I Loaded the Occult Panel

Practice of the Mirror method began that very night.

Richard turned the thin manuscript to the first chapter.

The title was written in extremely fine brown ink with the Latin words: De Fundamento.

The main text beneath it consisted of only three paragraphs.

He had already read the first paragraph at his aunt’s place: sit quietly, suppress ether fluctuations, and form a Still Water surface.

The second paragraph detailed the transition for switching from other breathing methods to the Mirror method.

The copyist’s handwriting grew even smaller here.

”Switching breathing methods is not discarding the old for the new, but merely redirecting the riverbed of the old.

A practitioner must not stop abruptly; a sudden stop is equivalent to damming the flow. If the water breaks, the Micro-circulation will fall into chaos.

Adjust slowly, day by day, until the water surface resembles a mirror.For the quick, this process takes two weeks; for the slow, over a month. The hasty shall never attain the mirror.”

Richard finished the passage and rested the manuscript on his knees.

He took a deep breath, and the wavelike rhythm of Tide-Shifting Breathing engaged.

Wave after wave, the ether in his chest rose and fell with his breaths.

He began to suppress it, cutting the peak from its original ten beats down to nine and a half.

The trough was correspondingly reduced by half a beat. The wave crest lowered a fraction, but it remained a wave.

There was no reaction in his chest.

He then shifted the nine and a half beats to nine.

He pushed it further down to eight and a half. When he hit eight, the leaves of the tree of light within the Seat of the Sun began to tremble.

This was the Micro-circulation’s stress response to the change in breathing rhythm.

Tide-Shifting Breathing had been with him for several months, and every branch of his Micro-circulation had grown accustomed to its undulating waves.

Now that the wave crest had suddenly dropped by two beats, the branches were a little bewildered.

The water failed to rise to its proper level when it was supposed to. As it flowed past certain branch junctions, the volume was insufficient, falling short of the required supply.

That shortened segment of ether swirled at the junction, spinning twice without finding an outlet before folding back along its original path to the Seat of the Sun.

The returning ether collided head-on with the ether pushed out by his next exhalation.

”Bang!”

Richard’s heart pounded wildly, throwing his entire bodily system into disarray.

He really couldn’t rush this. He quickly raised the wave crest back to nine beats.

The period of disorder—his aunt had warned him it would be uncomfortable for two to three weeks.

He rested for ten minutes, waiting for his Micro-circulation to completely stabilize before beginning his second attempt.

This time, he suppressed it even slower.

[Breathing - Healing] automatically carried out repairs within his Micro-circulation.

The fragments of ether swirling from the lowered water level were brushed by Healing’s warm breath, softening the edges of the vortex.

It hadn’t completely settled, but at least it was no longer darting toward his temples.

Gritting his teeth, he held his ground at eight and a half beats for forty seconds.

When the leaves of the tree of light began to tremble violently after forty seconds, he finally retreated to nine beats.

That was it for the night.

It took less than two minutes to fall asleep after lying down; [Wild Sleep] pressed him deep into his pillow.

In his dream, he stood by the edge of an enormous pool. The water’s surface was perfectly still, reflecting the inscribed stones embedded in the ceiling.

He tossed a pebble into the water. The surface shattered, breaking into thousands of mirrors.

Every mirror reflected his own face, yet each face wore a slightly different expression.

One was smiling, one was frowning, one had its eyes closed... When he woke from the dream, the sky was still dark.

The dull ache at the back of his head lingered, like a hangover that hadn’t fully cleared.

Over the next few days, Richard attended classes as usual during the day and returned to his dorm at night to continue suppressing the wave crests.

[Healing] was overwhelmingly busy inside him.

While repairing the micro-tears at the swirling junctions, it also guided the collided ether fragments toward the main veins to prevent them from accumulating at the branches.

Every night after his practice, his Micro-circulation ran as hot as if he had been sprinting all day.

But upon waking the next day, the synergistic recovery efficiency of [sleep], [Breathing], and [eating] had completely digested the fatigue accumulated during the night.

This was the value of the synergy between the four skills in the [Body] system.

[Breathing] repaired the damage to the Micro-circulation, while [eating] provided all the nourishment needed for the repairs;

[sleep] made up for the deep restoration during the night that couldn’t be done during the day;

and the automatic regulation function of [walking] ensured that his breathing rhythm wouldn’t spiral out of control due to distraction while he walked, attended class, and trained throughout the day.

...

When Isabella ran into Richard between classes, she gave him a few extra glances.

She didn’t ask anything; looking was just looking.

In those glances, she used Spirit Vision to quickly sweep over her nephew’s Micro-circulation.

”Your circulation...” Her lips moved slightly, then closed again.

”It’s quite good.” That was the only evaluation she ultimately gave.

Richard hadn’t deliberately hidden this from anyone.

Changing breathing methods was somewhat akin to a professional greeting.

