Chapter 143: She Who Eats Shadows

Richard looked up. "The twenty-three workers from that night—what got eaten were their shadows?"

"The Lovers card points to this layer." Mr. Hutton did not deny it.

He pushed the third card across to Richard.

"You turn over the last one."

Richard reached out and turned the card over.

The Moon. Upright.

The face of the card depicted a full moon hanging in the night sky. Beneath the moonlight lay a winding path with a dog crouching on either side and two towers in the distance.

The entire scene was steeped in an ambiguous, murky atmosphere.

"Give me your interpretation."

Richard stared at the card for a moment.

His foundation in divination was not particularly strong, but his analytical instincts from the Scholar path kept him from just staring blankly at it.

"The Moon... It represents illusions, uncertainty, and things hidden beneath the surface."

He frowned as he analyzed it:

"If the first two cards point to the event itself and its root cause, then the third should represent the current state.

"Is the seal's current state unstable?"

The corners of Mr. Hutton's mouth twitched.

Richard's interpretation was almost identical to the explanation he had prepared.

It seemed he did not need to waste any effort guiding him; the student had found the correct direction on his own.

"This mission is happening because the regularly maintained seal is weakening."

He pulled a few thin, crudely bound reports from his drawer.

"The earliest reports were of abnormal shadows at night. The farmers claimed their shadows would move on their own under the moonlight."

"Then came the livestock. Sheep and calves died with their skin and flesh outwardly intact, but up close, their skin was burning hot and their internal organs were completely dried out."

"Ether burns," Richard recognized immediately.

"Correct."

"The two most recent incidents were the most severe."

The old man pushed the second report across:

"Two children went missing. One was eleven, the other nine. Both vanished in the night.

The search parties scoured the wilderness for half a month and found no trace at all."

"The thing inside the seal is seeping out now."

"Our mission this time is to force her back inside."

"That covers the divination. Now for business."

He took a small iron box, roughly the size of a palm, from his drawer.

The black paint on the iron box was mottled, and the lid bore a very shallow scratch embedded with a streak of dark red.

He pushed the box to the center of the desk.

"Your probatio."

"My probatio?"

"You're still missing the final condition for your Signature."

Mr. Hutton repeated what he had said last time.

"Independently decipher a previously untranslated encrypted text."

The old man tapped the tip of his pencil against the desk.

"This final condition relies entirely on you."

"On the inner side of the Boundary Stones at the Whitcom Seal, there is a segment of undeciphered text."

"If you can decipher it during this mission, it will count as your probatio."

Richard looked up:

"Will there definitely be time to access the Boundary Stones during the mission?"

"The team leader will make arrangements," Mr. Hutton said.

"She will be leading the reinforcement of the seal. You only need to find a safe window to examine the Boundary Stone."

"Whether or not you finish the translation won't affect the mission itself."

Richard nodded.

"What's in the iron box?"

"Supplementary materials," Mr. Hutton said.

"The basic inscription style of the ancient Celtic Boundary Stone Array, along with a supplementary cross-reference chart for late-stage Alexandrian School variants that your aunt copied from the Imperial Capital University Library."

Richard raised an eyebrow.

"My aunt knows about this?"

"She's providing remote support," Mr. Hutton said.

Richard opened the iron box.

The inside of the box was lined with moisture-proof oil paper, which wrapped several neatly folded pages of reference material.

The top page was a handwritten note in a familiar script.

Isabella's handwriting.

The note began:

"For Richard: Below is the supplementary cross-reference chart for late-stage Alexandrian School variants, attached with translation notes from several Boundary Stone examples I personally encountered during my fieldwork three years ago."

"The inscription rules on the inner sides of Boundary Stones differ from standard inscriptions. Pay close attention to stroke order and direction."

There were four pages in total, crammed with tiny, dense text and several inscription diagrams.

In the corner of the final page, Isabella had left a single sentence: "Stay safe."

Richard folded the notes back up and returned them to the iron box.

"How many people are on the team?"

"Counting the two of us, eight. Four seniors, and four Newcomers."

"The team leader is Mrs. MacNeil, a Minor Adept of the Secret path."

Mrs. MacNeil being the team leader both surprised Richard and did not surprise him at all.

"I will be joining as the Scholar advisor."

"As for the rest, you'll meet them at the gathering point."

Richard stood up, tucking the iron box under his arm.

He walked to the door and glanced back at Mr. Hutton.

"Sir," he said. "That trace divination you just did... do you use that method often?"

Mr. Hutton was folding a copy and putting it back into his drawer. He did not look up.

"Occasionally."

"I always thought you solely followed the Scholar path."

"The Scholar path doesn't mean you only know how to flip through books."

Mr. Hutton sounded a little impatient. "Go back and prepare. Don't forget to study the materials."

