Chapter 45: Gargoyle

He first brought out a stone sculpture.

It was about the size of two adult fists, carved from gray-black stone with rough and powerful strokes.

It was shaped like a crouching Gargoyle.

Its wings were half-open against its back, its head stretched forward, and its mouth gaped wide.

The shape of the mouth was peculiar. The gap between the upper and lower fangs had been deliberately hollowed out into a pipe, as if the Gargoyle were breathing out in a specific direction.

The base was perfectly square, with different symbols carved into each of its four sides.

Richard recognized them at first glance. The carving style of the symbols differed from the priest inscriptions found in the Black Soil River Basin.

The strokes were rounder, with flowing connections between the lines. It was the ancient inscription system native to the Western Continent.

Gerard placed the Gargoyle on the desk. The stone base met the surface with a dull thud.

Richard took two steps closer. The Panel did not react.

It was dead, as clean as all the other ornaments in the study... Wait, no.

The bronze sculptures and silver candlesticks in the study didn't trigger the Panel because they lacked any internal taint or sediment.

The Gargoyle was different.

As he drew near, the warm spot inside the Seat of the Sun in his chest trembled slightly. His internal circulation told him there was something inside this stone.

Yet the Panel remained completely still.

There was only one explanation: the seal was too tight. The Ether was locked down so flawlessly that not even the slightest trace leaked out.

Gerard stood beside the desk, watching the subtle shift in his grandson's expression as he approached the Gargoyle.

"Can you feel that there is something inside?"

Richard nodded.

Gerard brought his right hand out from behind his back and rested his fingertips on top of the Gargoyle's head.

The inscriptions on the base of the Gargoyle lit up, and the Panel flared to life.

[Available Points: 0.52]

A crack had been opened in the seal, and Ether was seeping out through the gap.

But the old man had only turned it halfway, leaving the rest sealed tight.

A cake you couldn't finish was worth more than a cake swallowed in one bite. He was clearly doing this on purpose.

"Take this."

He pulled his hand away from the Gargoyle's head.

"What is sealed inside?" Richard asked.

Gerard sat down in the chair beside the desk and crossed his legs.

"To be honest, I only know the broad category. I can't say exactly what it contains."

That sounded a bit strange. Richard waited for an explanation.

"Work on the Old Continent, to put it plainly, is simply being a Gatekeeper. We watch this side of the veil and keep the foul things from slipping out.

"But the real frontline is on the New Continent. That is where the veil is thinnest.

"The Ashford family has been doing this job for three generations. Our bloodline primarily follows the path of the Hunter—direct confrontation, capture, and disposal.

"It is a pragmatic and effective path that fits perfectly with our duties."

"But this Gargoyle is not from our family."

He lightly tapped the Gargoyle's wing with his finger.

"What is sealed inside is a Scholar's secret Spell Formula."

"Scholars have a habit of carving their most important knowledge into objects as inscriptions."

Richard stepped closer, flipped the Gargoyle over to look at its base, and carefully studied the four sets of inscriptions.

The length, symbol arrangement, and writing density of each set were entirely different.

"You will have to figure out how to decipher the four faces of inscriptions yourself. Since you managed to chew through those steganographic texts in a month, this shouldn't take you too long."

As Richard took the Gargoyle, a question came to mind.

"Based on what you said earlier, my aunt also walks the path of a Scholar. Doesn't she need this?"

Gerard waved his hand. "Your aunt looked at this ten years ago. The secret technique inside is of no use to her."

He rapped his knuckle against the Gargoyle's wing.

"Besides, the track she follows is not from the same branch as the one carved in here.

"To her, it's just an old textbook from someone else's discipline, left to gather dust on the shelf."

"But for someone like you who is just starting out, it is exactly what you need."

The old man leaned back in his chair.

"You want to head down the Scholar's path. I'm not familiar with their rules, but I do know one thing... if the answer is spoon-fed to them, they will look down on it."

