Chapter 492: Processing the Eyeball

June on Flower Moon Street. The windows along the outer street were still being replaced.

A paperboy shouted at the intersection:

"New Ministry of Munitions! Mr. Lloyd George is taking personal charge!"

A woman carrying a grocery basket stopped to buy a copy. She stood there, read the front page, and muttered, "Someone's finally managing the artillery shells."

Richard stepped through the mist by the old brick wall on the outer street and ran right into Donner cursing at someone outside his door.

"I said put it on the left!"

The short man had both hands wrapped in cloth, leaving him to point with his chin.

"A grown man, and you still can't tell left from right!"

The delivery boy, sweating profusely, shifted the crate to the other side.

"Alright, alright." Donner waved his bandaged hands.

"Put it down and leave. Stop panting at my door."

The boy bolted as if granted a pardon.

Donner finally turned around and saw Richard, anger still lingering on his face.

"You're just in time." He nodded at the crate.

"Move it to the back room. Put it on the long table by the east wall."

"Mr. Donner, how are your hands today?"

"Same as always." Donner raised his cloth-wrapped hands and wiggled them.

"The doctor said they need another two months to heal. I told him my line of work depends entirely on the feeling in my fingertips, and going months without touching antiques would make me completely rusty. He said I should change professions then."

"What did you say?"

"I told him that at my age, the only new trade I could take up was coroner."

The word coroner evoked some unpleasant memories for Richard. Losing his appetite for idle chat, he hoisted the crate and carried it into the back room.

Donner followed him in and sat down on a low stool. "It was sent over from Madam Marie's place. Open it up and take a look."

"She sent word that it's for you to practice on."

Richard unpacked the first item.

It was a brass ship's bell. The rim had a few chipped gaps, and the words "Three Sisters" were cast into its body.

Donner provided its provenance, explaining that it was a cursed object.

"The ship sank at Dogger Bank in the winter of 1888. All twenty-one people went down and were never recovered."

"A cheapskate ship chandler later dredged up the bell, planning to repurpose it. Not long after, the guy simply stopped moving while sitting behind his own counter. The report listed the cause of death as heart failure."

Donner curled his lip.

"In our line of work, the most terrifying thing is getting greedy over small change and taking things you shouldn't touch."

Richard cycled the Condensed Mirror Method and projected his perception into it. He saw someone beneath the seawater striking the bell to announce the time.

"You see it?" Donner asked.

"I see it." Richard withdrew the Still Water.

"A watch at sea lasts four hours, with the bell struck every half hour. If no one is on watch, it drags someone down to take the shift."

Donner inhaled sharply beside him, clicking his tongue in amazement.

"So that greedy chandler was dragged off to take the watch. These drowned ghosts certainly have unique excuses."

Having appraised it to this point, Richard no longer needed to go through the hassle of weighing it on a scale. He could simply process it directly.

He propped up his silver mirror with his left hand and laid open the Frost Branch Box with his right. Three Soul-Devouring Beast Tooth Needles were lined up inside.

"I'll force out the bit of curse inside first."

"Unsealing?"

"Not Unsealing."

Aiming his right palm at the mouth of the bell, he continuously poured ether into it.

Unsealing and Silence could form a combo technique. He would first use Unsealing to squeeze out the curse within, then use the vacuum of Silence to contain it.

As the high-density ether of Unsealing constantly filled it, frost-like white marks appeared on the bell's body.

With a sudden clang, Donner bolted upright in his chair.

Sweat seeped from Richard's forehead as he increased the ether output slightly.

The tolling sounds were squeezed outward, rolling into a small ball of grayish-white mist.

The moment the mist emerged, it tried to scatter, even attempting to bore into the living people nearby.

"Freeze!"

He timed it perfectly. In the exact instant the white mist surged to its peak and was about to recede, he exhaled a breath.

The vacuum descended outside the mist, sealing it airtight. The grayish-white mass slammed against the barrier twice before it was immobilized.

The back room fell quiet. Donner adjusted his monocle.

"And next?"

"Next, I process it directly."

Richard pinched a Silver Needle between his fingers. He had only been practicing the Severed Branch spell formula for two days; he was still incredibly raw.

