Chapter 315: A Date and Sealed Lips

Richard turned around.

Grey stood at the other end of the sycamore avenue.

She stood alone under the streetlamp with her hands clasped in front of her. She had taken a half-step forward before pulling back, freezing in place.

Only when she saw Richard turn did she slowly walk over.

"...What a coincidence."

Richard looked at her. "Your school finished up?"

"It did." Grey looked away.

"We were just here for some 'edification' today.

Our teacher told us to watch how the students at Imperial Capital University debate, to broaden our horizons."

Phillips stood to the side, glancing between the two of them.

The guy might not be good for much else, but he knew how to read a room.

"Ahem!" He cleared his throat and shoved his teacup into his fiancée's hands.

"Constance, my mother told us to head back early today."

Constance came from a prominent family as well; she caught on immediately.

"We really should get back." She took the teacup and nodded at Richard and Grey.

"Mr. Williams, Miss, we will take our leave."

They left without hesitation. Soon, only Richard and Grey remained beneath the sycamores.

Grey kept her head down, scuffing her toe against the flagstones.

"That friend of yours..." she said softly. "He's quite interesting."

"His fiancée is even more interesting," Richard said. "She looks delicate, but she could sling him over her shoulder and walk off."

Grey let out a laugh, her shoulders relaxing.

"Right." She looked up. "Have you had dinner yet?"

"Not yet."

"Then..." A rare hint of excitement leaked into Grey's tone. "I'll take you somewhere."

"You know your way around the Imperial Capital University district?" Richard was slightly surprised.

"I looked it up before I came." Grey lifted her chin, unable to hide her smugness.

"There's a famous restaurant in the academy district called Old Oak. They specialize in traditional local dishes."

"You know the area better than I do."

"Of course." Grey tilted her chin at him. "You're buried in books all day. When would you have time for this?"

Twilight settled over the sycamore leaves, bit by bit.

The two of them walked slowly along the flagstone paths of the academy district.

Imperial Capital University possessed a unique charm after nightfall.

The autumn ivy was half-red and half-green. Illuminated by the streetlamps, it looked like an old blanket draped over the aged walls.

Occasionally, silhouettes could be seen bent over desks behind brightly lit windows.

"This is where you study?" Grey looked around.

"Yeah."

"It's different from St. Bridge."

"Our walls are all freshly painted white. It's so clean it feels a bit desolate."

"I heard you even have to learn how to host tea parties?"

Grey curled her lip.

"Yes. How to arrange the table, who to serve first and last, which side to place the teaspoon on."

She counted them off. "An entire course, dedicated just to that."

"So many rules just for pouring tea."

"There are so many more." Grey sighed.

"Sometimes I think that instead of learning all this, I'd rather read a few more cookbooks."

Richard smiled.

"Your cooking is already excellent."

"It's nothing special," Grey replied modestly, though her steps grew noticeably lighter. "I still have a long way to go."

After passing through a corridor, the girl suddenly stopped beside a fountain.

"I looked this up too." She pointed to a line of Latin inscribed on the fountain's base.

"Read it for me. What does it say?"

Richard leaned in for a look.

"'Aqua haurit qui sitit,'" he read out loud. "Only the thirsty will come to draw water."

"What does that mean?"

"It probably means..." Richard thought for a moment. "Only those who truly seek knowledge will come here."

Grey stared at the inscription for a moment.

"What about you?" she asked suddenly. "Are you thirsty?"

Richard hesitated for a second.

Coming from her, the question likely meant more than just a thirst for knowledge.

"Thirsty. Very thirsty."

Grey gave a satisfied murmur and didn't press any further.

She turned around and continued walking.

The streetlamps stretched their shadows, casting them side by side on the flagstones.

Richard glanced down at his shadow.

It looked perfectly ordinary, falling right beside the girl's.

They soon arrived at the restaurant.

Pushing the door open, they were greeted by dark oak wainscoting.

Several oil paintings hung on the walls, depicting street scenes from centuries past.

"This place has been open for over a hundred years," Grey said softly, as if afraid of disturbing the quiet.

"Word is that several of the old professors from Imperial Capital University used to frequent it."

A waiter guided them to a table by the window.

Grey ordered quickly.

"One roast sirloin, one beef rib, two mushroom soups, two Yorkshire puddings, and some creamy pasta."

Knowing how much Richard could eat, she deliberately ordered extra.

"You really did look everything up." Richard looked at her.

"I've always been thorough about these things." Grey closed the menu. "Just like you are with your studies."

The food arrived quickly.

The beef was cut thick, charred and fragrant on the outside while remaining a tender pink on the inside.

