Chapter 289: Thoth's Weighing (Alliance Leader Bonus 6)

By the time he returned to the Ashford Residence, it was already dinnertime.

Dinner consisted of a few exquisite dishes, likely ordered from a restaurant in town.

Richard finished his meal, went upstairs, and locked his door.

He first took the two bronze artifacts out of his shoulder bag and placed them on the desk.

Richard grabbed a clean sheet of parchment and spread it out on the desk.

Then, he dug a small piece of Ether Condensate out of a drawer.

He cradled the sacred ibis paperweight in his palm.

A wisp of ether flowed slowly down the inside of his right arm and into his palm.

Following the long beak of the sacred ibis, he guided it to "look" at the clean piece of condensate.

It meticulously recorded the exact weight and purity of the condensate.

Under Richard's Spirit Vision, the cast-bronze sacred ibis trembled ever so slightly.

It "looked" over, but that heavy layer of resentment blocked its view.

Richard wasn't in a hurry.

He swapped in another piece of condensate and guided the sacred ibis to "look" again.

Recording one stroke, then another.

By the fifth time, a very faint trace of warmth seeped from the tip of the sacred ibis's beak.

It remembered that its original purpose was to keep the true accounts for the Nine Gods.

Whatever was written in the ledger dictated exactly what the item was.

The scale was the same—once the account was recorded, the item was weighed on the scale.

The moment it remembered its true duty, the resentment began to fade.

These two supernatural items, just like the ink bottle, possessed mystical effects.

Richard traced the faint ether pathways preserved inside.

He could sense that once they were thoroughly purified, the combination of these two supernatural items could genuinely weigh things.

And it seemed they could weigh more than just tangible objects.

There was no rush. The items he had taken out lacked sufficient weight anyway.

He would wait for the upcoming gathering to see if he could trade for something with real heft.

By using them to record and weigh something like that, he figured the resentment would fade almost entirely.

Late into the night, he locked the two items away in his drawer and performed a final set of Tide-Shifting Breathing.

The pool of ether in his chest receded on its own, then surged back up.

...

Over the next few days, Richard waited for the gathering while adjusting to Tide-Shifting Breathing and tinkering with the two new supernatural items.

He also found time to drop by the museum's ancient texts section.

Unfortunately, his Inscriptiology skills weren't quite there yet; he couldn't read many of the books.

Before the gathering occurred, Grey's letter arrived.

The letter was brief, inviting Richard for a quick chat at a cafe.

The location was near her girls' school in the northern part of the city.

The school was called St. Bridge Girls' Academy. They taught French, piano, embroidery, and how to host a respectable tea party.

Grey was now officially enrolled there.

Richard took a car to the north of the city.

The area around the academy was a bit newer than the old residential district in the west.

A freshly painted cinema stood on the street corner, its entrance plastered with colorful posters.

The cafe they agreed on had a small storefront. Most of the patrons inside were schoolgirls taking a break, huddled in twos and threes, chatting in hushed tones.

By the time Richard walked through the door, Grey had already arrived.

The girl was sitting by the window.

Today, she wore the St. Bridge uniform—a dark blue dress with a stand-up collar, the neckline and cuffs edged in plain white.

The waist was perfectly tailored, giving way to a modest pleated skirt that brushed her ankles.

The dark fabric made her complexion look all the fairer. Her hair was pinned up, leaving just two loose strands framing her ears.

"Richard, you're here." The girl blinked her blue eyes, clearly pleased.

"Traffic was a bit heavy." Richard sat down across from her.

Grey poured him a cup of tea, and Richard took a sip.

The tea was warm and smooth—a good blend.

A waiter approached, and Grey placed their order. Her words were crisp and concise, without a single wasted syllable.

"Refill the black tea, and bring us two orders of mille-feuille."

"Mille-feuille." The waiter jotted it down.

"It's a recipe from over in Franc," Grey explained to Richard.

"A layer of puff pastry, a layer of cream, stacked over and over."

The two orders of mille-feuille were brought out, with three pieces on each plate.

Grey picked up a knife and sliced into the side of one.

The pastry didn't yield the crisp crackle it should have; it was limp and soggy.

Grey's brow furrowed.

"The mille-feuille here is no good."

"Oh?"

"Look at this pastry." Grey tapped it with her fork.

"When you cut into a proper mille-feuille, there should be a sharp crack, and it should flake apart layer by layer."

"This one is already soggy. They probably made it ages ago and just left it sitting out."

"There's also too much sugar in the cream; it completely masks the milk's flavor."

Richard took a bite.

It was a bit sweet, but he had never been a picky eater.

"It's alright."

Grey gave him a look and set her half-eaten piece back on the plate.

"With you, everything is probably 'alright.'"

"My sister says the same thing."

"...Evelyn is right."

Two schoolgirls at the next table kept stealing glances at them.

One of them recognized Grey and came over with her teacup to say hello.

"Grey, you aren't heading back to school today?"

