I Loaded the Mysticism Panel

At ten o’clock on Saturday morning, the Dawn family’s carriage arrived punctually at the Williams Family’s doorstep.

Richard grabbed his bookbag and climbed into the carriage.

This was the second time he had gone to the Dawn family’s home for a lesson.

His "slingshot pedagogy" from the previous week had been a resounding success. Tom had somehow managed to master all six cases of the first declension within a week, and he remembered them well.

Charlotte had been obviously delighted when she told him the news over the phone.

"He’s never worked this hard to memorize anything before."

"The slingshot gets the credit."

"...Are you going to use the slingshot for the next lesson?"

"No, I’ll be trying something new."

The carriage came to a steady stop in front of Dawn Mansion. The gas lamp on the portico was still lit, and with the rain having just ended, water dripped from the corners of the eaves.

A maid took his coat at the entrance and led him toward a small sitting room.

Tom was already seated at the table, waiting for him.

Unlike last time, there was no slingshot on the table.

After the lesson, lunch was served, prepared by the Dawn family’s cook.

Roast leg of lamb with mint sauce, mashed potatoes, freshly baked warm bread, and a tureen of thick onion soup.

Lady Dawn sat at the far end of the long table, slicing bread while whispering something to Charlotte.

Richard took a seat by the window and spread his napkin over his lap.

The leg of lamb was cooked to perfection—crispy on the outside, yet still pink within. The coolness of the mint sauce cut straight through the richness of the jus.

The mashed potatoes were smooth and delicate, whipped with butter and cream until they melted in his mouth.

With every bite he took, his digestive system, enhanced by the [Eating] Skill, operated with superhuman efficiency.

His body could extract more nutrients from the same proteins and fats.

The difference wasn’t noticeable in a single meal, but it would be worlds apart over time.

After lunch, Charlotte saw him to the door.

The carriage was already waiting under the portico, its driver huddled in his seat.

"Mr. Williams, same time next week."

"Of course."

Richard climbed into the carriage and, amidst the jostling, glanced at his status panel.

[Scholarship Lv.2] Progress: 56%

Once his Scholarship passed the fifty-percent mark, he noticed a distinct change.

The underlying processing speed of his mind had kicked up a notch. That dull sensation, like trying to see through a fog, which he used to feel when reading and understanding new material, had mostly dissipated.

Information flowing into his brain was now sorted, categorized, and cross-referenced with greater efficiency than ever before.

The fact that his Scholarship had surpassed fifty percent was part of the reason he’d been able to learn the framework for the Gargoyle’s Secret Technique so quickly.

But the other side of the coin was also becoming apparent.

Now that his brain was operating at a higher efficiency, the "knowledge density" offered by his secondary school courses and general academic activities seemed sparse.

To keep the progress bar moving, he had to keep feeding it new things.

This was especially true for knowledge related to the Mysterious Side—deciphering Inscriptions, the theory of Seals, the principles of Ether...

Each new category of knowledge he absorbed caused the progress bar to jump, proving far more effective than his regular classes.

......

On Sunday afternoon, Richard arrived at the Branch Office at the appointed time.

The same white-haired old man as last time was sitting behind the duty desk at the entrance.

He was holding an illustrated magazine, this time a special edition on dog racing. The cover showed a grey greyhound, mouth agape, crossing the finish line.

Richard presented his letter of appointment. The old man just waved him on without looking up.

He took the stairs to the third floor, where the door at the end of the hall was open.

He pushed the door open to find that Old Big had already prepared the room.

A long table sat in the center of the room, upon which ten objects covered in black cloth were arranged in a row.

They were spaced evenly, about a hand’s breadth apart.

Numbers from 1 to 10 were written in chalk on the table itself, the digits drawn in thick strokes that were easy to see from a distance.

The curtains were drawn tight, and the gaps around the two windows were stuffed with old newspapers.

The only light came from a single low-wattage desk lamp in the corner, its shade draped with a yellow cloth to soften the glow.

The entire room was cast in a dim twilight, not so dark that you couldn’t see your hand in front of your face, but not bright enough to make out distant objects clearly.

"Here?"

Old Big was sitting in a chair on the opposite side of the table, his usual copper pot and pewter cup set before him.

"Sit. Have some tea to steady your nerves."

Richard pulled out a chair on his side of the table and sat.

Old Big poured him a cup of tea. The liquid was clear this time, lacking the amber hue of liquor; it was pure black tea.

He raised the cup and took a sip, the astringency of the black tea spreading across his tongue.

"Today’s test is simple."

Old Big gestured with his pewter cup toward the ten cloth-covered objects on the table.

