Chapter 474: I Just Want Some Fun

Leaving Room 314, Richard circled around to the small path behind the Petrie Building and walked alone for a long time.

He stopped in front of the notice board as the sky grew dark.

The conscription poster at the very top had been replaced with a new one: a mother clutching her child in the ruins.

Next to it hung a piece of coarse paper announcing this week's charity bazaar.

He reached into his inner pocket. The pressed leaf was still there.

"Take it to brag," the guy had told him at the time.

Richard pinched the corner of the leaf, hesitating.

He and Matthew had only met once. They had exchanged fewer than twenty sentences in total.

Madam Marie's cat avatar had made it perfectly clear to him: "You aren't my student, and I have no intention of shouldering this for you."

If she refused to shoulder it, why would her student?

Most importantly, what made him think a Virtuoso would intervene in a dispute over seats between juniors?

Richard suddenly recalled the list in Hecate's letter.

Minerva, Star Map tradition, Major Adept.

Would a Major Adept Scholar of the Star Map tradition really have no contact with a Virtuoso?

The Star Map tradition governed observation, calculation, and deduction.

By the time one reached Major Adept in this tradition, the invisible star chart unspooling overhead could cover half the Empire.

If she wanted to call in help, it would definitely be easier for her than for a Practitioner like him.

That raised a question.

If Virtuosos could freely intervene in matters like this, what was the point of small fry like them fighting this group battle?

There must be rules, Richard told himself.

He put the leaf away again.

Back in his dormitory room, Richard laid the leaf flat on his desk and recited the name in his mind.

Matthew Carrick.

Nothing happened.

He waited for about ten seconds.

The gas lamp in the room burned quietly. The scent of soot drifted in, resembling a winter morning in Briston mixed with a hint of damp wool.

Richard looked up. A pair of boots took two steps right in front of him.

"Yo."

A man with hair like a clump of dry grass stepped out of the wall, looking around.

He wrinkled his brow in distaste.

"This room of yours... is even smaller than the one I rented in Edinburgh back in the day."

"Sir." Richard stood up.

"Call me Matthew." The man stretched his legs under the desk, the soles of his boots nearly scraping the edge of Richard's bed.

"Speak. What do you need me for?"

Richard stood there, silent for a moment.

Matthew pursed his lips.

"If you aren't going to talk, I'm heading back."

Richard finally spoke.

"I want to ask you a question first."

"Ask."

"Can a Virtuoso intervene in a struggle for seats?"

Matthew narrowed his eyes.

The trace amounts of ether in the room immediately sank toward the floor, pressing down in complete submission.

But it only lasted a moment.

"No," Matthew said.

The ether field relaxed.

"Why not?"

"Because of the rules."

"What rules?"

Matthew laced his hands behind his head and leaned back in his chair.

"Let me put it this way. Have you ever played cards?"

"I have."

"You're at the card table betting a shilling against someone. Halfway through, you call in your dad. Your dad is the local sheriff, and the moment he walks in, he flips the table."

"...Then that ruins the game."

"Exactly." Matthew snapped his fingers.

"Those old things behind the veil have been playing this game for who knows how many years. If they wanted to make a move, it would take just a single word."

He spread his hands.

"If they make a move, what's left for people like you to fight over?

Today I flip your table, and tomorrow you invite an even bigger shot to flip mine.

Keep flipping tables, and in the end, the ritual gets completely destroyed."

"So they established their own rules," Richard realized.

"Right. Anyone who manages to claim one of those seats knows it."

Richard committed this to memory.

"What are the exact rules?"

"Very simple." Matthew held up a single finger.

"In the struggle for seats, a Virtuoso cannot directly enter the fray."

"Cannot directly enter," Richard repeated.

"Right."

"What about indirectly?"

Matthew grinned. The wrinkles on his sunburnt face squeezed together.

"Kid, you're more wicked than I thought. There are far too many ways to interfere indirectly."

"I just want to be clear."

Richard sat on the edge of his bed.

"So a Virtuoso can't directly step in as outside help?"

"No."

Saying this, Matthew narrowed his eyes again.

"But I'm a little different."

Richard sat up straight.

Matthew tapped a finger against his own chest.

"My roots aren't over here."

"What do you mean?"

"I advanced on the New Continent, west of the central mountain range."

He pointed out the window.

"I forged my own path over there, step by step. My roots are planted in that soil.

The rules the old fogeys here on the Old Continent spent hundreds, thousands of years establishing are rooted here in the Old Continent.

"My core is in the New Continent, so they have no jurisdiction over me."

The room fell silent.

Sitting on the edge of his bed, Richard suddenly let out the breath he had been holding.

"So you're saying..."

Matthew smiled like a fox that had just stolen a chicken.

"If I happen to be passing by that night, the most they can do is hurl a few insults at me from behind the veil."

"Just a few insults?"

