"That Hunter, does he know the weight the name ’Hercules’ carries?"
"He knows better than either of us." Hecate chuckled.
"He came to me asking for it himself. This is the very Anchor he sought.
His line, the Hunters, they would dream of grasping a first-rate nameplate that’s a perfect fit for them.
For something like this, you could offer him a mountain of gold and he might not be moved;
but promise him the mask of Hercules, and he’d be willing to bet half his life on it."
Demeter said nothing.
She suddenly felt that Hecate’s "table" was managed with far more depth than she had previously realized.
"Hercules... is a fine nameplate." She finally murmured again, "Let’s hope that Hunter can live up to it."
"If he can’t, I have other candidates." Hecate withdrew the pool of black water.
"There are only a few first-rate nameplates, and people are lining up for a chance to snatch one."
"You’re in such a hurry." Demeter was a little puzzled. "Why is that?"
"Do you think I’m the only one performing this kind of ritual?"
Demeter didn’t respond.
"You’ve seen the chessboard that is the Old Continent."
Hecate’s voice shifted back to that of an old crone.
"The ’wells’ are emptying one after another, and those in high positions are playing their game with increasing urgency.
Down here, people like us each pull together a table and manage it ourselves. No one can hide anything from anyone else."
"You mean..."
"Another Salon has already entered Tier Three."
Demeter’s heart skipped a beat.
"They’ve done more than just enter." Hecate continued, sharing the intelligence she had gathered.
"One table has used the Tier Three ritual to take the first step toward becoming an Expert."
The Divine Hall was silent for a long moment.
Demeter had guarded her "fields" for so many years, lingering just below the threshold of Grand Mastery for who knows how long.
To her, an Expert was a being beyond the ceiling, something that almost didn’t belong to the mortal world.
But Hecate was saying that someone had already gotten a foot in the door using this ritual.
"So this ritual..." Demeter was also tempted.
"You gathered the six of us to form a table, to make masks, to advance through the tiers... you’re aiming for that step."
"Yes." Hecate made no attempt to hide it.
"One table, seven people, seven masks, seven nameplates.
Only when every member reaches Minor Mastery and we enter Tier Three can the ritual begin to turn.
Once it’s turning, everyone at the table will be able to get a piece of the pie.
Their path to Grand Mastery will be much shorter than if they went it alone, and I myself will also be able to advance."
"But one step too slow, and there will be nothing left."
Her girlish voice was chillingly clear.
"Other tables are already running. If my table is held back by a straggler, by the time we slowly gather seven members at Minor Mastery...
...they will have already completed that step and devoured all the benefits.
By then, after all my years of painstaking effort, I won’t even get the scraps."
Demeter finally understood why Hecate had gone to such great lengths—scattering dozens of tokens, sifting through candidates one by one, testing them one by one.
What she was gathering were seven pillars, all of which could be fitted into that ritual together.
Every pillar had to be straight enough, solid enough, and strong enough to bear the weight.
The pillar that was Aries had already bent and rotted.
"I’ll be straight with you."
Hecate’s voice softened again, taking on the casual tone one only uses with old acquaintances.
"Of the others at the table, I originally wanted to replace Nemesis as well."
Demeter looked up.
"She has nothing behind her. Her father’s death cut off all her connections, and her own reserves dwindle each time she draws on them. In terms of substance, she’s actually on shaky ground."
Hecate continued.
"But I’ve observed her a couple of times. That girl is ruthless with herself, and she’s not stupid.
Tonight, Hermes stole the show, but she sat there without getting carried away, knowing when to hold back.
A temperament like that can hold up in the ritual."
"So you kept her."
"I did. Replace the withered, keep the ruthless. My table has no room for freeloaders."
"It’s getting late." Hecate began to wave her away. "You should head back too."
"Mm." Demeter stood up.
Before she left, she couldn’t help but say one more thing on behalf of Aries.
"That boy is going to be replaced... can it be done with some dignity?"
Hecate was silent for a moment.
"It will be."
"Enough money for a prosthesis, and a ’we shall meet again.’
I won’t deny him the dignity he is due."
Demeter closed her eyes, counted to seven, and vanished from the Divine Hall.
On the main seat, Hecate sat alone for a long time, lost in thought.
......
Richard opened his eyes.
The notebook on the table was open to a blank page. A fountain pen lay across it, the ink on its nib already dry.
He raised a hand to his chest.
The Silver Ring and the Eagle Hook hanging from the leather cord were both cool to the touch.
Richard turned the notebook to the "Divine Pantheon Salon" section.
He dipped the pen in ink and first recorded his earnings for the night.
"Second official gathering. Gains: sixty pounds cash."
Sixty pounds.
The cash he had on hand, even after accounting for his recent equipment purchases, was already over thirty pounds.
Adding these sixty pounds brought the total to ninety.
What did ninety pounds represent?
His father, Rogers, an engineer, couldn’t save that much even after several years of work.
Richard suppressed the small spark of pride and continued writing.
"Intelligence gathered..."
He organized everything he had heard tonight that was worth writing down, point by point.
Hecate’s addendum: the winner is the one weaving the ropes; he is closing the "wells," but it is not going smoothly.
Another colony in the interior of the New Continent has been emptied.
Evil Beings in the Northern Highlands are moving south.
The alert level in the Imperial Capital has been raised another half-step; the maintenance cycle for the Seal has been shortened to six months.
Demeter’s farming analogy: the grain in the fields is growing faster and faster, but also becoming more and more hollow.

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