Right now, he could only execute a single slash after completing the chant. He wasn't yet capable of unleashing consecutive cuts.

Fortunately, for this kind of cursed object, one cut was enough.

This clump of curse consisted of only a single action from start to finish—the exact moment it demanded the time be struck.

He tilted the needle up and sliced down along that incredibly shallow ridge.

Crack. The bell toll was severed mid-ring.

The vacuum dissipated on its own. Only a layer of white foam remained on the table, looking as if someone had accidentally spilled half a spoonful of flour.

Richard leaned against the edge of the table, panting.

Donner bent over to right his low stool and sat back down. "...Little brother."

"Mr. Donner."

"That move just now... didn't look like a Scholar's path."

Richard used a vivid analogy.

"I am a Scholar; it's just that this Scholar wields a scalpel.

You can think of it as me performing surgery. First, I locate the tumor on the patient, and then I excise it with a single cut."

The second item was even more troublesome. It was a cane with an ebony shaft, the silver ball on top polished to a shine from years of handling.

Donner didn't give its exact origin, mentioning only that it had come from the home of a certain bankrupt gentleman.

"After he went bankrupt, his two sons died one after the other. The older one at the gambling table, the younger one in the river."

"What about him?"

"He lived to be ninety-one."

Sure enough, the moment he poured in the Unsealing, the forced-out curse climbed directly up his ether.

"Freeze!"

The vacuum sealed faster and more urgently than the previous times.

The mass smashed against the barrier, ramming it seven or eight times before stopping. Once it stopped, it swam in circles inside, much like a fish thrown into a water tank.

Donner's expression changed. "...This one is alive."

"It's looking for the next person to hold it."

Richard began to prepare himself, uncertain of where to strike with the blade.

As time passed, the edges of the vacuum were already beginning to leak.

"Little brother." Donner's throat was a bit dry. "If you aren't confident..."

"Wait a little longer."

Richard continued cycling his Condensed Mirror Method and preparing the Severed Branch spell formula. It was exactly in difficult moments like this that his proficiency grew the fastest.

Soon, he located the core. It was the latch on the silver ball of the cane.

Richard swapped the Silver Needle for a Soul-Devouring Beast Tooth Needle.

"Step back."

The needle tip flicked. The entire mass of curse was cleaved in two, dissipating into the vacuum.

Donner picked up the cane, gripping the silver ball.

"It really isn't burning hot anymore."

"...My father only had one way to deal with this kind of cursed object back in the day."

"What way?"

"Throw it into the river, then pray for three days."

Richard chuckled.

"The rivers in the Imperial Capital aren't too clean anymore."

"That's why my father later changed to throwing them into other people's rivers." Donner smiled.

"The one in Genoa, or the one in Amsterdam. Shipping cost one shilling and sixpence. Cheaper than praying."

"So, are you going to pay me extra for the labor?" Richard joked.

The back room was completely silent for a full two seconds.

"...In your dreams."

Donner slapped his hands on his knees, then grimaced in pain. "You said yourself you didn't want any pay."

"My shop is small. I can't afford a clerk who knows how to perform surgery."

He brought back a teapot from the front shop. Unable to hold it himself, he watched as Richard poured a cup for both of them.

"Now that these two cursed objects are clean, they can be sold."

"When they sell, we'll split the money down the middle."

Halfway through his tea, Richard took out Mercury's calling card.

Donner leaned in for a look, his small eyes slowly narrowing.

"...Genoa, Number Eleven, San Lorenzo Street."

"You recognize it?"

"I recognize the street." Donner leaned back.

"Little brother, where did you get this seal?"

"A colleague dropped it."

"Dropped it." Donner sneered. "Those kinds of people don't drop things."

Richard nodded, knowing he had asked the right person.

Donner jutted his chin toward the south.

"Those moneylenders in Genoa have been in the business for at least five hundred years. You could even see the shadows of those Genoese back when Constantinople fell."

He looked at the calling card again.

"Writing a name on a card like this would actually cheapen it, because the house number is enough to find the person."

"In that case, the person who gave me the card really is a big shot." Richard raised an eyebrow.

