Chapter 168: Blood Feud and the New Generation

On January 3, the mission team officially disbanded.

The atmosphere at the breakfast table felt nothing like the past few days.

No one talked about seals, inscriptions, or evil creatures anymore.

Everyone was packing, getting ready to go their separate ways.

The landlady laid out a hearty farewell breakfast: bacon, fried eggs, toast, mushrooms, black pudding, and a large pot of strong tea.

"Eat up before you go," she said, setting down the last plate of bacon. "Who knows when you'll be back next."

Captain Field needed two weeks of recuperation in Whitcom for his injuries.

The innkeeper had already held a room for him, with daily board covered by the Civilian Guild.

"I'll take the train back myself in two weeks," the captain said, holding his teacup in his right hand. "A little more rest and I'll be fine."

Sarah had left early that morning; her horse, tied at the village entrance overnight, was gone before dawn.

Before she rode out, she left a note on the bar with just a single line:

"Call me if there's another job. —S."

Mrs. MacNeil and Mr. Hutton still had work to finish.

Mrs. MacNeil had to write her mission report and send it back to the Northern Branch of the Civilian Guild along with the Silver Coin.

Mr. Hutton needed to organize all the data collected during last night's ritual and file it in the local seal-maintenance archive.

"This file will serve as reference material for other practitioners down the line."

"The next person who runs into a similar entity won't have to start from scratch like we did."

The old gentleman then turned to Richard:

"I'll hold on to that parchment for now. When the new semester starts, we can study what's on it together."

The four newcomers exchanged addresses outside the inn.

Edmund handed Richard a card for Saint Peter's Seminary.

"Just send letters here. I go to the mailroom every Wednesday and Saturday to check for post."

Theodore dug a crumpled scrap of paper from his pocket, scrawled with an address in West Yorkshire.

"That's my family's horse farm," he said, handing the paper over. "Send letters there and my mother will collect them for me."

"She won't open them, will she?" Richard asked, taking the scrap.

"...She will." Theodore looked slightly embarrassed. "So don't write too much about occult matters."

Maggie was the last to share hers.

She gave Richard a long address full of Gaelic place names he had no idea how to pronounce.

"Copy the whole thing out when you write," she told him. "The postmen navigate by place names up there. Miss one letter and they won't find it."

"Alright."

The four of them stood by the door as the winter wind blew down off the moor, whipping everyone's hair into a mess.

"Well then... goodbye," Edmund said, offering his hand first.

Four hands piled together.

"Goodbye."

"Goodbye."

"I hope we're all still alive the next time we meet," Theodore said—hardly a cheerful parting wish.

Maggie kicked him. "Ptooi, ptooi, ptooi! It's the New Year—what kind of thing is that to say?"

"I'm just telling the truth!"

"Even if it's true, you don't say it like that!"

They squabbled for another moment, but parted ways laughing in the end.

Edmund took a southbound carriage; Theodore caught an eastbound branch-line train.

Maggie didn't need a ride. Her family lived up on the moor, and someone would meet her once she walked into town.

Before setting off, she paused by the inn door.

"Richard."

"Hm?"

"Do you know Catherine Blackwood?"

Richard stopped where he stood.

"I saw her at the Cicero Cup. Why?"

Maggie pulled her cloak hood up, shadowing the top half of her face.

"Her family and mine are mortal enemies."

"..." Richard frowned, but said nothing.

"I was supposed to enter the Cicero Cup too."

Maggie didn't look at him as she spoke. "But since Catherine signed up, I didn't go."

Richard considered it for a moment, then asked anyway.

"What kind of feud?"

"An old one," Maggie said, shaking her head. "Back in my great-grandfather's day, the two families fought over pasture rights."

"Fought?"

"A fight between Hunters," she emphasized. "The kind where people die."

Maggie tugged her hood down a little further.

"Truthfully, our generation doesn't care much about the old grudges."

She spoke without bitterness, but without trying to sound indifferent either.

"I saw her once at a gathering up on the moor."

"She was half a head taller than me, with darker hair."

"She looked at me, and I looked at her."

"That was it."

Richard nodded.

"If there's ever a chance in the future..." He weighed his phrasing carefully. "What would happen if the two of you sat at the same table?"

Maggie thought it over.

"It'd probably be very awkward."

She waved, turned around, and broke into a run.

Her cloak billowed in the wind like a balloon, looking much like one of those mushrooms tumbling across the grass.

Richard watched from the doorway until she was gone, then set off alone to catch his train.

From Whitcom to the junction, then another change of trains.

In the waiting room, it was just him and a drowsy ticket clerk.

He took his notebook from his pack and ran through a complete inventory of what he'd gained over the past few days.

Supernatural items: the Ritual Dagger and the Bronze Fragment.

