I Loaded the Mysticism Panel

A circle represents a person, and a spot just off-center at the top of the circle was labeled "Throne of the Sun."

A curved line extended from the Throne of the Sun, winding around the right arm to the palm, and then extended further to an object held in the hand.

"The final cycle of Quadruple Breathing." The old gentleman pushed the piece of paper over.

"You’ve grown accustomed to concentrating Ether in the Throne of the Sun during the breath-holding phase, correct?"

"Yes."

"The nurturing operation is done during this phase."

Mr. Hutton tapped the diagram.

"While holding your breath, concentrate the Ether in the Throne of the Sun. Then, during the final exhalation phase, guide the excess Ether out from the Throne of the Sun, down the inside of your right arm, and into your palm."

"Press your palm against the lamp’s body and inject the Ether evenly into it."

"How much should I inject?"

"Not too much," the old man said. "The amount left over at the end of a cycle is enough."

"The key is consistency and uniformity."

"Do it every day, with the same intensity each time, just like watering a tree."

"Too much water will flood it, too little and it will wither. Just the right amount is perfect."

Richard folded the paper and tucked it into his notebook.

"Nurture it daily. Be persistent."

"Once your micro-circulation is stable enough and you’ve completed the practical application, you’ll be about ready to sign your name to it."

The old man smiled. "When that time comes, this Sphinx Lamp will have a surprise for you."

He didn’t explain what the surprise was.

Mr. Hutton reached out and picked up the Gargoyle again.

"This Gargoyle... what is the name of the Technique sealed within its Inscription?"

"Stone Armor."

Mr. Hutton repeated the name to himself and nodded.

"It was popular in the Church for a while during the Middle Ages."

"You’ve heard of it?"

"I’ve heard of it, but I’ve never seen the actual Inscription."

He placed the Gargoyle back on the desk.

"Practical Low Tier Techniques aren’t highly regarded in the academic system. Their theoretical value is limited.

"Scholars need innovation to publish academic papers. A topic like ’How Workers Avoided Falling to Their Deaths Three Hundred Years Ago’ won’t get you tenure."

"Are you planning to practice it?"

"I’m already practicing it."

Richard thought for a moment and decided to lay his cards on the table.

After all, he had already shown the Gargoyle to Mr. Hutton, and the old man had examined the Inscription from top to bottom.

There was no point in being secretive anymore.

Mr. Hutton nodded.

"Your cautiousness is a good trait."

"You know not to trust anyone completely. When you get something, you study it yourself first, and even when you have results, you don’t rush to tell everyone."

There was no criticism in the old man’s tone.

"When you’re trying to make a living behind the Curtain, a habit like that can save your life."

He stood up from his chair and came around from behind the desk.

"Stand up."

Richard stood up.

Mr. Hutton extended his right hand, hovering it an inch above the back of Richard’s right hand.

"Follow the process of the Technique you’re practicing, up to the second stage—Inference."

Richard closed his eyes and initiated Quadruple Breathing.

Ether slid down the inside of his right arm to his palm and began to permeate the surface of his skin.

"Stop."

Mr. Hutton’s voice rang out.

Richard stopped the Inference process.

"Your Inference tempo is too fast," the old man said. "The conduction of Ether from the Throne of the Sun to your palm should be in sync with your breathing rhythm."

Richard readjusted his tempo.

On his second attempt at Inference, he deliberately varied the speed of the Ether conduction to match his breathing rhythm.

His palm immediately reacted.

Richard tapped the layer of Covering Armor on the back of his right hand. His fingernail produced a crisp sound, like striking porcelain.

"How does it feel?" Mr. Hutton asked.

"It’s thicker than before," Richard said, turning his right hand over.

"The density is much higher too. Before, the Covering Armor was like a layer of wet mud smeared on. Now, it’s at least pottery."

"That’s the difference between fired pottery and an unfired clay blank."

Mr. Hutton walked back to his desk, sat down, and took a sip from his teacup.

"But don’t get too happy just yet."

As soon as he finished speaking, the Covering Armor on Richard’s right hand began to crumble from the wrist bone.

"Your micro-circulatory conduction efficiency isn’t high enough yet," Mr. Hutton commented. "But you can start practicing the Touching and Leading rhythm."

"Don’t rush to achieve full-body Covering Armor. First, master thick, localized coverage."

"When you can stably cover your entire arm for over thirty seconds without it dissipating, and you no longer need the Gargoyle as a Casting Medium for the inference, then you’ll have truly mastered it."

Mr. Hutton thought for a moment.

"The Inscription should contain more detailed operational procedures. If you follow the blueprint and practice for a month or two, covering your entire arm shouldn’t be a problem."

"I’ve never studied this specific Technique, so this is as far as I can guide you."

Richard stuffed the Gargoyle back into its cloth bag.

Mr. Hutton watched him put his things away, then suddenly spoke again.

"Once you’re proficient with localized Covering Armor, you can learn some basic combat frameworks that complement it."

The old man set his teacup back on the desk and stroked his beard.

"As for combat, I’ve actually dabbled in it myself."

"A Scholar isn’t just someone who sits behind a desk reading books, Richard."

"When necessary, a Scholar also needs to use his fists to protect his desk."

Richard was impressed, though he didn’t quite understand why.

He looked at the white-haired, slender old gentleman before him, who was always dressed in a suit jacket, and tried to picture him throwing a punch.

