Chapter 361: Divinely Crafted Armament

"Once you achieve deep resonance, you can borrow them temporarily."

Hecate didn't elaborate.

"Exactly what you obtain depends on your Rank and level of resonance."

"At first, you might draw out merely the shadow of a weapon, the skeleton of a skill, or half the function of a tool."

"Later on, what you pull out may become more complete, but the price will be far heavier."

She glanced at the members gathered around the table.

"The deeper the resonance, the more you gain, and the greater the cost."

The entire table fell silent.

Richard had a faint premonition that reaching this step of 'Mask Shadow Radiance' already counted as him mastering the mask's operation.

The condition for Shadow Inversion was likely right in front of him.

His shadow had been practicing behind the veil while wearing the mask every single day for months.

During this time, he had flipped through the mask's buffs from every conceivable angle, using them dozens of times over.

Messaging, boundary crossing, Ferrying, speech—he had thoroughly explored every single path governed by Hermes's mask multiple times.

Hecate called this process 'Mask Shadow Radiance'—when the divine name's projection brought by the mask took root within the wearer's body.

The condition to invert a Spell Formula had always been just one line: "Must have mastered the Spell Formula."

The ether structure of the mask was an incredibly complex Spell Formula.

He had never tried to dismantle its underlying code.

Divination had clearly warned him that giving the mask to someone else to dismantle would invite death.

What the panel required was for him to fluently run this program.

He had been running it for a month or two now, every single day.

On the other side, Hecate continued speaking.

"One more thing. Resonance is irreversible."

"Once you begin, you cannot back out halfway."

"Unless you destroy the mask... but the price for destroying it is far more terrifying than the resonance itself."

When those words fell upon the table, everyone's reactions varied completely.

The left pan of Nemesis's scale dipped slightly before she manually adjusted it back to level.

Prometheus's hands tightened into fists on his knees.

Half a drop of wine sloshed from Dionysus's cup and hit the table.

Heracles uncrossed his legs and shifted his position, while Demeter showed no reaction at all.

Hecate let her gaze drop to the far left.

"Demeter."

No sound came from beneath the terracotta mask; the woman simply offered a slight bow.

"Your mask's resonance ranks first at this table."

Hecate's voice carried a note of satisfaction.

"The Goddess of the Harvest governs planting, harvesting, and nurturing. You fed every shred of the mask's buffs straight into that field of yours."

"What your field has consumed from this mask can no longer be separated from the mask itself."

Hecate's torch tilted slightly toward Demeter.

"You have already entered the Resonance Stage, haven't you?"

Demeter gave a soft hum of agreement. "It has been over a month."

"What did you obtain?"

Demeter reached out her hand, and something materialized in her palm.

It was a sickle—entirely different from the one atop her original mask.

That original one was a mere symbol, a relief decoration carved into the terracotta face.

The one in her palm was real.

The edge curved at an angle Richard had never seen on any physical object, an arc that human hands could never hammer out of a steel billet.

The curve traveled a full one hundred and eighty degrees before hooking back for a short half-turn, the tip pointing right back toward the hilt.

"This is a Divinely Crafted Armament."

Hecate nodded, explaining on behalf of her good sister.

"Demeter's sickle."

"The Harvest Blade. Before it, all things can be counted as crops."

She asked again.

"About how long can you sustain it right now?"

Demeter retracted the sickle, closing her palm.

"For now, I can only use it once. Re-condensing it afterward requires a massive toll."

Hecate shifted her gaze to the right.

"Heracles."

A muffled response rumbled from beneath the Lion-Mouth Mask.

"Here."

"Your resonance ranks second."

"You took your mask and plunged headfirst into the Ash Belt, running back and forth from the frontlines, hunting evil creatures more fiercely than anyone else."

Heracles pulled his legs in and sat up slightly straighter.

"You've entered the Resonance Stage as well." Hecate didn't phrase it as a question.

"Half a month ago," the man replied, his voice rougher than anyone else's at the table.

"What did you obtain?"

The man beneath the Lion-Mouth Mask stretched out his right hand; in it was a Giant Olive Wood Club.

Earlier during the gathering, Richard had seen a projection of Heracles slaughtering his way across the battlefield with a Giant Olive Wood Club.

But whether in appearance or the sheer intensity of its aura, that one couldn't even begin to compare with the one materialized in his palm right now.

If the club from before was a toy gun, this one was a real firearm.

"The club I used in the projection earlier was just an ordinary enchanted weapon made by an alchemist."

Heracles turned the club over for everyone to see.

"This right here is the real deal."

"The impact from swinging it... Heh, my own hands ache from the shock of the blows."

"How long can you sustain it?" Hecate asked.

"Depends. If I swing with all my strength, three or four times at most.

If I just use it as a shell to coat my original weapon, it'll last a bit longer, but the effect will be severely weakened."

Richard suddenly recalled that Heracles's true killing weapon in mythology was the arrows tipped with Hydra Poison Blood.

The toxic blood of the Hydra was so potent that not even the beast itself could withstand the venom.

Since the man hadn't materialized the poison arrows, Richard wasn't sure if he was hiding his strength or if his resonance simply hadn't reached that level yet. He leaned toward the latter.

Hecate then shifted her gaze to the third seat.

"Dionysus."

A muffled laugh came from beneath the ivy mask.

"My turn?"

"Your resonance ranks third."

"You soaked your mask in wine, and it's been getting far too comfortable."

The icy detachment of the maiden in Hecate's voice bled through.