"Yes. Anyone on that street is far from simple. The Mediterranean has always been the shipping hub for the entire Western Continent."

Donner nodded. "And when a war breaks out, the ones making the most money are middlemen like them."

Richard thought to himself that it was no wonder Mars and Minerva had absolutely no restraining power over the man. He came and went exactly as he pleased.

"However," Donner shifted the topic, "let me put the ugly truth out there first."

"Go ahead."

The man spread his cloth-wrapped hands on his knees.

"Think about it. A trade route stretching from the New Continent to the Black Sea—how many hands does it pass through along the way?

Docks, warehouses, transit ports... He can't manage all those people, nor does he plan to."

"So the people under them are a mixed bag." Richard understood.

"Exactly. If you go through his subordinate branches, you're lucky if two out of ten items are genuine.

Shorting weights, passing off shoddy goods as premium, slapping first-rate labels on third-rate trash—they play every trick in the book."

"And the man himself?"

Donner glanced at him.

"If you can actually sit across from him, drink tea, and talk business, that's a completely different story."

"At that level, reputation is worth more than the goods."

"Any random order he handles in a year is enough to buy my entire shop outright.

To smash his own signboard just to scam a guy like you... he'd never make such a losing deal."

"So if I meet him in person, I won't get scammed."

"If you meet him in person, you can even take a little advantage of him," Donner added.

"With a prominent merchant of that stature, if you pitch things nicely, he'd rather make a smaller profit just to secure a returning customer."

Richard tucked the bronze seal away.

"Thank you for the advice."

"Nothing to thank me for." Donner finished his tea.

"I'm just wasting my breath anyway. How could a prep student like you possibly sit across from a merchant of that caliber?"

Richard didn't reply.

While packing things up, Donner suddenly spoke again.

"Little brother, have you not been sleeping well these past two days?"

He turned around.

"You've got something filthy clinging to you."

Richard fell silent for a moment.

"...A little."

"No need to tell me what it is." Donner waved his hand and walked toward the backyard.

"Follow me. I have a solution."

In the backyard, the Fire Worship Temple Pillar stood in the twilight.

Donner crouched by the brazier next to the pillar and had Richard rummage through it with fire tongs, instructing him to pull a white stone out of the ashes.

This white stone was smoked daily by fire and ash, yet it hadn't blackened in the slightest. There was no ether residue on it either, which struck Richard as quite strange.

"My grandfather brought these over," Donner explained.

"There's a seasonal river outside the City of Yazd that only flows for two months a year.

The riverbed is made of these stones. When he left Persia, he didn't bring anything else, just a full jar of these stones."

Plucked out with the tongs, the stone cooled down quickly.

"Put the stone by the window when you sleep. Those spirits shouldn't come around anymore."

"When the stone turns black, bring it back and I'll exchange it for you."

Donner warned him with a deadly serious expression, "Each stone only lasts a month or two. I don't know why you're attracting the dead, but you absolutely cannot skimp on this."

"Sir, does this count as..."

"Consider it your employee benefits."

...

Richard emerged from Donner's shop. A ball of black crouched in the shadows outside the door.

"...Madam, is there something you need?"

The black cat padded out, its golden eyes fixing on him.

"Come sit at my place for a while."

Walking ahead of him, the black cat said, "By the way, Matthew has already returned to the New Continent. He has his own business to attend to over there."

The two walked to the end of Flower Moon Street. The black cat let out a meow, and the door opened on its own.

The mirror room was lit tonight. A room full of mirrors reflected one another, bouncing that little bit of lamplight back and forth.

Madam Marie sat in the high-backed armchair. As always, her face was impossible to see clearly.

"Sit."

A faceless porcelain-white doll brought out a tea tray. Richard took his tea and sat opposite her.

A glass jar sat on the coffee table. The mouth of the jar was sealed with wax, and a tiny cat's paw print was pressed into it.

Such a cute paw print somehow made the eyeball floating inside the jar seem slightly less terrifying.

The black cat hopped onto the coffee table, laying down beside the glass jar to pretend to sleep.