Richard nodded and pushed the door open to leave.

After the office door clicked shut, the footsteps in the hallway gradually faded away.

The old man leaned back in his chair and let out a long breath.

The deck of Tarot Cards was still spread out on the desk. He reached out, scooped them together, and casually shoved them into a drawer.

The cards collided with the clutter inside, making a rather undignified clatter.

"The Lovers card," he muttered under his breath, shaking his head.

Out of seventy-eight cards, he just had to draw one that had absolutely nothing to do with the topic at hand.

Fortunately, his reaction was quick. The "binary structure" interpretation angle was something he had come up with on the spot; even as he said it, he felt it was a bit of a stretch.

But Richard had actually connected the dots himself.

Truth be told, he really did know how to perform trace divination.

But his skill level merely scraped the passing mark. He could use it, but he was not proficient, let alone able to perform it effortlessly.

The only reason he appeared so smooth today was purely because he was working backward from the result to deduce the process.

No matter what card was drawn, he could have found an angle to link it to the information he already knew.

But Richard did not know that.

In that young man's eyes, he, the guide, must seem incredibly unfathomable and mysterious.

At this thought, the old man could barely suppress the smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

...

According to Greenwood's tradition, lunch on the day before the holidays was a time for farewells.

Everyone would exchange prepared small gifts, head home after eating, and not see each other again until after the New Year.

In the corner of the dining hall's second floor sat the long window table they had occupied for months.

Warren pulled up an extra chair.

"Squeeze in today. Let's lay all the gifts out."

Hugh was the first to take out four small cloth bags tied with hemp rope.

Each bag was bulging, exuding the mixed scent of walnuts and dried apricots.

"Home-baked," he said, pushing a bag in front of each person.

"Your family baked these?" Warren weighed one in his hand. "Pretty heavy."

"My grandmother told me to bring them."

Richard opened his bag. Inside were walnut kernels, dried apricots, raisins, and a few pieces of toasted coconut.

Every piece had been carefully selected; there were no crumbs, and they were plump and whole.

"Thanks, Hugh."

"You're welcome."

Mason plopped down into his seat, reaching into his coat and pulling out a few items to set on the table.

"My mom recently slashed my allowance in half."

"So the gifts I prepared... don't be too disappointed."

He pushed the first gift toward Warren.

It was a very thick hardcover book.

Warren glanced down at the spine: "1909 National Horse Racing Almanac."

"Last year's edition," Mason explained. "The one that just came out this year was too expensive. I couldn't afford it."

Warren opened to the title page. "Why give me a horse racing almanac? I don't bet."

"You don't bet, but you can learn."

Mason said seriously, "Your family has money. It'd be a waste not to study investments."

Warren snorted. This guy had ulterior motives.

Mason pushed the second gift to Hugh. It was a bag of candy.

"You love eating, right? Candy for you."

Hugh opened the bag and tossed one into his mouth.

"Mints."

The third gift went to Grey—a headscarf.

Grey unfolded the headscarf. "Why did you pick pink?"

"Because it had the biggest discount."

Grey folded the headscarf back up and put it away without another word.

The fourth gift, given to Richard, was a thin little booklet.

Richard flipped it open and glanced at it. "'1910 Northern Racing Club Rookie Guide'?"

"You've got a good brain," Mason said earnestly. "Smart people who study horse racing make way more money than those who study literature."

Richard closed the booklet. "Thank you."

"You aren't actually going to study that, are you?" Warren asked from the side.

"Of course not."

Mason sighed, picked up his teacup, and took a sip:

"You guys know nothing about investments."

"People who bet on horses are idiots who lose their shirts—that's what your mom said, isn't it?"

"My mom doesn't understand investments."

Grey then pulled her gifts from her satchel.

She handed the first item to Warren: a pair of thick, hand-knitted woolen gloves.

"I can actually use these." Warren slipped them on without another word.

The second item went to Mason.

Mason opened the box. Inside was a miniature, portable scale.

"What is this for?"

"Weighing tobacco, weighing tea leaves, weighing your horse racing bets."

Grey spoke expressionlessly. "Weren't you going to invest? Investments require precise measurements."

The third item was for Hugh.

Hugh opened the box to find twelve almond shortbread cookies neatly arranged inside.

The final item was for Richard.

Grey took out a neatly folded bundle of dark blue fabric.

She cupped the fabric in her hands, hesitating for a moment before handing it over.

Richard took it and shook it out. It was a long scarf.

Dark blue. The stitching was a bit uneven, and in a few places, there were obvious signs where mistakes had been unraveled and re-knit.

But the material was genuinely excellent.

Authentic, fine wool. It was soft and wouldn't scratch the neck.

