Chapter 224: Special Times

Mr. Holland's tutoring hadn't stopped since the Cicero Cup, and it had already gone far beyond a middle school curriculum.

Mr. Holland used to teach Richard about Cicero, Tacitus, and Suetonius.

Back when Richard first flawlessly recited the Catiline Orations, the bald, middle-aged man would tap his desk a couple of times.

He didn't tap it anymore.

Now, Mr. Holland was teaching him the comedies of Plautus.

The slang, the puns, and the stage rhythms hidden in Plautus's comedies—these were subjects many universities only began to cover in their undergraduate courses.

After the lesson, Mr. Holland had him write a piece of dialogue using Plautus's rhythm.

When he finished, the teacher circled three spots on the page. All three marks landed on the exact lines Richard felt most proud of.

His bald head reflected the yellow glow of the office lamp.

He took a small copper kettle from a drawer and poured himself a glass of water.

"Richard."

"Yes, sir."

"When you returned from the Imperial Capital last year, I had a private chat with your father, Mr. Rogers."

"I told him that if you could maintain this momentum, you should be able to get into a good university in the Imperial Capital."

"What did my father say?" Richard asked, a little curious.

"He asked me if you could get into Imperial Capital University."

"I told him there was hope, but only hope."

Mr. Holland took a sip of water.

"Imperial Capital University selects students from all over the country. Tens of thousands apply each year, and those are the top students who have already been screened once."

"Never mind just Briston. Out of all the middle schools in the entire Northern Industrial Zone, not many make it in each year."

"Your foundation was thin back then. Taking second place in the Cicero Cup was already a pleasant surprise."

"But the Cicero Cup is just the Cicero Cup."

"Yes. My aunt also said it was only the first threshold." Richard understood this himself.

"The preparatory program for the Department of Classics at Imperial Capital University only accepts a few dozen students a year, so back then I only dared to say there was hope."

Mr. Holland set the glass of water back on the desk.

"But after these past six months, I can speak a little more confidently."

"...Sir, you have that much faith in me?"

Richard certainly had faith in himself, but being praised by his teacher like this made him slightly embarrassed.

"If I say you can get in, you can get in."

There wasn't a trace of exaggeration in Mr. Holland's tone.

"The Plautus I'm teaching you now is second-year material for the Imperial Capital University preparatory program."

"Before the summer study session begins, I'll have you learning undergraduate material."

He pushed the marked piece of dialogue back across the desk.

"Fix these two spots when you go back."

"Yes, sir."

...

Wentworth's call came quickly; he had news in less than two weeks.

Richard detoured to the Branch Office after school. The door on the third floor was slightly ajar.

The inspector squad leader pushed a pine box to the edge of the desk, then set a palm-sized velvet box beside it.

"These hold your custom order and your requested materials."

"Things have been very busy over in Manchester lately. The craftsman charged an extra five pounds for the work. I had the accountant put the balance on your tab for now."

Richard opened the pine box first. Three needles lay in the folds of the cushion.

The enamel on the tooth section had been polished away, revealing the material beneath—something with the luster of both bone and jade.

The grip was shaped into a flat triangular prism, wedging perfectly between his fingers so it wouldn't slip during Needle Piercing.

A ring of silver wire was inlaid where the root of the tooth met the grip, tracing two loops along the guiding runes.

The craftsman hadn't skimped on the inscription work.

Richard pinched one of the needles, carefully avoiding the tooth section.

Even severed from its main body, the soul-beast's front canine still leaked a trace of "biting" intent on the etheric plane.

If he gripped it barehanded, no wound would immediately appear on his skin. But half a month later, that hand would inexplicably turn cold, and half a year after that, he wouldn't be able to straighten his fingers.

He opened the second tier. A Pocket Watch lay quietly inside, looking no different from any ordinary timepiece.

Richard didn't see the trick to it at first.

He focused his Spirit Vision on it, reading layer by layer past the outer shell.

The inner wall of the silver casing was inlaid with two shadow eater scales cut into petal shapes. Their convex sides faced outward, supplemented in the middle with a piece of etheric medium acting as a catalyst.

"Give it a try," Wentworth prompted.

Richard pressed the button. Click.

Light shot out from the concentric circles on the watch's face, carrying a hint of cold cyan and casting an extremely sharp shadow on the desk.

Wentworth explained briefly:

"The scales won't glow on their own. They need that tiny bit of ether you inject as a fuse to emit light."

The inspector squad leader looked serious at this point.

"Because it's a special period right now, higher-ups issued an internal notice a few days ago. They want to investigate all private commissions processed through organizational channels by non-staff personnel."

Richard's heart sank. This "special period" likely referred to the state of combat readiness.

"Are there any problems with my recent requests?"

"Yours are fine. The materials were all registered on the public accounts, and the payments went through your private subsidy."

Wentworth folded the internal notice and stuffed it into his drawer.

"But the next time you want something made, I'll have to ask for clearance from higher up."

Richard committed this to memory and gave a solemn nod.

Before heading home, he dropped by Clement Antique Shop.

The old man, wearing his monocle, was polishing a tin-copper alloy candlestick in front of the glass display case.