"I came out to see an old classmate." Grey looked up. Her tone was polite, yet guarded by an invisible wall.

"Enjoy your meal."

Snubbed, the girl shot another glance at Richard and walked back to her table.

Once they were gone, Grey's shoulders slumped.

"These girls..." She curled her lip at Richard. "Every single one of them has a nose sharper than a hound's."

The two of them began to chat over the plate of soggy mille-feuille, and the atmosphere completely relaxed.

"What do you all do at the academy outside of class?" Richard asked.

"Tango." Grey rolled her eyes.

"Tango?"

"A type of dance. It came over from Franc across the sea, and from even further south."

"A while back, a few new 'tango teahouses' opened up in the capital, and the girls at our academy went crazy for them.

"The dorm matron repeatedly banned us from going, but people still sneak over the wall to learn it."

"Have you gone?" Richard tried to picture the girl in front of him dancing the tango.

"I would never go," Grey scoffed.

"Two people pressed so close together, spinning in circles—what's so good about that?"

Richard smiled.

"So what else is there to do?"

"There's plenty to do." Grey's brows twitched, revealing a hint of the familiar gossip she had grown accustomed to at the girls' school.

"A while back, everyone was talking about the movies."

"Movies?"

"Two new cinemas just opened up in the city." Grey looked at the boy in front of her, as if considering something.

"You haven't been? It's a pitch-black room with a large white sheet hung at the front. The projector spins, and the people on the sheet start moving."

"I've heard people mention it, but I haven't gone to see one."

"You should go see one," Grey said, a rare tone of liveliness in her voice.

"At first, they only showed short clips—a train pulling into a station, workers leaving a shift—and it would be over in a few minutes.

"It's different now. They actually tell stories."

"Are they any good?"

"The picture jitters constantly; it makes you dizzy." Grey frowned.

"When it gets to a critical scene, someone plays the piano off to the side to accompany it."

"What was it about?"

"A girl was tied to the train tracks, and just as the train was about to run her over, a young man rode in on a horse at the very last second to save her."

"Did he save her?"

"He did." Grey pursed her lips.

"The actress was so exaggerated. Her eyes were bugging out, and her mouth was open wide enough to stuff an egg inside."

Richard laughed.

"Oh, right, there are also flight shows."

Grey's eyes lit up as she found a more interesting topic.

"Last month, an aviator came to the outskirts of the city, flying a plane in circles and doing loops in the sky.

"The entire city ran out to watch; they packed the field so tight you couldn't slip a drop of water through.

"The tickets were insanely expensive, but our academy organized a trip for us to go once."

"Airplanes..." Richard was genuinely interested in this. "Do they fly high?"

"Not really." The young woman's expression fell. "It just chugged and sputtered, blowing black smoke. It looked like it was going to drop out of the sky at any second."

"The aviator also tossed flyers from the sky. They rained down in droves, and everyone scrambled to pick them up."

She dug a crumpled piece of paper out of her satchel.

Richard took it and gave it a glance. Printed on it was an airplane and a few lines of advertising.

He suspected that before long, these airplanes wouldn't just be used for dropping flyers.

"There are only so many places a proper student can go for fun."

Grey counted them off on her fingers:

"A new department store opened in the west of the city. They have a massive elevator just for bringing people up and down, and the moment you walk in, it smells like perfume.

"Then there's the indoor ice rink. It's artificial ice, so you can skate year-round. Aside from that, it's just listening to concerts."

"Have you been to all of them?"

"I've ridden the elevator," Grey chuckled.

"The first time I rode it, my palms were sweating. That iron cage clanked as it rose, and I thought the whole thing was going to fall apart."

"And ice skating?"

"I fell twice." A flush crept up Grey's cheeks. "Don't even mention it."

Richard burst into laughter.

"Richard!" Grey glared at him.

"The ice in the rink is hard and slippery; falling twice is nothing to be ashamed of," Richard said, dialing back his laughter and adopting a serious tone.

Grey reached out and shoved the plate of mille-feuille toward him, as if trying to gag him. "Eat."

"Thanks." Richard picked up the pastry and casually asked, "Speaking of which... is your family's spice business... still holding up these days?"

At the mention of her family's business, the girl's liveliness vanished.

"Barely."

"Once the war broke out, the sea routes tightened. The area around Hemus Island is a warzone now.

"Detouring makes the shipping expensive and drastically lengthens the travel time."

"Then..."

"Fortunately, we deal in Eastern spices."

Grey traced a line on the table with her finger, curving it south.

"By bypassing the warzone and taking the old southern route, we can still manage to get shipments through."

"These past two months, our income has thinned out substantially." She shook her head. "My mom sighs over the ledgers every single day."

Richard recalled the hidden meaning behind her mother's earlier words.

"Your mother... must have some connections that ordinary people can't help with."

Grey looked up at him, not rushing to answer.

She spun her teacup, then pulled a stiff cardboard folder from her satchel.

"Let me show you something first."