"Did you knit this yourself?"

"Yeah."

"How long did it take?"

"A month and a half." Grey looked a little nervous. "I started too late, so the stitching at the end got a bit rushed."

"A month and a half?" Warren chimed in. "You've been knitting this after school lately?"

Grey did not answer Warren. She was waiting for Richard's reaction.

Richard shook the scarf out again and looped it around his neck.

"It fits perfectly. Thank you, Grey."

Grey visibly sighed in relief.

Next, it was Warren's turn.

His first gift to Hugh was a red jar.

"Strawberry jam. Dug it out of my kitchen," Warren confessed.

"She said it was about to expire anyway, so rather than let our family eat expired jam, it was better to give it to you."

The second item for Mason was a leather wallet.

Mason opened the wallet and took a look.

"Hey, wait." He suddenly flipped the wallet over and over. "Why is it empty?"

"...You didn't actually think I'd give you money too, did you?"

"As a bro, you should at least show a little token of sincerity."

"As a bro, you should at least understand some boundaries."

Mason looked at Warren's raised fist and did not dare say another word.

The third gift for Grey was a small makeup compact inlaid with pearls.

"This is pretty expensive, isn't it?" Grey picked up the box and inspected it.

"It's alright. My older cousin recommended it," Warren said. "I honestly had no idea what to get you."

The fourth item for Richard was a fountain pen with gold trim.

"It's nothing incredibly special," Warren made a point to explain. "My dad bought me two last year. I'm just splitting them with you since I can't use them all anyway."

"Thanks."

"Don't mention it." Warren waved his hand. "Do you still want me to treat you to meals when the next semester starts?"

"Of course," Richard answered quickly.

"...Alright."

Only then did Richard bring out the gifts he had prepared.

The first was for Warren. Once unwrapped, it revealed a hardcover book: "Selections of Virgil."

"This I can actually use." Warren flipped the book open. It was a bilingual edition, with the original Latin text on the left pages and the Albion Language translation on the right.

The second was for Grey, containing another book: "Imperial Capital Baking Families."

Richard said, "Evelyn recommended it."

Grey hugged the book to her chest. "Your sister really knows her stuff."

"She wants to open a bakery workshop in the future."

"Then I might just get along well with her."

The third gift went to Mason.

Mason looked a bit nervous. The packaging was thin; it didn't look like anything valuable.

He tore it open to find two neatly sharpened pencils and a brand-new notebook.

"You almost failed your last geography exam."

Richard remained entirely straight-faced.

"The pencils and notebook are my early encouragement for you to study hard next semester."

"Williams!"

Mason's face flushed a deep, mottled purple.

"I gave you a horse racing guide, and you give me two pencils and a notebook?"

"Are the pencils and notebook not enough?"

Richard's expression was dead serious:

"I actually wrote a message on the first page of your notebook: 'Study hard, and pass geography next semester.'"

Laughter erupted around the table.

Warren laughed so hard he slumped over and slapped the table. Grey covered her mouth, giggling, and even Hugh managed a rare, wide grin.

"Have you got no heart at all!"

Mason let out a wail.

The final gift was for Hugh.

Hugh unwrapped it, revealing a folded piece of paper.

"What's this?"

Richard unfolded the paper. It was a handwritten card.

"This voucher entitles you to two free fried chicken drumsticks, treated by me, during the new semester."

"Limited to two," he added. "Disclaimer: My wallet's capacity is limited. If you want to eat more than three each time, you might have to cover the difference yourself."

Hugh held the slip of paper between his fingers.

"...Then it seems I have to eat them."

...

After lunch ended, people began trickling out of the dining hall.

Bidding his friends farewell, Richard prepared to head home.

The classroom was empty by then. He was the only one there.

He walked to his desk and bent down to reach into the cubby.

As he felt around inside, his fingers brushed against a stiff piece of paper.

A bit puzzled, Richard pulled it out.

It was a folded, cream-colored card. A dove was painted on the cover.

The dove carried an olive branch in its beak, its leaves smudged with a very faint, watery green.

A single line of text was written on the back of the card: "Pax tibi. (Peace be with you.)"

Laurel leaves, an olive branch... He wondered if he would receive any more of Lillian's hand-painted bookmarks next time.

Footsteps echoed from the hallway outside. It was the janitor on duty, coming to lock up.

Richard shouldered his bag, adjusted his scarf, and walked out of the classroom.

Outside, snow had begun to fall.

He paused as he passed the stone griffins flanking the gates.

Snowflakes landed on their stone wings. Richard raised a hand and patted the griffin's thick leg.

"See you next year."

The snowfall grew heavier. From behind him came the final, fading notes of a Christmas choir, mixing with the sound of the snow and drifting slowly across the empty campus.