Chapter 178: The Ink That Never Runs Out

Richard felt a dull ache throbbing in his temples and nodded.

"Let's focus on the short term," she said.

She picked up her pen again.

"From the moment of your Signature, to when you become a Practitioner, and then reach Minor Adept..."

She drew a few horizontal lines on the blank paper, working from the bottom up.

"With every step up, your signature artifact undergoes a qualitative change."

"A qualitative change?"

"The essence of a Rank transition is a fundamental shift in the relationship between the practitioner and the veil."

Beneath the lowest line, she wrote the word "Signature."

"At Signature, the supernatural item acknowledges you as its master.

Your Micro-circulation uses it to broadcast a declaration behind the veil. The veil acknowledges your existence, and nothing more."

She moved her pencil up a line.

"As a Practitioner, the supernatural item begins to align with your chosen path. We just covered this part."

Her pencil moved up another line.

"The transition to Minor Adept is the true watershed."

Richard's gaze fell on the tip of her pen.

"Minor Adept requires completing the First Oath," he added.

"You've already read On Ascension Within the Veil?"

"Yes."

"That book outlines the procedure for the First Oath, but it doesn't mention the price."

"And the price is?"

Isabella's pen paused on the paper.

"The moment you swear the oath, you transfer a portion of your soul into your signature artifact."

Richard's mind buzzed.

He thought of the fantasy novels he had read in his past life.

To create a phylactery, a lich would sever a piece of its soul and seal it inside an object.

In this world, every practitioner who reached Minor Adept was tethered to one.

"Do you understand?" Isabella asked.

"I understand." Richard lowered his voice. "From that moment on, the signature artifact is no longer just a supernatural item."

"Correct."

Isabella reached out and summoned the parchment scroll from earlier, leaving it suspended between them.

"My Alexandrian Alchemical Manuscript has a sliver of my own spirit sealed inside it."

Her gaze lingered on the parchment.

"If this book is ever destroyed... being bedridden for the rest of my life would be the best possible outcome."

Richard stared at the hovering parchment.

The suite fell quiet.

He understood why Mr. Hutton had repeatedly warned him never to interrupt the nourishment process, and why his aunt had been so incredibly cautious when inspecting the Sphinx Lamp earlier.

Seeing him remain silent, Isabella quietly withdrew the parchment.

"That's enough for today."

She picked up the teapot and topped off both their cups. "If I explain any more, your brain will start smoking."

"...Yeah."

Richard picked up his teacup.

The tea had gone lukewarm, and he drained it in one gulp.

Isabella set her pen down on the paper.

"Besides checking on my sister and your signature artifact, I also came to handle the supernatural item recovery we discussed last time."

She pointed to Richard's satchel.

He took out the Copper Pendant first.

The item "gifted" to him by his cousin Vincent had been lying in his drawer's hidden compartment for months.

Richard wrapped the Copper Pendant in oil paper and placed it on the desk.

Isabella opened the paper to take a look.

She didn't touch the pendant itself.

"Regarding this one, I spoke with my father on the phone before I left."

She folded the oil paper closed. "He thinks there's no need for you to keep this one anymore."

Richard breathed a sigh of relief.

The second item was the Sophie Censer.

Isabella picked it up and swept it with her Spirit Vision.

"It's been modified twice, but the base materials are decent."

The third piece was the Solar Seal.

Isabella picked up the seal and twirled it between her fingers.

"From the colonial regions. No more than two hundred years old. Rough craftsmanship."

She pulled out a notebook to estimate their value; the final recovery price came to nearly eight pounds.

Richard had originally figured he would be happy if all three pieces combined fetched five.

Isabella looked up at him. "These supernatural items of yours are mostly 'pure,' so the recovery price is relatively decent."

"Pure?"

"Clear origins, verifiable transfer histories, and never involved in any bloody cases."

"Based on the purchase channels you mentioned—from Donner's shop and a retired Imperial Capital auctioneer—they both count as fairly legitimate sources."

She continued, "Veteran appraisers are just as wary of tainted objects. Supernatural items moving through legitimate channels all undergo an initial screening for Category Two markers."

"As for supernatural items from illegitimate sources—no matter how cheap they are, don't touch them."

Richard gave a serious nod.

"I'll remember."

"One more thing," Isabella added.

"Even with supernatural items from legitimate channels, if you sense an abnormal flow of ether after acquiring them, you must dispose of them immediately."

"How do I dispose of them?"

"Throw them into running water, preferably living water that flows out to sea.

If that isn't possible, find a piece of wasteland that stays uninhabited year-round, dig a hole, bury them, and pack a layer of salt on top."

"...Salt?"

"Salt is the simplest way to insulate ether," Isabella answered promptly. "It's an old rule."

Richard thought back to his Sealing Practicum, where Mrs. MacNeil had shared similar trivia.

Having finished her warnings, she opened the desk drawer again.

Tucked in the very back of the drawer was a small box.

The box was barely the size of a palm, tied with a thin silk ribbon.

"This is a gift I brought for you."

"Open it and take a look."

Richard untied the ribbon.

His points jumped. There was a supernatural item inside.

He opened the box to reveal a lining of dark red velvet.

Resting in the center of the velvet was a Glass Inkwell.

Engraved on the side of the bottle was a line of incredibly small latin text:

"Veritas ardua, sed amabilis. (Truth is difficult, yet lovely.)"

Richard's fingers paused on the glass.

He anchored the entire outline of the bottle with his Spirit Vision.

The flow of ether inside was unusual, forming a circulation pathway somewhat akin to a human body's internal system.

The bottle had been modified.

"This is a supernatural item modified by an alchemist in the Imperial Capital."

Isabella picked up the thread. "He's a Minor Adept who specializes in this kind of auxiliary equipment."

"The ink in that bottle will never run out."

She traced an empty line across the desk.

"The inkwell automatically siphons a minuscule amount of ether from the user to replenish its ink reserves."

Richard cupped the bottle in his hands.

An endless supply of ink—the temptation was simply too great.

Forget the money saved on ink expenses; the sheer convenience alone left him itching to use it.

He used his Spirit Vision to roughly estimate the cycling efficiency of the ether inside.

Based on his current ether reserves, the amount siphoned in a single day wouldn't exceed one percent of his total capacity.

Correspondingly, the ink generation speed would be slow—just enough for his personal use. Any crazy ideas of selling the ink were out of the question.

"Auntie, is this inkwell extremely expensive?"

Isabella took a sip of her tea.

"It's alright," she said breezily. "The appraised ether content isn't very high. The market price fluctuates between five and ten pounds."

"...Five to ten pounds."

Richard did a quick mental calculation.

Five to ten pounds probably only accounted for the intrinsic value of the supernatural item itself, completely ignoring the practical effects of its modification.

If this inkwell were put up for sale at a supernatural item market...

Any knowledgeable Scholar would instantly recognize the true weight of the phrase "never runs out."

Isabella saw him calculating the price in his head.

"Alright, Richard." She set down her teacup. "Stop doing the math."

"Back when I attained my Signature and became a Practitioner, my father gave me a quill."

"That pen was a Pen Companion crafted by an alchemist. It would automatically calibrate its angle while writing—specifically designed for Scholars."

"...Grandfather gave it to you?"

"Yes." Isabella picked up her teacup and took another sip. "He had no use for those things himself."

"As a Scholar, these daily tools are indispensable." She glanced up at Richard.

"A good pen, a good bottle of ink, a good piece of paper... for someone doing long-term academic work, I don't need to explain their value."

Richard placed the inkwell back into the center of the velvet.

"Thank you, Auntie."

"No need to be polite," Isabella waved a hand dismissively. "We're family."