Chapter 190: Madam Marie's Letter

Richard pushed the ink bottle to the exact center of his desk and laid out a fresh sheet of manuscript paper.

He unscrewed the cap, dipped his fountain pen lightly into the ink, and wrote the first line across the center of the page.

“Shadow Armor: Restructured”

He paused for a few seconds, then crossed out the entire argument he had originally planned to expand upon below.

His previous understanding of Shadow Armor had been built entirely on the concept of piling stones on a target's shadow.

But the moment [Speculation] activated, the limitations of that theory were clearly illuminated.

Stones were just a metaphor. The Spell Formula truly operated by using ether to apply weight to a lightless zone.

The weight did not have to be distributed evenly. Richard wrote this single sentence at the very top of the page.

He pulled a pencil from his pen holder and began sketching on the bottom half of the sheet.

The first distribution method: concentrating the entire mass onto the soles of the feet.

Richard shaded the shadow beneath the figure's feet. He imagined himself standing at the east end of the alley, while his opponent's feet were suddenly wedged into the ground like nails.

Both shoes would press tight against the cobblestones, locking every joint in the legs.

This tactic corresponded to immobilization.

The second distribution method: he drew diagonal lines over the shadow at the throat.

The human neck was inherently fragile. Even a few ounces of external weight pressing against it would be debilitating.

Even if it didn't cause asphyxiation, it would at least stop a target from chanting.

The third distribution method: he shaded the shadow of a weapon-bearing hand.

Axes, staffs, short firearms—it didn't matter. It only had to break their grip.

Richard's pencil hovered over the paper for a few seconds.

What about extreme circumstances?

Focusing the entire weight onto a sliver of shadow as thin as a strand of hair.

Richard frowned.

He pictured a hairline strip of space bearing dozens of times the standard weight.

He couldn't fully visualize it, but the result would be terrifying.

While writing down the second variant, he extrapolated a reverse repulsive force.

Theoretically, a shadow was a lightless zone, a negative space.

Flipping the flow of ether once generated pressure.

Flipping it a second time should logically generate... negative pressure? Suction?

He tapped into the physical sensation he had felt the moment he derived Shadow Armor from [Shadow Inversion], recalling the critical point when the ether flow flipped.

The entire ether stream had inverted, shifting from inside-out to outside-in.

But that was only one inversion. What would happen if it flipped again?

[Speculation] could not provide an answer.

Richard had no practical experience with this, nor had he ever read any literature mentioning a double inversion.

He set his pen down, leaned back in his chair, and stared at the ceiling.

The end point of theory was practice, and practice required a higher rank.

Richard tucked the manuscript pages away in the false bottom of his drawer.

It was already past eleven at night.

Richard blew out the desk lamp. Inside his chest, the leaves of the tree of light extended throughout his body under the effects of [Breathing: Healing].

In less than three minutes, he sank into a deep, restorative sleep.

...

His third class of the morning was History.

He hadn't skipped Mr. Hutton's class for “flexible studying”; he had to show his mentor some respect.

The old gentleman stood at the podium, lecturing on the monastic manuscript system during the reign of Charlemagne.

Hearing the lecture once was enough for Richard.

Sitting in the third row by the window, he opened his notebook.

Tucked inside was his outline from last night for “Shadow Armor: A Tentative Discussion on Variants.”

He started a new page beneath the outline and wrote: “Stone Armor: Reread.”

[Erudition] mapped out every single stroke of the four sets of inscriptions from the Gargoyle's pedestal in his mind.

[Speculation] immediately went to work.

The load-bearing structure of the entire Stone Armor Spell Formula revealed itself inch by inch before his eyes.

Triggering, Drawing and Enveloping, and Sustaining—three stages.

The Drawing and Enveloping stage was the most critical variable; its flow could be altered.

By the time his thoughts reached this point, Mr. Hutton's voice from the podium had faded into distant background noise.

During the Drawing and Enveloping stage in his past practice sessions, a surge of ether would push outward, traveling along his main channels all the way to the surface of his skin.

This delivery method was the most efficient, but it had two weak points.

Richard drew a simplified flow path in his notebook and marked it with two red crosses, corresponding to the activation and condensation phases.

What was the solution?