"Right." Matthew nodded.

"They have to weigh whether it's worth making an enemy out of me over this. If it comes to blows, they'd have to travel all the way to my lair on the New Continent, and that's a place they definitely don't want to visit."

He suddenly flashed a wide grin.

"Besides, I never much liked following the rules anyway."

Matthew pulled his legs out from under the desk and shifted into a more comfortable position.

"What, are you stunned?"

"I'm calculating the cost."

"What cost?"

"Whether I can afford you."

Matthew burst into laughter.

"You're pretty sharp... If you had started thanking me profusely the moment I said I could help, I would have turned right around and left."

Richard looked up.

"Sir, I don't have much on me.

"You have no use for money."

"I don't."

"I have a few supernatural items on hand, but none of them would catch your eye."

"True."

"Information... I've gathered some in the Imperial Capital over the past year, but you just said you operate in the New Continent. Imperial Capital intel won't be of much use to you."

Matthew nodded, wearing an expression that said You're absolutely right.

"So, what do you want?" Richard yielded the floor for him to name his price.

The room went quiet for a moment.

Matthew reached out and fiddled with the shade of the gas lamp on the desk. Realizing it was pointless, he withdrew his hand.

"Do you know what I've lacked the most during my twenty years over there?"

"What?"

"Fun."

Richard was a bit baffled.

"The New Continent has everything."

"But you won't see more than twenty living people near the Mouth of the Underworld River all year round. One of my old pals over there hasn't spoken a complete sentence in years—he's completely lost the ability."

He slapped his knees.

"So I'm genuinely bored out of my mind. You asking for my help gave me the perfect excuse to come over and have some fun."

"Alright, back to business." Matthew spread his hands.

"While I don't work for free, the things I ask for usually aren't worth any money."

"Go ahead."

Matthew held up a finger.

"First, write a story for me."

"...About what?"

"About me."

Richard opened his mouth.

"Little MacNeil read your penny booklet out loud to our teacher."

Matthew fell into reminiscence. The moment that disguised smile vanished, his face became as wooden as a puppet's.

"When he read the line, 'Don't recognize the wet ones, don't recognize the cold ones,' the teacher smiled. It's very rare to see her smile."

He leaned forward.

"So, I want you to write a side story for me."

"What kind of side story?"

"A side story about friendship," Matthew declared with absolute righteousness.

"Set it in that crappy book of mine, A Lone Man's Grand Journey.

"Don't use my first or last name. Just write about a gentleman who has returned from a very distant place."

A hint of a smile returned to his face.

"Oh, and from now on, mail me a copy of every new volume. I'll give you the address later."

Matthew suddenly sat up straight. Surprisingly, the chair didn't creak this time.

"Also, if you ever reach the level I'm at..."

"...A Virtuoso?"

"Right." Matthew nodded.

"Once you reach that point, you have to come to my lair on the New Continent and do something for me."

The room remained quiet for a long time.

"Do what?"

"You'll find out when the time comes."

"Is there a time limit?"

"No time limit," Matthew said casually.

"If you don't advance that far, this condition is void.

I won't force you to do anything... the vast majority of people can't make it that far on this path anyway."

"And if I do make it, but refuse to go?"

Matthew bared his teeth in a grin.

"Then I'll just show up at your door for a little chat."

"...Chat until I agree?"

"Until you agree."

Richard was silent for two seconds.

"I think I'd better just go."

"Smart."

"Should we draw up a contract, then?"

"No need." Matthew waved his hand dismissively.

"Things left in writing can be used against you. I don't sign contracts—my word is my bond."

Richard suddenly asked another question.

"Sir, is this task of yours difficult?"

Matthew's jovial mood faded slightly.

"I've been trying to get it done ever since I advanced, and I still haven't succeeded."

He didn't elaborate further.

Matthew raised his eyes. "Back to business. The table you're sitting at now—who holds the head seat?"

"Hecate."

"Then why are you risking your life for her?"

The room went quiet as Richard organized his thoughts.

"I'm not risking my life for her."

"Oh?"

"I'm securing my own seat, and I've gained a fair amount of benefits from the gatherings, too."

Matthew hummed in thought.

"Good answer. Better than I expected."

He leaned back in his chair.

"Then let me give you an idea."

"I'm listening."

"After that night is over, find a chance to dethrone her."

Richard wasn't sure if he was being tested.

"...What?"

"Dethrone her and take the head seat for yourself."

Matthew said it as casually as if he were talking about closing a window.

"Sir, I'm a Practitioner."

"So what? I'm not telling you to do it right now.

Three years, five years, even ten years is fine. I can wait."

Richard looked up.

"Sir, is this part of the conditions?"

"That depends on how you interpret it."

"Is me dethroning her really that important to you?"

Matthew smiled again.

"I told you I was looking for fun, and this is exactly the kind of fun I want."