Madam Marie raised a hand and scratched the cat under the chin. "I called you over tonight because of this eyeball."

"It's clean now. After I snatched it back from her hands that night, I soaked it for seven days."

"But today, I want to talk to you about something else first."

Richard set his teacup down.

"You want to climb higher, beyond Major Adept, don't you?"

Madam Marie's statement wasn't actually a question.

"...Yes."

"Then you can't bypass the Abyss Tradition."

Richard furrowed his brow, waiting for Madam Marie to continue.

"I know what you've read in books," Madam Marie said.

"Those archives concerning the abyss are deliberately written to send chills down a reader's spine."

"They write entirely about the fates of those who walk that path, but they never write about why, despite such tragic ends, people still walk it."

"The truth is, those who advance the fastest... the majority of them have dabbled in something related to the Abyss Tradition."

"The only difference is that some dabble a lot, and some dabble a little.

The ones who dabbled a lot can barely be considered human anymore. The ones who dabbled a little are still climbing."

Richard sat on his low stool, resisting the urge to scrutinize the eyeball.

"Madam, are you going to teach me knowledge of the Abyss Tradition?"

"Yes. But I will not teach you its breathing method," Madam Marie said flatly.

"Once the Abyss Tradition's breathing method gets on you, there's no going back. I won't teach it, and you must never try to learn it."

The mirror room grew quiet.

"I dislike the abyss the most," she continued.

"In my decades of teaching, I haven't kept a single student who leaned in that direction."

"Then why are you..."

"Just because I dislike it doesn't mean I'm going to close my eyes to it."

She tapped a finger against the jar.

"Open the jar."

Richard stood up.

He first pulled coarse salt from his canvas bag and sprinkled a ring of it on the coffee table.

He paused after the first ring, then sprinkled a second ring outside it.

The black cat watched from the side in silence.

After finishing a third ring, Richard opened the Frost Branch Box and placed it within reach, then propped the silver mirror up opposite the jar.

"I'm ready."

The black cat stretched out a paw and pressed it against the wax seal. The paw print melted away.

The jar opened, and the smell hit him instantly.

Richard had assumed it would be foul or reeking, or perhaps even sickly sweet.

It was none of those. That smell... he truly couldn't describe what it felt like.

Everyone might have experienced a scene like this in childhood: lying on your stomach over a well, looking down. You could see the dark ring of water at the bottom, and the cold air would creep up the well walls right to the tip of your nose.

In that instant, you would feel as if something at the bottom of the well was staring back at you.

Later, when you grew up, you knew it was just your own reflection.

Now, this smell was telling him: that wasn't a reflection.

A layer of cold sweat immediately broke out on the back of Richard's neck.

"Don't step back," Madam Marie said.

"...I didn't."

"Your foot moved."

Richard glanced down and hurriedly moved his foot back to its original spot.

The eyelid on the eyeball in the jar was still closed.

"Project the Still Water over it."

Richard complied.

In that instant, he understood what the abyss truly meant.

When the Still Water spread out, it should have reflected an eyeball soaking in a jar. Instead, the water's surface reflected nothing but a well.

And the mouth of that well was located right inside his own chest.

He had always been climbing upward. Yet with every upward step he took, the well beneath his feet grew one fraction deeper... They were waiting for him.

Richard's breathing began to turn ragged. He could barely maintain the Condensed Mirror Method.

But even as the water's surface seemed on the verge of shattering, the vision before his eyes refused to dissipate in the slightest.

"Create a vacuum first," Madam Marie reminded him.

Hearing this, fast-forming muscle memory took over, and he quickly exhaled a vacuum.

A mass of dead water, requiring no medium, descended around the glass vessel and completely drained the ether from that area.

"Not bad," Madam Marie evaluated. "You've already learned seventy percent of Mr. Reeve's technique."

Richard didn't respond. His right hand had drifted upward.

His index and middle fingers were held together, while his thumb curved lightly beneath them. It was the posture of holding a pen.

His hand hung suspended in midair, just waiting to strike down.

At the same time, the tip of his tongue had pressed against the roof of his mouth.

The syllable had already taken shape in his throat. It was the first letter of his own name.