[Speculation] provided the answer: divide the mass of ether into smaller portions, push them out in time with his breathing rhythm, and gradually layer them over the skin.

Mr. Hutton's voice drifted over from the podium.

“Before each manuscript was passed to the next copyist, the previous scribe would leave a tiny note in the margin... Richard?”

Richard lifted his head.

The old gentleman had likely noticed him writing intently and called his name.

“...Apologies, sir.”

“Did you hear that last part?”

“I did.” Richard quickly followed up.

“You were speaking about the revision records of the monastic manuscript system under Charlemagne. By the mid-eighth century, this practice had evolved into a systematic tradition of annotation.”

The old gentleman waved his hand helplessly.

“Very well. An accurate recounting.”

...

After school, he returned to the dead-end alley.

Richard leaned against the wall of the oil press factory and executed a standard Stone Armor as a baseline.

It was his normal output. Ever since he used [Healing] to mend his old injuries, this had been his stable baseline.

He dispelled the Spell Formula and paused to let his ether reserves recover.

On the second attempt, Richard tested his improved method. The usual metallic chime was replaced by a soft pop.

Maintaining the armor, Richard used his left index finger to press lightly against the seam where the layers connected.

On his third attempt, he doubled the interval between ether pulses.

Once the armor on his right arm fully materialized, he smashed his fist against the composite iron pole of an abandoned streetlamp at the base of the wall.

“Thud!”

The sound was much deeper than before.

The dent in the composite iron pole was twice as deep as his previous punches.

Richard pulled his hand back. The armored surface of his fist was completely undamaged.

He shook out his wrist and exhaled a long breath.

The solution provided by [Speculation] was viable.

On the fourth attempt, Richard aimed at the composite iron pole and threw another punch.

“Boom!”

The entire iron pole shuddered. A crow resting atop the high wall in the distance startled and took flight.

As his fist connected, he felt the armor project a unified forward shockwave.

For the exact same ether consumption, the impact was nearly doubled.

He dispelled the formula, musing that his improved method could be written up as a paper and exchanged at a gathering...

Drafting the proposal in his head, Richard headed back toward Slag Alley.

When he arrived at his front door, he saw his mother leaning halfway out, cradling something in her arms.

It was a black parchment envelope.

“Richard, someone just dropped this off.”

His mother held the envelope out to him.

Richard took it. The paper looked coarse, but it was surprisingly smooth to the touch.

“Who sent it?”

“An old woman selling flowers.”

His mother wiped her hands on her apron and stepped back into the living room.

“She said just as she was selling her last bouquet at the intersection, a cat jumped down from the wall.”

“A cat?” Richard was completely baffled.

“Yes, a cat. A black one.

It gave her a shilling and told her to deliver this envelope to the seventh house at the east end of Slag Alley.”

Richard's gaze lingered on the envelope.

“She just took money from a cat?”

“She didn't just take it.” His mother turned to pick up the teapot. “She even asked if it wanted change.”

“...”

“The cat flicked its tail, which she took to mean keep the change.”

His mother poured a cup of hot water and handed it to him.

“When she handed the envelope to me, she was still muttering about how the cat sounded a bit like her late daughter.”

Richard took the cup. The rising steam drifted upward, bisecting his field of vision.

His mother took a sip of tea.

“Go read it in your room.” She pointed upstairs.

Richard nodded.

Upstairs in his room, he locked the door behind him.

The front of the envelope bore no recipient name, no address, and no postmark.

There was only a black wax seal pressed into the bottom right corner. The crest was a cat.

The cat was curled in a circle, the tip of its tail resting on its front paws.

Inside Richard's chest, the leaves of the tree of light trembled gently, but his [Inspiration] warning was not triggered.

He ran a letter opener along the edge of the envelope, slicing the wax seal off entirely to keep the emblem intact.

Inside the envelope was a single, incredibly thin beige card.

Its gilded lettering caught a faint golden light under the desk lamp.

“Little Richard:

MacNeil has already mentioned your situation to me.

At six o'clock this Friday evening, please remain in your bedroom.

Keep the doors and windows closed. Leave a glass of warm milk on the windowsill. I will pay a visit.

—M.”

The signature was a single letter.