You walk the Solar path, I walk the Classics path, he walks Moon-Hunting... It was considered basic public information. Hiding it would only draw suspicion.

Though he didn’t go around broadcasting it, either.

In the study room, Catherine was the first to notice.

While the two were working together to decipher inscription rubbings, her hand suddenly stopped.

She tilted her head and cast a glance at Richard.

The red-haired girl’s gaze lingered on his chest for about two seconds before pulling back.

She flipped her notebook over, scribbled a line in the corner, and didn’t show it to him.

Closing the notebook, she resumed deciphering the inscriptions.

Fischer was the second to notice.

At lunch, he sat down across from Richard with his tray.

”Williams.” He chewed on his bread. ”Your breathing rhythm has changed recently. Did you switch breathing methods?”

”I did.”

”Which one did you switch to?”

”Mirror.”

The piece of bread in Fischer’s hand hovered in midair.

”...Mirror?”

He placed the bread back on his plate.

”Those who walk the Mirror path within the Empire... I remember Mr. Croft mentioning it once. He said there are no more than twenty in the entire Empire combined.”

”About right.”

Fischer scrutinized him for a few seconds.

”Impressive.”

He picked his bread back up and took a bite.

”In this life, I’ll probably only dare to walk the Classics path. It’s safe, and others have already paved the way.”

He chewed twice and added another sentence.

”You lot who walk the narrow paths sure have guts.”

Between classes, Edith placed a small note on Richard’s desk with a single line written in pencil: ”Wishing you success.”

When Montagu ran into Richard in the training room corridor, the two chatted for a bit as usual.

”What did you choose?” the blond young man asked, leaning against the wall.

”Mirror.”

Montagu’s eyebrows shot up.

His expression cycled through several emotions... surprise, contemplation, and finally settling on an indescribable sense of pity.

”What a pity.”

”A pity about what?”

”It’s a pity you didn’t choose Solar.”

Montagu shifted his lecture notes to his other arm.

”If you walked the Solar Tradition, we’d run into each other much more often within the system, and there’d be many opportunities to look out for one another.”

He spoke with complete candor.

The Solar Tradition held the most weight within the Empire’s orthodoxy; those who walked the Solar path naturally shared a bond of fellowship.

The Montagu Family was also the most orthodox branch within the Solar Tradition; their family Virtuoso was of the Solar Tradition.

If Richard had also chosen Solar, regardless of whether they were in the Academy System or on frontline field duty in the future, they would be considered on the same side.

”As for Mirror...” Montagu pondered for a moment.

”There will be fewer places to collaborate in the future. The overlap between Solar and Mirror is simply too narrow.”

”It’s fine.” Richard leaned against the opposite wall, standing face-to-face with him.

”There are still places where we can cooperate.”

”For example?”

”For example, when you treat me to a meal, I’ll still show up.”

Montagu was taken aback for a moment, then laughed.

”Deal.”

He pushed off the wall and patted his coat.

”The cafeteria food is getting worse and worse. I’ll invite you over to my place for a meal some other day.”

”It’s a promise.”

The two walked off in different directions down the corridor.

Returning to his dorm, Richard fished out the toffee his aunt had given him.

As he peeled back the wrapper, the sweetness seemed to spread from his fingertips to his tongue.

It was too sweet—so sweet it made him squint.

His aunt’s taste... had remained exactly the same for decades.

...

As Christmas approached, the intensity of background checks on outsiders on campus significantly increased.

The registry in the guardhouse went from one book to two; entry and exit both required signatures, as well as showing a school badge.

Suspicions surrounding the selection of artillery targets were brewing among the higher-ups; this was news Richard had gotten from Montagu.

Suspicions of an information leak had triggered a purge by the Department of Internal Affairs, sifting through everyone across all major systems.

The bulletins didn’t explicitly state it, but the instructors’ expressions during class already revealed the issue.

Croft drank his bitter tea far more aggressively.

When Pollock lectured, he would inadvertently glance at the classroom door.

On December 22nd, a white envelope was delivered to the dorm, bearing the letterhead of the Imperial Capital University Administrative Office.

”Mr. Williams:

Please proceed to Room 103 on the first floor of the Petrie Building today at exactly 3:00 PM.”

Beneath the official seal at the signature line was an even smaller circular insignia pressed into the paper.

Richard used [Erudition] to draw out the details of that small circular pattern.

That expressionless representative from the Department of Internal Affairs had been standing in the corner, with the insignia pinned to his chest.

Whenever someone was eliminated, he would add a stroke to the roster.

When Richard arrived at the door of Room 103, it was open.

The room wasn’t large. It held an ordinary office desk and a single chair, with a glass of water and a stack of files sitting on the desk.

The folder was thicker than he had anticipated.

The representative from the Department of Internal Affairs was wearing an ordinary suit today, without that insignia pinned on.

”Mr. Williams.” The man stood up and extended his hand.

”Please, have a seat.”