Mr. Hutton gave a few more specific details about Nurtured Marvels, then waved his hand.

"That’s all for today. You can go."

"Thank you, sir."

Richard shouldered his backpack and glanced back as he reached the door.

The old man had already reopened the Marvel application file and drawn a circle with his fountain pen in one of the columns.

That circle probably meant "cancel application."

After the office door clicked shut, Mr. Hutton shifted in his chair and sat up straight again.

The hallway was empty. Outside the window, the snow pellets had turned into snowflakes, drifting down lazily.

"A Scholar isn’t just someone who sits behind a desk reading books."

He recalled his own words and found them a little amusing.

When he was young, he certainly hadn’t been the type to sit quietly behind a desk.

As a Newcomer, he had tried all three paths.

Back then, he felt he could learn anything, that he *should* learn everything.

The world behind the Curtain was so vast; wouldn’t it be a waste to only walk one path?

His Guide at the time was his university Mentor, a Scholar who specialized in Ritual Language.

At nineteen, he came into contact with the Secret Direction.

In the South Suburb of the Imperial City, there was a Sealing Master named Russell, a man from a civilian Guild who had some dealings with his Mentor.

Hutton, on his Mentor’s recommendation, studied the basics of the Seal with Russell.

He wasn’t a bad student. Russell’s evaluation at the time was:

"If you were a bit more focused, you could become a Practitioner of the Secret Direction within five years."

At twenty-two, he came into contact with the Hunter’s Direction.

In the North Suburb of the Imperial City lived a retired military officer with the surname Graham.

He was from a side branch of the Graham Clan. After retiring, he used his family’s resources to run a gun shop and occasionally took on a few apprentices.

Hutton studied the Path of Burning Blood there for nearly a year.

He endured the ice water baths. He endured the hyperventilation.

But when it came to the muscular flagellation, he fainted twice in a row on the training grounds.

Old Graham looked at him then and shook his head.

"You’re not cut out for this."

Hutton refused to accept it. He gritted his teeth and endured for another two months.

After he fainted again, Old Graham dragged him off the training grounds.

"Kid, your bone density isn’t high enough, and your explosive muscle power is lacking. Those things are innate; you can’t train them."

Hutton didn’t listen at the time.

He persisted for another half a year. After six months, he couldn’t take it anymore.

The daily training intensity of the Path of Burning Blood caused his body to develop all sorts of chronic problems: a cough, muscle aches, a persistent low-grade fever.

At the age of twenty-three, he quit his training with Old Graham.

After returning to the university, his Mentor summoned him to his office.

The Mentor didn’t get angry, nor did he reprimand him. He simply laid out all the coursework he had fallen behind on over the years on the desk.

"If you start catching up now, it’s not too late."

Hutton spent several years catching up on his studies.

During that time, Russell also sought him out once to ask if he wanted to continue studying the Seal.

Hutton shook his head.

"You’re not going to study it anymore?"

"If I go back to that, I’ll truly be finished," Hutton said. "I have to focus on the path of the Scholar now."

Russell sighed. "If you had thought this way five years ago, you’d already be a Practitioner by now."

Hutton didn’t answer.

He took the books related to the Seal home and continued to practice sporadically on his own, but he no longer pursued the Secret Direction as his main focus.

At the age of twenty-seven, he became a Practitioner.

Scholar Direction. Major: Ritual Studies. Minor: Epigraphy.

Before the thirty-year-old cutoff for graduation, he completed several milestone achievements for the Practitioner stage and published two papers in the academy’s weekly journal.

But he was never able to break through to the next level.

The threshold of Minor Mastery held him back for over a decade.

Every attempt to break through failed, always for the same reason: his Ether foundation was not pure enough.

He had dabbled in all three paths: Scholar, Secret, and Hunter.

Switching between Breathing Techniques had left a kind of stagnation in his body, preventing him from ever achieving a deep resonance in a single direction.

His Mentor later remarked with a sigh.

"If you had specialized in one path when you were young, your current achievements would likely be far greater."

Hutton didn’t argue at the time.

His Mentor was telling the truth.

After turning forty, Hutton officially accepted the fact that he would never advance beyond being a Practitioner.

After his Mentor passed away, he left the Imperial Capital, returned to his hometown of Brighton, and took a position at Greenwood Middle School.

The school board gave him a private office and the special privilege of two absences per month.

And then there was that special bookshelf on the third floor of the library, which allowed him to freely carry out his work as a Guide.

Brighton was a quiet city, and Greenwood was a quiet school.

’A fitting place for a greedy fellow stuck at the Practitioner level to slowly grow old, distributing the jumble of things he learned in his life to the worthy youths who could receive them.’

’I can still fix a Seal, because I studied the Secret Direction;’

’I can also teach combat, because I trained in the Hunter’s Direction.’

’These are all byproducts of the wrong paths I took back then, yet now they’ve become extra assets for me as a Guide.’

’If my own Mentor were still alive and saw me teaching a student now, he’d probably scold me like this:’

’ "Hutton, you’re a half-baked dabbler yourself. What makes you think you’re qualified to teach anyone?" ’

’Richard is much better than I was back then.’

’He’s younger than I was when I started, yet he knew from the very beginning which path he wanted to take.’

’Unlike the Hutton of the past, who wanted to grasp everything he saw in his hands.’

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