them, this matter was little more than a story.

”The Reflector mirrored the Substitute’s face, yet could not reflect the path they were to walk; the Substitute wore the Observer’s shell, yet could not withstand the Observer’s gaze; the Observer saw everything clearly from the highest peak, yet forgot that beneath their own feet lay a cliff.”

”The three of them each took a corner. The complete crown did not fall into anyone’s hands.”

The office remained quiet for a long time.

Isabella drew several branching lines outward from each of the three small circles.

”The branch that emphasized reflection developed into the Mirror Tradition.”

”The branch that emphasized observation forged the Star Map tradition.”

”As for the branch that emphasized substitution...”

Her pen paused beside the third small circle.

”It was walked by the fewest people and remained the most hidden. The direction of substitution carried inherent controversy. Using one thing to replace another—was it ultimately a means or an end? And after the replacement, where did the replaced thing go?”

”While the Tradition of Change was still whole, these questions were suppressed by the highest one. Once it splintered, the people below all spoke with their own voices.”

”A few lineages of this branch scattered to the East, a few sank into the deeper parts of the veil, and a few had their legacies severed entirely.”

”As of today, whether there are practitioners walking the path of substitution within the Empire... I wouldn’t dare guarantee either way. But I have never seen a single one show their face publicly.”

Richard thought of the sacred ibis on the scepter deep inside the museum’s Storeroom, as well as the Virtuoso whose three-part honorific included ”the one who once illuminated the names of all things with a single mirror.”

Mirror and Substitute. That Virtuoso had straddled two directions.

Richard pushed these thoughts to the very bottom of his mind, revealing nothing on his face.

”Aunt.” He changed his angle of approach.

”What if someone were to gather all the fragments of the three directions together?”

Isabella looked at him, her gaze far more serious than before.

”You’re asking a very dangerous question.”

”I’m just curious.”

”Then I’ll treat it as mere curiosity.” Isabella twisted the cap back onto her red pen.

”Theoretically speaking, if a person held the fragments of the three directions and possessed the ability to piece them back together...”

”They would have the qualification to reforge that shattered crown and become the new Master of the Tradition of Change.”

”But think about it.” Isabella’s voice turned cold.

”Three Virtuosos fought each other for a third of the crown. Their disciples scattered into three traditions, ignoring one another for all these years.”

Her finger tapped against the desk.

”Assembling the crown is a zero-sum struggle. If you take it, others must place their lives in your hands.”

”Has anyone tried in the past few centuries?” Richard asked.

”They have.” Isabella nodded.

”Someone from the Star Map tradition managed to piece two fragments together. The texts say they reached that threshold and almost stepped across it.”

”And then?”

”And then they pushed the door open, only to find someone sitting behind it.”

Isabella’s voice was very soft.

”That person reflected a face identical to theirs.”

A chill ran down Richard’s spine.

”Substitute.”

”Exactly.” Isabella closed the folder.

”Though the lineage that walked the path of substitution was the smallest, every single one who survived is the hardest to deal with. You might think their legacy was severed, but how do you know they aren’t wearing someone else’s shell, sitting in a chair you assume to be perfectly safe?”

Richard ran this information through his mind.

He held Shadow Inversion in his hands, its property labeled ”Tradition of Change (Fragment).” He was already standing on that chessboard.

In the future, he would either have to obediently hand the fragment over and gamble on the other party’s mercy, or fight for it himself.

Setting aside whether he could even extract it from his panel, obediently handing it over simply wasn’t in his nature.

But then again, his current self couldn’t even reach the edge of the board.

His aunt stuffed the gathered materials back into the envelope and handed it to Richard.

”Alright, the story is over. Take the materials back and think it over.”

”Okay.”

”Tide-Shifting Breathing is sufficient for now. You don’t need to rush into a decision.”

Isabella stood up from behind the desk and walked to the window to water the dying pot of mint.

”But don’t drag it out too long, either. The earlier you choose, the smoother your later advancement to Minor Adept will be.”

Richard put the materials away.

”Aunt, which one do you think would be better to choose?”

Isabella didn’t pause the watering can.

”Are you asking for my personal opinion, or are we just going through the motions?”

”Personal opinion.”

”The Solar Tradition is the safest bet. If you choose the Sun, everyone will nod and say, ’Of course.’”

”While I can teach the Classical Records Tradition, those who come out of it aren’t popular during wartime.”

She returned to the desk and sat down in her chair.