The Yorkshire puddings were baked to a fluffy golden brown and drizzled with gravy.

Richard was genuinely hungry. He had spent the whole day observing the debates and had only eaten a few sandwiches for lunch.

He cut a piece of beef and brought it to his mouth; his [eating] skill made the meat's flavor exceptionally vibrant.

Grey rested her chin on her hand, watching him eat.

"Is it good?"

"It's delicious."

"Everything is delicious to you."

"Right." Richard changed the subject. "Those frost beans you mentioned last time—have they all been sold?"

"Sold out ages ago," Grey said softly. "The regular customers fought over them."

"Did the box I gave you last time come in handy?"

"I had an acquaintance plant them for me," Richard answered selectively. "I'm not sure when they'll yield results."

"Take your time." The girl cut a piece of meat.

"My family's supply channels are always open. Whenever you need anything from the Eastern Continent, just let me know."

"Thank you, Grey."

"No need to thank me." She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "It was just a small favor."

By the time they stepped out of the Old Oak, it was almost eight o'clock.

Richard walked her to the academy district gates.

"This is far enough. I have a car coming to pick me up." Grey stopped.

She waved at Richard. "Debate well, and try to get a good ranking."

"I will."

"I'll keep coming to watch."

She took a few steps, then turned back.

"Richard."

"Hm?"

"Today... I had a really good time."

After saying that, she quickly turned around and trotted off into the night.

Richard stood in place, watching her disappear around the corner.

Going on a date with Grey meant he didn't have to think about the heavy burdens hidden behind the veil.

It was just having a meal and walking down a street.

Days like this were rare.

...

On the second day of the main tournament, Catherine appeared again.

Richard had a match today and had arrived early at Iliad Hall.

While he was waiting in the west side hall, he caught a glimpse of a red-haired girl walking through the entrance.

Richard was about to greet her, but the words caught in his throat.

Catherine was wearing a mask that covered most of her face.

Only her grayish-green eyes were visible, and the dark circles beneath them were exceptionally heavy.

She walked very slowly. Her arms hung by her sides, her fingers curled slightly inward.

Fischer also spotted her and hurriedly went to greet her.

"Catherine! You're finally back. Everyone was worried about you..."

Catherine stopped and gave Fischer a glance.

She pulled a small notepad and a pencil from her satchel.

She quickly scribbled a line of text, then flipped the notepad around to show Fischer.

Fischer leaned in to look.

The notepad read:

"I've lost my voice. I can't speak. Don't worry, I'm fine."

"Lost your voice?" Fischer frowned. "Is it serious? Let me take you to the infirmary..."

Catherine shook her head and wrote another line.

"I already saw a doctor. It just needs some rest."

She put the notepad away, nodded to Richard, and turned to walk into the lecture hall.

Richard activated his Spirit Vision and swept his gaze over her.

The mask's power was temporarily sealed by some sort of Spell Formula he didn't recognize.

Richard understood; Catherine simply didn't want to talk anymore.

Speaking meant leaving an opening, so she had chosen to remain mute, minimizing her interactions with others.

Richard thought of his own mask.

Hermes.

The patron god of debaters and Scholars, the god of words and trickery.

Over his past few days at the tournament, the thought had crossed his mind more than once.

Debating was inherently Hermes's domain.

If he wore that mask, what would he become on stage?

Hermes's power enhanced the persuasiveness of words: once spoken or put to paper, they became a binding contract.

Every word he spoke on that stage would become a truth pressed into the veil.

Richard could picture the scene:

The moment he opened his mouth, his opponents' arguments would collapse.

And when he concluded, the entire hall would be convinced he was right.

But what was the price?

Hermes was the psychopomp, the guide who ferried souls across the river.

Wearing the mask would draw the dead to him.

Richard glanced at the lecture hall.

Sitting in the audience were relatives whose sons were currently on the front lines, or had recently died in battle.

And the topic being debated on stage was what to call those who had perished in the trenches.

If he put on the mask of Hermes right here and attracted the dead...

Richard didn't dare think about it any further.

Tens of thousands of restless voices of the dead would surge forward together, following his newly "transparent" channel into the Spirit Realm.

If that happened, he would cause a colossal disaster.

Then there was the price of the "god of trickery"—the urge to deceive, to cross the line.

It would render his amulet useless—the amulet that made him like "still water that casts no reflection."

Richard's gaze landed on the masked girl once again.

Catherine was slowly writing something on her small notepad.

She wrote with deep focus, as if moving every word she wanted to say from her lips to the tip of her pencil.