Hearing the bell chime, he looked up, recognized his visitor, and tossed his rag over his shoulder.

"Times are troubled," old Clement said straight away.

"The auction house supply line is completely dead. The bosses held a meeting this year and brought up 'downsizing.'"

"Downsizing?"

"The entire line of unsold goods under the Category Two designation has been chopped."

The old man sighed. "You'll have a hard time counting on anything rolling out of my hands from now on."

Richard felt a bit disappointed but didn't show it.

"It's alright, Mr. Clement."

"Could you write down the names, ages, and hobbies of your two grandsons for me?"

The old man froze.

"What's this for?"

"In case I ever truly find a good channel down the line, I can keep an eye out for them."

Clement took off his monocle and wiped it repeatedly on his apron.

Without another word, he fished out a piece of kraft paper from the bottom of a drawer, penned two lines, folded it, and handed it over.

Richard took it and tucked it into his inner breast pocket.

"This old man can still help you out one last time."

Clement picked his rag back up.

"Things are tightening up higher up, so some folks from within the auction house system are breaking off to open their own private shops.

"A whole nest of them will be popping up around the North District in a few months."

"The stuff they sell will be a mix of real and fake, and a lot of the genuine antiques will be stolen goods without a proper paper trail."

The old man polished the glass case until it gleamed.

"Although most of it will be fake, you've always had a good eye, kid. You'll definitely turn a profit scouring those shops."

Richard's eyes lit up. "Then I'll go take a look once they open."

Clement waved a hand.

"The auction house channels are dead, but I'll go visit my old buddies again down the road. I'll call you if there's any news."

"Thank you very much." Richard waved goodbye to the old man.

When he returned home from Clement's place, his sister's gingerbread "mr. rabbit (Version 6)" was already sitting on the table.

The gingerbread rabbit had a bulging round belly, and the eyes drawn in icing finally hadn't skewed behind its ears.

"Look! I used half a spoonful less sugar in this version!" Evelyn proudly presented it. "It didn't collapse!"

"It even has a bit of an expression in its eyes." Richard picked one up and popped it into his mouth. "...A squint."

"It's not a squint! It's called gazing into the distance!"

Richard finished off two members of the mr. rabbit family, then went upstairs to his room.

The items he had acquired today were enough for him to practice with for several days.

He put the Pocket Watch away first, then spread the three Fang Needles out on his desk.

He was already deeply familiar with practicing the Moon Nail technique.

But changing the medium meant going through an adjustment period.

For the first Fang Needle, he used his usual routine: gripping the needle, drawing breath, and Needle Piercing.

The needle rested steadily between his fingers, the two silver wire rings on the tooth waiting for him to push ether into them.

Following his usual rhythm, the ether moved along the third cycle of his Fourfold Breathing, pushing from his Seat of the Sun into his palm.

The moment the ether entered the tooth, there was a click.

The tooth "bit" down on the inflowing ether for a second before releasing it along the guiding runes.

The condensed Moon Nail had changed color.

When condensed with a Silver Needle in the past, it had been white tinged with cyan.

With this needle, a streak of gray floated beneath the white light.

Richard held that Moon Nail cluster steadily at the tip of the tooth, compressing it for another three breaths.

The condensed needle cluster was nearly twice as large as usual.

He raised his hand and thrust the Fang Needle into the spine of an old Latin textbook resting against the wall on the opposite side of the desk.

The Fang Needle made no sound as it went in.

The old textbook was effortlessly pierced through, the paper around the spine trembling in its wake.

Richard walked over and pulled the Fang Needle out, discovering that even the wall had a small hole punched through it, with wind whistling in from the outside.

He compared this effect with his previous use of Silver Needles and found the erosion efficiency had nearly doubled.

And this was just hitting a dead object without ether. If this landed on an evil creature...

He ran the numbers and realized that the attack effect of a Moon Nail fired from a soul-beast tooth already surpassed that of a single-ring Enchanted Bullet.

Richard sat back at his desk and positioned the Fang Needle between his fingers once more.

The standard casting of a Moon Nail, from gripping to Needle Piercing, consisted of three movements in total.

Closing the fingers, pushing the ether with a breath, and firing the needle.

The bottleneck of this process lay in that final launch.

After the ether condensed the needle cluster, it relied on a human hand to throw the needle.

The speed of a hand throw could never match the conduction speed of the ether itself.

A three-finger grip became two fingers, and two fingers became one.

One finger eventually turned into pure ether cradling the tip, letting the tooth hover slightly above the palm.

Changing the physical motion of Needle Piercing from a flick of the wrist to a "spit" of ether.

An advanced form recorded in Nemesis's Moon Nail manual was called the "pure Perception-level probe."

Completely removing the physical medium of the Moon Nail, allowing the ether itself to condense into a single nail that plunged into a wall to probe the other side.

Besides that, there was also the Moon Blade Rain, the Moon Chain, and so on.

And to achieve these advanced techniques, the fundamental prerequisite was mastering the "one-finger grip."

Richard reached out and pressed the Pocket Watch.

"Click."

Light spilled from the center of the concentric circles, casting the shadow of the Fang Needle sitting on the desk sharply against the wall.