Suddenly, a large handful of coarse salt was thrown from behind him, showering over his shoulders and neck, even spilling down his collar.

Madam Marie's hand simultaneously clamped onto the back of his neck.

"Do not answer!"

When that command dropped, Richard's entire body violently shuddered.

The Still Water shattered completely. All the mirrors in the room hummed in unison.

Richard sat on his stool, gasping for air. It took seven or eight breaths before he finally managed to steady himself.

There was a metallic tang in his nose. He raised a hand, only for it to come away smeared with blood.

"...I was just..."

"You were about to sign your name," Madam Marie said.

The mirror room remained silent for a long time.

Richard sat on the floor, the coarse salt down his collar chafing painfully against the back of his neck.

"This is why it's said that for a Scholar to walk the Abyss Tradition is the most dangerous path," Madam Marie said.

"When a Hunter goes over, it first bites through a layer of skin.

When a hidden one goes over, it must first navigate past those nets."

"You lot don't need any of that. A Scholar will raise his hand all on his own."

"A Scholar signs his name, writes, and looks downward. These are all instincts etched deep into the soul.

Without these instincts, you couldn't be a Scholar."

The black cat stood up and padded over to Richard, brushing the tip of its tail against his face.

"You record names for the dead, years for weak points, and provenances for objects."

Madam Marie asked, "When you raised your hand, what were you thinking?"

Richard opened his mouth. He had been thinking that that line hadn't been filled in yet.

"...I wanted to fill it in."

"That's enough."

The black cat pressed its paw against the jar's opening. The well closed.

Richard reached for his teacup and took a large gulp.

Madam Marie spoke.

"You've advanced very quickly ever since stepping onto this path. But the higher you climb, the deeper the abyss below you becomes.

No one can escape this... The Solar Tradition cannot escape it, the Moon-Hunting tradition cannot escape it, and the Mirror Tradition can escape it least of all."

"Why can't the mirror escape it?"

"Because the mirror is the deepest." The black cat raised its head.

"Other traditions walk forward, walk upward, or walk outward. The mirror seeks inward."

"The more accurately you reflect others, the deeper you reflect yourself."

"And at the very bottom of that reflection is what you just saw."

Richard sat in his chair, leaning his weight on his hands against his knees.

"Then what should I do?"

"You do nothing."

"...What?"

"Right now, you don't need to do anything. You just need to know that it is there."

"Knowing is enough?"

"Knowing is enough." Madam Marie's voice was very soft.

"The ones who go their entire lives without knowing they hold a well inside them—they are the ones in true danger."

"One day, they will suddenly glance down into it, and they will never come back."

Richard inexplicably thought of Lillian.

That letter from Prague, and its final passage: 'My hands have been cold all year. Wearing gloves doesn't help, and soaking them in hot water only works for a little while.'

"Madam, do the people walking downward all start out not realizing they're walking downward?"

"Most of them," Madam Marie replied.

"A small minority do know. But even knowing, they still walk it."

"Why?"

"Because what they want is at the bottom of the well."

She pulled her hand back from the armrest.

"It isn't a lie. That place down there really can give you anything.

The Silent Faction sinks slowly. They know that by drinking slowly, they can drink for a few more years.

The Burnt Offering Sect pays it all off at once. They tallied up the cost and deemed it a worthy bargain."

"None of them are fools. In fact, they have calculated it more clearly than anyone else."

Richard finished his tea.

"Now, I will teach you how to use it," Madam Marie said.

The black cat hopped back onto the coffee table and nudged the glass jar forward with its paw.

"It no longer possesses sentience."

"You washed away its sentience?" Richard asked, unconvinced.

"It cannot be washed away," Madam Marie said. "I severed the thread connecting it to her. Right now, it is merely a lump of unclaimed matter."

"At present, there are only two ways to use this eyeball."

"The simplest way is to pour your ether into it and toss it out."

"And then?"

"And then it will splatter open on the other side of the veil."

The black cat drew a circle on the coffee table with its paw.

"Splatter into a mess of something that absolutely no one wants to touch."

Richard waited for her to continue.

"Little Richard, have you ever seen pollution from behind the veil?"