Judging by the seepage rate, the two combined would yield at least one point, and reaching two wasn't out of the question.

Once his aunt arrived, he would trade in the Copper Pendant, the incense burner, and the Solar Emblem first.

Even if he couldn't swap them for a new item, the extra funds would help when he visited Donner's shop in the Imperial Capital.

Boundary Stone Array rubbing: twelve passages of ancient Celtic inscription. Once fully translated, it would serve as the probatio for an advanced practitioner.

Spiritual Capacity: recovering, currently at 2/10.

His physical system skills hadn't risen much over the winter break, but days of wilderness tracking and active seal maintenance had nudged the progress bars along.

[Perception] had jumped straight to Lv.2; [Learning] was nearing 82%.

Once he deciphered the probatio text he'd copied down, his [Learning] bar would likely surge again.

Add in the inscriptions on the Bronze Fragment and the incantations on the parchment—

Once school resumed and he studied them with Mr. Hutton, the combined work should push [Learning] past 95%.

With regular study habits adding steady progress on top of that—

Reaching Lv.3 in [Learning], gaining a trait, and unlocking [Speculation] were all within sight.

The thought brought a quiet spike of anticipation.

This winter internship had delivered on every front: new items, practical experience behind the veil, useful contacts, and esoteric texts waiting to be translated.

He shut the notebook and leaned back against the wooden waiting-room bench.

Outside the window, the sky hung pale grey, the distant hills washed out like an unfinished watercolor.

The train pulled in.

He boarded and found a window seat.

Only three other people shared the carriage: an elderly woman dozing with a basket in her lap, and a young couple speaking in murmurs.

Richard rested his pack on his knees and closed his eyes.

The train rattled south.

He slept an hour and a half on the road; by the time he woke, the wilderness outside had given way to farmland.

He reached the junction just after one in the afternoon and bought a ticket to Osborne.

By evening on January 3, Richard arrived in Osborne.

Osborne was a small town in southern Yorkshire.

Backed by a stretch of rolling hills, the town supported an outdoor club that organized hiking, camping, and rabbit shoots.

On the club's notice board, Richard found a two-day hiking group setting out the next morning.

The fee was two shillings sixpence, covering the guide, camp fees, and basic gear rental.

He paid the fee and took a room for the night at a small inn near the club.

After supper, he locked his door from the inside.

He took out the Cloth Bag Old Biggs had given him and tipped twenty-odd runestones onto the table.

He set the practice Copper Dish square in the center of the table.

He turned the kerosene lamp down to a steady medium glow.

Sitting at the table with his hands flat on his knees, he ran through two full cycles of Fourfold Breathing until the light-tree leaves settled into a steady, rhythmic pulse.

He closed his eyes, reached out, and let his fingers rest on the pile of stones.

He framed the question in his mind:

'Will the journey be safe, and what will the road and weather be like over the next thirty-six hours?'

He gathered a handful and dropped them into the dish.

A sharp, light clatter rang against the copper.

Five stones landed in the dish, scattered roughly like this:

Wheat Ear near the center;

Crescent Moon slightly further out, leaning toward Wheat Ear;

Water Drop alone on the northern edge of the center;

Double Rings resting on the seam, nearly spilling over;

Hammer three fingers from the center, pointing north.

Richard studied the spread for several minutes.

Wheat Ear near the center: the main objective was secure.

Crescent Moon leaning toward Wheat Ear: the trip would bring growth and positive change.

Water Drop on the northern edge of the center: an "unfinished matter" lay to the north, something to watch for on the road ahead.

Double Rings on the seam: connections and minor friction among the travelers, but nothing deep.

Hammer pointing north: action lay in that direction.

He logged the pattern in his notebook, gathered another handful, and asked again:

'Will anyone in the group cause trouble?'

He dropped the stones; five landed in the dish.

Double Rings near the center;

Water Drop beside Double Rings;

Wheat Ear slightly further off;

Hammer inverted, pointing outward;

Crescent Moon at the rim.

Double Rings near the center: relationships would form among the group.

Water Drop beside Double Rings: that "unfinished matter" was tied to those relationships.

Hammer inverted and pointing outward: he wouldn't need to act against anyone in the party.

Crescent Moon at the rim: change sat on the far periphery, unrelated to his main objective.

Richard exhaled. No trouble from the group.

But there would be an "unfinished matter" tied to someone among them.

He turned the page and wrote:

"Note: Unfinished business involving a companion; route detours; main objective safe."

The Stone Reading gave him a clearer sense of what to expect on the road tomorrow.

He packed the stones back into the Cloth Bag, wiped the Copper Dish clean, returned everything to his pack, and blew out the lamp.

At the edge of his vision, the progress bar for [Perception] Lv.2 twitched once more.