"Have you entered resonance?"

"I have." Dionysus placed his cup on the table.

"Just recently. Hasn't been too long."

"What did you obtain?"

"...Nothing yet."

A beat of silence fell over the table.

"Nothing yet?" Hecate's voice remained flat, but the silhouette of her torch leaned toward him.

"I've entered the Resonance Stage, but my first 'Mask Shadow Radiance' hasn't finished yet."

Dionysus pushed his cup out a little.

"I'm waiting for the right moment."

"Waiting?"

"Yeah." The mouth beneath the ivy mask smacked its lips.

"The Cup of Dionysus isn't quite suited to being materialized in quiet places."

His hand stroked the rim of his glass.

"It requires a setting that's 'intense' enough... crowded, boisterous, the kind of place where the mood is so thick it could ignite the air."

Hecate stared at him for a few seconds, not pressing the matter.

"Hermes."

Richard looked up.

He sat perfectly straight, his spine pressed flat against the back of his stone chair.

"Your resonance ranks fourth."

Hecate's gaze pierced through the layered eyeholes of the Golden Mask.

Two other sets of eyes immediately shifted toward Richard—Nemesis and Prometheus.

Both were somewhat surprised by Richard's progress, Nemesis especially.

Hecate was equally curious.

"The efficiency a mask can draw out in the hands of a Practitioner is naturally a tier lower than that of a Minor Adept.

With a lower Rank and thinner ether reserves, the mask's buffs are discounted when applied to you, and the effective duration of each use is shorter than anyone else's at this table."

"Yet under such conditions, the resonance you've achieved isn't far behind Dionysus."

The Golden Mask tilted slightly.

"How on earth have you been using it?"

Richard pressed his hands against his knees.

"I use it every day." His answer was brief.

Richard left it at that.

He wasn't going to explain the existence of his shadow at this table, much less talk about Astral Projection and spirits.

Hecate's gaze lingered on his face for two seconds before moving on.

"Nemesis, your resonance ranks fifth."

Nemesis said nothing.

"You are sealing away the mask's overflowing price, so I can understand your situation."

Hecate's voice softened half a beat.

"But while sealing it, you also restricted its usage efficiency."

"You should know it yourself. You are still far from the threshold of the Resonance Stage."

Two words surfaced on the pan of Nemesis's scale: "I know."

Then she added another sentence.

"Please give me a little more time, Chief. I will work harder."

Hecate nodded.

Then she turned her gaze toward the final person. Above her head, the torch and keys fully solidified, and the atmosphere in the room instantly tensed.

"Prometheus." The name landed heavily.

The back of the man in the red gold mask stiffened.

"Your mask..." Hecate said. "From the day I crafted it and handed it to you, up until today, how many times have you worn it?"

Prometheus didn't answer.

"I'll answer for you." Hecate's voice was perfectly measured.

"The number of times you've actually worn it and allowed its sliver of power to operate... is zero."

"What hangs on your face is still nothing but a decorative trinket."

No one at the table was surprised.

Everyone had seen Prometheus's hesitation over the past six months.

The mask of the Fire Thief granted foresight, but to him, foresight was torture. The further he saw, the deeper the torment. His fear was well-founded.

"You took the mask back and had your master dismantle it."

"Taking it apart triggered the failsafe I buried inside, and your master spent days cleaning up the mess."

"Then you repaired the mask, locked it in a cabinet, and kept it locked up until today."

"What difference is there between an unused mask and a scrap of copper?"

Prometheus lowered his head, offering no defense.

"Prometheus." Hecate laid it all out.

"My table cannot afford to keep someone who simply paces back and forth outside the door."

"Everyone else has walked inside, yet you still stand on the threshold, merely peering in.

You're taking up a chair and dragging down the entire table's progress."

"If you continue to hesitate and refuse to put it on..."

Hecate's voice turned absolutely freezing.

"I will have to ask you to leave."

"And this time, it won't be like when Ares left."

"When Ares left, I gave him money for prosthetics and a farewell."

"When you leave, you will get nothing."

"And you will have to reimburse me with the equivalent value of the price I paid to craft your mask—including the materials, the time, and the ether consumed."

A chilling quiet settled completely over the table.

Prometheus sat there in silence for a long while.

"Chief." His voice cracked from beneath the mask, laced with an indescribable dryness.

"I..."

Sitting in his seat, Richard pulled his Inspiration back to its absolute minimum.

Sweeping someone with Inspiration at a time like this was highly impolite, even within the Theogony Salon.

Prometheus choked on the word 'I' for roughly ten seconds.

During those ten seconds, his hands shifted over the edges of his mask several times before finally gripping its sides.

He cupped the mask between his palms and lifted it.

Very slowly, like carrying a bowl filled to the brim, terrified of spilling a single drop.

In the glow of the few lamps inside the temple, the silhouette of Prometheus upon the red gold mask flickered in and out of the light.

The Fire Thief, bound upon Mount Caucasus, his liver pecked out by an eagle every single day.

Foresight was torture... knowing the eagle would come tomorrow, knowing it would hurt when it arrived, yet the fire you stole would burn forever bright.

Prometheus held the mask up to his face, hesitating for a long, long time.

Then, he laid the red gold mask over his face.

The color of the crimson flame above Prometheus's head changed. There was light within the fire.

The light steadily seeped out from the core of the flame, neither fast nor slow, softening the ragged edges of the fire into a gentle halo.

Hecate watched silently for a moment.

"Good."

She was very satisfied with this result.