"I have. It's inside evil creature materials, the curses on cursed objects, and also the mud of Flanders."

"Those are all forms of pollution," Madam Marie said. "Pollution can be cleansed. You cleansed two items yourself just this afternoon."

"But this, after my treatment..." She paused, seemingly searching for the right words. "...is something a hundred times more repulsive than all of those combined."

"So once you toss it out, it will make others instinctively avoid coming anywhere near you."

"How much will they avoid it?"

The black cat tapped the tip of its tail twice against the coffee table.

"The higher their Rank, the less they'll want to go near it."

"If a Practitioner steps in it, they can just go back, take a bath, and be fine. If a Minor Adept steps in it, they'll have to hire someone to scrape down their entire circuit."

"And if a Major Adept steps in it..."

"Then what?"

"They'll be cleaning it off for several months."

Richard sat up straight.

"What about a Virtuoso?"

"A Virtuoso wouldn't step in it. They would find even walking around it to be too much of a nuisance."

Richard firmly committed this detail to memory.

That night on April thirtieth, atop the clouds, he had watched helplessly as the entity from the Black Soil River manifested thousands of mirrors to reflect him.

He had had nothing in his hands at the time, forced to rely solely on a Face of the Reversed Envoy to withstand the brunt of it.

If only he'd had a stink bomb like this back then...

"Don't celebrate too early," the black cat said.

"...Madam?"

"It's a one-time use item."

Richard's expression stiffened.

"Once you throw it, it's gone. Make sure you time it perfectly, and run the moment it leaves your hand. Otherwise, you'll end up coated in the stench yourself."

"And the other use?" Richard asked.

To his surprise, Madam Marie laughed.

"Since that person created this thing, it naturally can be used to contact its original owner."

Richard's hands tightened on his knees.

"That entity..."

"Elena Savolova," Madam Marie stated the name.

"A Major Adept medium of the Abyss Tradition, born from the northern tundras of the Rus Empire."

"She has lingered in this world for over three hundred years."

Richard thought of the ages of Professor Mortimer and Professor McPhee. They had lived for over a century, which was already inconceivable enough.

Now this one... three hundred years. That was a span of time long enough to witness the rise and fall of dynasties.

"She isn't burning her own oil," Madam Marie said.

"Then whose is it?"

"Other people's."

The mirrors reflecting each other in the room trembled slightly.

"When Elena tossed her eyeball onto the field that day, she intended for someone to pick it up," Madam Marie said.

"Whoever picked it up would belong to her from then on."

"...Who did she originally want to take in?"

"She'd take whoever reached out. She wasn't picky."

Richard replayed the scene from that night in his mind.

Prometheus's doll had dropped to one knee, using its one remaining arm to shield him.

"So, she could have taken more than just one person that night."

Richard felt a bit conflicted.

"Madam, then will she..."

"She won't act up again for now. Matthew and I each left a word for her."

"What did you say?"

The black cat's golden eyes narrowed.

"I said: I have my eye on this child."

"Matthew said that the next time he passes through St. Petersburg, he'd like to drop by her place for a sit-down."

Richard pictured Matthew's sunburnt, reddish face.

"When that guy said he wanted to drop by for a sit-down, it meant the exact same thing as saying, 'I'm going to teach you a lesson in manners.'"

"So she has pulled back her hand for the time being." Madam Marie sighed.

"She has lived for three hundred years. She does not lack patience."

"Then this eye..."

"This eye is now yours."

The black cat pushed the jar directly in front of him with its paw.

"If you crush it, she will know."

"She will borrow an object to speak through, just as I borrow this cat."

"Once she arrives, you can strike a deal with her."

"These are deals that only the Abyss Tradition can fulfill."

The lights in the mirror room dimmed another fraction.

"Like what?" Richard asked.

The black cat crouched on the coffee table.

"Like dredging something out from within time itself."

"And the price?" he asked.

"I don't know," Madam Marie said. "But I do know her rules for setting a price."

"What rules?"

"She never asks for anything you currently possess."

Richard looked up.

"She asks for what you will possess in the future."

As the words faded, the mirrors reflecting one another shuddered in unison.