"Ten items. Some contain a certain amount of Ether, and some have none at all."

He set the pewter cup down on the table.

"You just tell me which ones have it and which ones don’t. Simple as that."

"Can this really determine the strength of my inspiration?" Richard asked.

"Don’t get ahead of yourself," Old Big said, shaking his round head.

"Just focus on telling the difference between ’have’ and ’have-not’ for now."

"Did you do the ’pushing’ exercises I told you to do before bed last week?"

"I did. Three sets a day."

"And how did it feel?"

"The distance I could project it grew longer. On the first day, I could only manage about an inch, but by yesterday, I was up to two or three inches."

"That’s more than enough," Old Big said, patting his stomach contentedly.

"Two or three inches is plenty. The Spiritual Vision test doesn’t require you to sense things from half a street away. As long as you can perceive what’s within three paces, you’re fine."

He stood and walked to the side of the table.

"Before we start, let me make the rules clear."

"First, close your eyes."

"Second, place both hands flat on your knees. Do not lift them for any reason."

"Third, you have five seconds for each item. Then, you state your judgment: ’present’ or ’not present.’"

"After you’ve judged all ten, I’ll uncover them and show you the answers."

Richard nodded, set his teacup aside, and straightened his posture.

He closed his eyes.

In the darkness, the sounds of the room grew much sharper.

He began to push the Ether forward from the center of his chest, just as he had practiced all week.

As the Ether left his body, his perceptive range expanded dramatically.

He focused his attention on the first item.

His projected Ether touched the surface of the cloth-covered object, and the sensation that returned was... vague.

There was no clear sense of presence or absence, more like trying to make out a distant road sign in the fog.

You know something is there, but you can’t read what’s written on it.

He paused for three seconds. "Number one. Present."

Old Big gave no reaction, remaining motionless at his side.

His attention slid to the second item.

This time, the sensation was slightly different.

When his projected Ether touched the second item, no signal returned. It felt like reaching into an empty box and finding nothing.

"Number two. Not present."

Number three... present, but faint.

Number four... He hesitated for a long moment before calling out, "Number four. Not present."

"Number five. Not present."

Number six... His brow furrowed slightly.

When his projected Ether touched number six, it produced a faint rebound, but the intensity was different from the sensation he got from items that clearly contained Ether.

"Number six... Not present."

"Number seven. Present."

On number eight, he lingered for a full eight seconds.

When his projected Ether touched it, he felt nothing at all.

There was no Ethereal response, nor was there any physical reflection.

It was like pushing his hand into a pile of cotton—softly and completely enveloped.

"Number eight. Present," he gambled.

"Number nine. Not present."

"Number ten. Present."

After calling out the last one, Richard opened his eyes.

He squinted, momentarily dazzled by the yellow lamplight.

Old Big had already pulled a slip of paper from his pocket. On it were ten scrawled lines—the answer key he had prepared beforehand.

"Let’s check the answers."

Holding the paper, he lifted the black cloth off the first item with his other hand.

Beneath the cloth was an old copper button, covered in patina and about the size of a penny.

"Number one, present. Correct."

The second item was an ordinary river pebble, smooth and grayish-white.

"Number two, not present. Correct."

The third was a dry twig, finger-thick, with a yellowed break.

"Number three, present. Correct."

Number four... Old Big lifted the cloth to reveal an old pocket watch.

"Number four, present." He glanced at Richard. "You said not present. That’s one wrong."

The pocket watch contained an extremely faint trace of residual Ether.

According to Old Big’s explanation, he himself had carried the watch on his person for a long time.

Its Ether content was almost negligible, but it was there.

He revealed items five through ten one by one.

Number five was correct. Number six was correct—he had even guessed right about the one he suspected was just a physical reflection.

Number seven was correct.

Number eight... Old Big lifted the cloth. Beneath it was a small porcelain bowl.

"Number eight, not present." Old Big shot him a look. "You said present. Wrong again."

Number nine was correct, and number ten was correct.

Final score: eight out of ten correct, two incorrect.

An eighty-percent success rate. Old Big tossed the slip of paper onto the table.

He rose from his chair, circled the table, and clapped twice.

"Excellent, excellent!"

His laughter bounced around the small room.

He remained excited for a moment, his chest heaving, before his smile suddenly vanished.

The cheerful lines on his round face settled back into a stern expression.

"To be honest... a skill level like yours is actually for the best, given your current situation."

"The best?" Richard was puzzled. "Shouldn’t it be the higher, the better?"

"Only an amateur would think the higher the inspiration, the better."

Visit and read more novel to help us update chapter quickly. Thank you so much!