”As for the Mirror Tradition, I can’t help you. The path is narrow, the people are few, and the materials are scarce. You’d have to rely on yourself.”

”But...”

She picked up her red pen, twirled it in her hand twice, and set it back down.

”If you choose the Mirror, I won’t stop you.”

”The Scholar’s path, at its root, is about seeing things that others haven’t seen.”

”Those in the Solar Tradition read the same books, memorize the same set of standards, and write papers that even look identical in formatting.”

”What the Mirror Tradition sees, no second person can replicate. Because that mirror grows within you, and the image each person reflects is entirely different.”

She reached out and plucked a toffee from the candy jar, hesitated for a moment, and put it back.

”Take your time and think it over.”

Richard remembered the other matter he had brought along for this trip, pulling the Frost Branch and the pods out of his canvas bag.

”Right, I also need to trouble you to help me contact an alchemist.”

”I need a long wooden box made, about the length of a forearm. It’s for sealing sensitive items on the ether level.”

His aunt picked up the segment of the Frost Branch and examined it.

”To think it’s a natural Quiet Domain plant. Where did you get this?”

”A friend helped grow it.”

Isabella didn’t press the issue, placing the Frost Branch back on the desk.

”I can help you contact one, but during wartime, the alchemists’ schedules are booked all the way into next year.”

”Simple processing will do. It doesn’t need enchantments or inscriptions; just shaving the bark to line the inside of the box is enough.”

”Then it will be fast.” Isabella dashed off a few lines on a notepad.

”I’ll call and ask tomorrow. Your request is simple enough that it should fit into the schedule. A week at most.”

”Thank you, Aunt.”

”Hurry up and go, don’t delay me from writing these exam questions.”

Richard pushed open the door to Room 314 and stepped out into the corridor.

As the door clicked shut behind him, the rustling sound of a candy wrapper being torn open drifted from inside. His aunt hadn’t been able to resist after all.

As he left, his pace was much slower than when he had arrived.

Solar, Classical Records, Mirror. Three paths lay before him.

The Solar path ranked last in his heart. The one his aunt could guide him on sounded the safest, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that it lacked something. As for the remaining path, the most unfamiliar yet the one that could take him the farthest—his mind was still hesitating, but his feet had already begun to lean in that direction.

Richard pushed a certain thought down. It was too early to think about this now—absurdly early.

He hadn’t even touched the threshold of Minor Adept yet, so why was he thinking about restoring a tradition’s core?

The stories his aunt had told still echoed in his ears. For centuries, there hadn’t been a single winner.

Making up his mind, he prepared to head back and thoroughly study the breathing method outline for the Mirror Tradition first.

”Richard!”

Montagu walked up from behind him.

”The cafeteria has roast beef today. If you don’t go now, it’ll all be snatched up.”

Richard smiled. After a busy afternoon, he was indeed already hungry.

”Then let’s hurry.”

The two of them walked briskly side by side toward the cafeteria, and gradually, their brisk walk turned into a light jog.

Recently, there was one more notice plastered on the wall compared to last month:

”With Christmas approaching, after much effort by the cafeteria, there is a special batch of beef available this week. Quantities are limited and will be served on a first-come, first-served basis. We hope you gentlemen will cherish it.”

The words were written with great force, the trailing letters dragged out long. The person who wrote it was probably a bit excited themselves.

The cafeteria was already more than half full.

Fischer was holding his food tray, shoveling beef into his mouth.

Seeing Richard and Montagu walk in, he raised his fork and waved it at them, shouting something muffled around his food.

It roughly meant something like ”Hurry over.” Crumbs of beef flew from the corners of his mouth.

Edith sat in a corner seat, having already finished her beef. A bowl of soup and half a slice of bread sat before her.

She was reading that botanical encyclopedia. Her soup was mostly cold, and she had barely taken a few sips.

Catherine wasn’t there. It was unknown whether she had already eaten and left.

Richard took his tray and sat down opposite Fischer.

The beef was especially tough to chew. It was likely stock dug out from the very bottom of the cold storage.

Having been frozen for who knew how long, it had lost most of its flavor, and the meat fibers had grown dry and stringy.

Matters regarding the Tradition of Change were locked away in the deepest cabinet of his mind.

As for that shattered crown, he would leave that for when he had grown stronger.

He forked a piece of roast beef, stuffed it into his mouth, and chewed slowly, unwilling to eat it too fast.