Richard shook his hand and sat down in the chair across the desk.

”You may call me Kasalis.” The man offered his surname. ”I work in the Southeast District Liaison Office of the Department of Internal Affairs.”

”First, let’s verify some basic information.”

Kasalis opened to the first page of the stack of files on the desk.

”Richard Williams, Slag Alley, Briston. Father, Rogers Williams, bridge engineer.

Mother, Margaret Ashford. Maternal grandfather, Gerard Ashford.”

He flipped past the first page.

The second page had a line of small print. Richard only caught a glimpse of half of it:

”...Trainee Inspector Appointment Commission (Non-Standing Roster)...”

”You are on the roster at the Briston Branch Office.”

”Trainee inspector, non-standing.” Richard’s tone was flat.

”And your armament permit?”

”Class B.”

Kasalis made a tiny checkmark on the document.

”You began participating in field operations for the mystical side at the end of last year.”

”The Whitcom Mill sealing, the Western Suburbs Mining Area spring maintenance in Briston, the Black Trench action in Briston, and the patrol of the Port Folkestone refugee reception camp. Four times.”

”That is correct.”

”In the Briston Black Trench action, you were nominated by Lieutenant Colonel Ord as first among Scholar contributions.”

”Yes. At the time, I co-hosted the Sleep-Return Ritual with my guide, Mr. Hutton.”

Richard arched an eyebrow. He wasn’t one to feign humility when it wasn’t warranted.

”You were also present at the North District canal dragnet operation, the one hosted by Professor Mortimer.”

”I was there as an observer.”

Kasalis turned to the fourth page of the file.

”Your field file has quite a lot recorded.”

”During the Port Folkestone assignment, your group was ranked best overall among the Platoon B tent area patrol teams.”

Richard didn’t reply.

”You are currently enrolled in the preparatory class of the Department of Classics at Imperial Capital University, ranked near the top of your class, and placed second in the Preparatory Group for the summer seminar.”

”Second place in the Cicero Cup, first place in the Preparatory Group for Debate Week.”

Kasalis turned to the fifth page.

”Your sources of funding?”

Richard had nothing to hide:

”My father’s salary, tutoring income, field operation remuneration, and scholarships.”

”As well as the quarterly funding from the Ashford family.”

Kasalis’s pen paused on the document.

”The Ashford family. Under what pretext?”

”Internal family educational funding. It goes through Sir Gerard’s personal account.”

Up to this point, everything was within Richard’s expectations.

Standardized procedures and standardized questions, entirely matching the ”routine purge of registered personnel during wartime” listed on the interview notice posted in the corridor.

Kasalis’s pen tip paused on the paper once again.

Richard noticed a detail.

For those earlier questions, Kasalis had been flipping through the first few pages of the file.

Those pages were uniformly crisp, with consistent font sizes and neat formatting.

But the page he had just turned to was of a slightly different paper stock; it appeared to have been slipped in separately from another document.

”Mr. Williams, the next few questions may involve some of your personal social connections.”

”If any questions make you uncomfortable, you have the right to refuse to answer, but your refusal will be recorded.”

Richard had read this specific rhetoric in the internal Branch Office manual Wentworth had given him.

Padding the ground before asking was both polite and procedural. The questions that followed would not be nearly as courteous.

”Go ahead.” Richard leaned back in his chair.

Kasalis glanced down at the thin sheet of paper.

”Are you acquainted with William Bigelow, the public health coroner for the North District of Briston?”

”I am.” Richard nodded. ”He died in the line of duty this year.”

”Your relationship with Bigelow?”

”He taught me shooting, and he also taught me introductory lessons in Spirit Vision.”

Kasalis’s pen drew a short line above the words ”Spirit Vision.”

”In Bigelow’s personnel file at the Branch Office, there is a remarks column indicating his lineage of instruction.”

His gaze lifted from the document, meeting Richard’s eyes.

”No. 17 Flower Moon Street, Marie Viktorova.”

Richard suddenly understood.

Madam Marie’s surname was Viktorova. In peacetime, no one would think twice about this Slavic surname.

There were all sorts of people doing business on Flower Moon Street in the Imperial Capital—people from the Eastern Continent, from the southern archipelagos, returnees from the colonies...

But wartime was different.

In the lists of enemy nations published daily in the newspapers, Germania ranked first, and Austro-Hungary ranked second.

Although the far more massive Rus Empire to the east currently stood on the same side as Albion, the alliance between the two nations was as thin as paper.

The Rus Empire wanted ice-free ports, while Albion wanted to contain the rise of any dominant land power.

Today they were allies; who could say what they would be tomorrow.

And Viktorova was an authentic Slavic surname through and through.

A Major Adept medium who had operated within the Empire for decades, with disciples scattered throughout the Civilian Guild and the Branch Office system.

In peacetime, this was called having deep roots and being relied upon by all sides.

In wartime, this was called vast infiltration, difficult to thoroughly investigate.