He continued to explain.

"In truth, our branch possesses the most resources and heritage for a Hunter. We could push you all the way to the Minor Adept stage. Though, of course, you would still have to complete the advancement ritual for Minor Adept yourself."

"Unfortunately, the optimal starting age for the Path of Blood Ignition is thirteen. Fourteen is the cutoff threshold; past that age, the body's malleability drastically drops."

"It isn't impossible to begin at sixteen, but..." He looked at Richard's frail build and couldn't help but frown.

"Your foundation is really lacking."

The old man rested his hands on the desk.

"Getting back on topic, the academy's path has its advantages. It is independent, free, and unbound by too many restrictions."

"But regarding advancement and relevant resources, you will have to slowly grind your way up on your own."

Richard did not interject, waiting for him to continue.

"Over there, they will provide you with an evaluation system, a group of like-minded peers, and a door that will only open when you have climbed high enough."

"Before that happens, you have to find supernatural items yourself, gather resources yourself, and figure out the supply channels for various materials entirely from scratch."

Richard could hear the underlying subtext, but he was in no rush to state his stance on the spot.

"Grandfather, you mentioned earlier that you could provide support. What extent of support are we talking about exactly?"

Gerard glanced at him and smiled.

"Guidance regarding information and direction, along with certain introductions through our network.

"And when you reach a critical juncture, we are willing to vouch for you."

"Understood," Richard nodded.

Gerard looked down at the crouching stone sculpture.

"I don't know the specific intricacies of the Scholar path, but I do know one thing.

"The further Scholars progress, the more Hunters and those on the Secret path rely on them.

"They are the kind of people who can change the entire situation—not by throwing punches, but by seeing what others cannot understand."

He shifted his gaze from the Gargoyle to Richard's face.

"This does not contradict a Gatekeeper's duty. On the contrary, it might take you much further than walking the Path of Blood Ignition alone."

"Consider the Gargoyle my personal compensation to you. Even if you choose not to return to the Ashford family in the future, this thing is yours. No one will ever come to take it back."

Richard set the Gargoyle back on the desk, the rough texture of the stone still lingering against his palm.

"Thank you, Grandfather."

Gerard nodded and rummaged through his drawer again, pulling out a flat wooden box.

Carved into the lid of the wooden box was the Ashford family crest: an oak tree and a rampant lion.

"This is for you as well."

He pushed the wooden box across the desk, setting it side by side with the Gargoyle.

"Inside are a few things you might find useful in the Imperial Capital. It isn't much, but it's enough to tide you over for now."

"Once the Cicero Cup is over, you can live here permanently if you wish. The doors of Ashford House are always open to you."

The conversation was drawing to a close. The fire in the hearth was nearly out, and the temperature in the study was steadily dropping.

"Go get some rest," Gerard said. "Aren't you supposed to be preparing for the Cicero Cup?"

Richard tucked the wooden box under one arm and held the Gargoyle with the other. "Then I will head back to my room."

"Go on."

...

Richard walked down the corridor toward the guest room. The two items in his hands carried a fair bit of weight.

He glanced down at the wooden box tucked under his arm and the Gargoyle cradled in his hands, feeling like a porter hauling goods.

But to gain this much from a single conversation—it was a happy sort of burden to have.

As he turned the corner, he spotted his mother standing by the window at the far end of the hallway.

The curtains were drawn back just a sliver, and the moonlight cast a pale, ghostly glow across the side of her face.

Margaret was wearing the same old dress she had arrived in, wrapped in a thin cardigan, her arms folded across her chest.

Her posture was entirely different from how she had stood in the parlor during the day.

Earlier, her back had been ramrod straight, her expression impeccably polite yet distant. Every one of her movements had been drilled into her since childhood.

Now, her shoulders slumped. She leaned against the window frame, clearly having stood there for quite some time.

She was waiting for her son.