The sun was out in Brighton on the day of his departure.
The platforms at Central Station were packed tight with people.
Richard’s family of four stood beneath an iron pillar at the end of Platform 3.
Evelyn was holding a food box, filled with things she had stayed up all night baking.
"For the road." She pushed the food box into her brother’s arms.
"The gingerbread will last for five days. I baked two ’Professor Rabbit’ ones, and the rest are regular cookies."
"Can I even eat all this by myself?"
"If you can’t finish them, share them with the people in your car," Evelyn said seriously.
"Don’t let them go to waste. I didn’t put the burnt one in; I’m keeping it to study the cause of my failure."
His mother, Margaret, nudged a leather suitcase closer to his feet.
"Your change of clothes is packed at the very bottom. That suit your maternal grandfather had made for you—I’ve separated it with tissue paper. Don’t let it get wrinkled by the time you reach the Imperial Capital."
"I know, Mom."
His father, Rogers, had taken a rare day off from the factory.
He stood to the side, not saying much.
It wasn’t until boarding was called that he gave Richard a firm pat on the shoulder.
"Once you get there, do well on your exams."
"Yeah."
"And if you don’t pass, it’s not a big deal." Rogers withdrew his hand.
"Our door will always be open for you."
"I’ll pass."
"Mm."
The steam whistle blew.
Richard picked up his suitcase and followed the stream of people boarding the train.
After a few steps, he turned back.
Evelyn was on her tiptoes, waving at him, with their mother standing beside her.
His father was behind them, his figure looking a little stooped.
Richard found his car, stuffed his suitcase onto the luggage rack, and sat down in a window seat.
He had bought a second-class ticket again.
In truth, he had more than enough money in his pocket for a first-class ticket.
His tutoring fees, field subsidies, and the income from selling Techniques had added up. It was a far cry from his situation last year.
But he still bought a second-class ticket.
Save where you can, spend where you must.
In the future, unless someone was willing to reimburse him, he probably wouldn’t choose to ride in first class.
Richard took out the book, *Divination and Spiritual Vision: From Novice to Master*, and slowly opened it.
The train swayed out of the station, the tracks clanking under the wheels.
In the section on "Focusing Inspiration During Long Journeys," the main text was written quite conventionally, but the margin was crammed with a line of fountain pen script.
"Don’t perform Divination on a train. There are more dead people under the tracks than you think.
Every section of railroad built requires a few people to be buried with it.
This very car you’re sitting in is currently rolling over a long line of unmarked graves."
Richard’s hand paused on the page.
[Erudite] steadily stored this annotation.
Richard closed the book and didn’t read any further.
He leaned back in his seat and rested his eyes.
The idle chatter from the train car drifted intermittently into his ears.
Across from him sat two middle-aged men, one in a fedora and the other clutching a briefcase.
"...Things are getting messy again, over in Hemms."
said the man with the briefcase.
"I read in the paper that a few smaller states are having friction on the border."
"Friction?" The man in the fedora turned a page of his newspaper.
"My cousin, who works in foreign trade, says arms shipments there have tripled in the last six months."
"Tripled?"
"Yeah. I heard a few big banks are secretly investing in munitions factories, and over in Germania..."
"Shh," the man in the fedora lowered his voice. "Best not to talk about such things on the train."
The two men fell silent.
Richard opened his eyes.
What was printed in the newspapers was just the surface layer.
Colonial interests, Germania’s late rise, the centuries-old grievances between Frank and Albion.
The deeper part was hidden behind the Curtain.
The man in the fedora flipped the newspaper to the front page.
Richard’s gaze fell on the large, bold headline on the front page.
He sat up straight.
The headline took up nearly half the front page.
"Largest Ever Shipment of Pharaoh Era Artifacts Arrives in Imperial Capital, Albion Museum’s ’Black Earth River Grand Exhibition’ to Officially Open Next Month."
The man in the fedora, following his gaze, angled the paper slightly toward him.
"You interested in this too, young man?"
"...Just taking a look," Richard replied casually. "I heard they brought back a lot of things."
"A lot is an understatement," the man in the fedora said, his interest piqued.
"The paper says it took over ten shiploads, transported all the way from the mouth of the Black Earth River to the piers in the Imperial Capital.
Bronze Altars, Funerary Bronze Artifacts, Jade Miniature Statues... The most valuable piece is an exceptionally well-preserved Priest’s Scepter, supposedly excavated from a thousand-year-old tomb."
One by one, Richard matched these items in his head against another list.
At the second gathering of the Divine Pantheon Salon, Prometheus had shared this piece of intelligence.
At the time, Prometheus had added that the scepter was a High-grade Marvel, stored in the deepest part of the Imperial Capital Museum’s sealed warehouse.
The "Black Earth River Grand Exhibition" on the newspaper’s front page and the batch of Marvels in the sealed warehouse had to be the same things.
In the Surface World, they were Pharaoh Era artifacts for citizens to buy tickets and view.
Behind the Curtain, they were a warehouse full of valuable Marvels.
The man in the fedora was still talking.
"...I’m planning to take my boy to see it, broaden his horizons."
"You definitely should," Richard agreed.
"Are you going to the Imperial Capital to study, young man?"
"Yes, to take the university entrance exams."
"Which one?"
"Imperial University."
The man in the fedora put down his newspaper and looked Richard over again, his expression turning to one of deep respect.
"Imperial University... incredible. That’s where the great figures come from."
Richard just smiled and didn’t reply.
The train continued south, and the view outside the window slowly changed from the black smoke of industrial chimneys to fields and hills.
’It’s a shame that dog from last time isn’t here.’
Richard opened the food box, took out a gingerbread rabbit wearing a tiny frosted top hat, and took a bite.
The spice of the ginger, the sweetness of the sugar, and the richness of the butter melted in his mouth.
"Is... is that homemade?" The man with the briefcase leaned over.
"My sister baked them."
"They look quite unique."
Richard ate in silence, with no intention of sharing. He couldn’t bear to part with them.
"Of course. My sister is the second-most skillful person in the world."
"Who’s the first?" the man in the fedora asked curiously.
"My mom, of course."
The train arrived in the Imperial Capital in the afternoon.
Richard grabbed his suitcase and followed the crowd out of the station.
Last year, his family of four had walked out of the station together.
Outside, his father had picked the cheapest carriage from the line of waiting cabs and haggled for a long time over the price before they got in.
This year was different. Just as Richard stepped through the ticket gate, a man in a dark uniform approached him.
"Young Master Richard?"
Richard recognized him—the Ashford family’s coachman.
"That’s me."
"The master sent me to pick you up." The coachman reached for his suitcase. "The carriage is waiting outside."
The coachman led the way, taking him to the very front of the line of carriages outside the station.
A black, four-wheeled carriage was parked there.
Its body was lacquered to a dark sheen, without a speck of dust on it.
The family crest, an oak tree and a rampant lion, was carved on the wooden door of the carriage. Two bay horses with lustrous, sleek coats were hitched to the shafts.
This was a world away from the small, for-hire Hansom his father had picked last year.
The coachman placed the suitcase in the luggage compartment, then walked around to the front and opened the carriage door.
"If you please, Young Master."
Richard got into the carriage.
The moment he stepped on the footboard, his five senses, enhanced by [Perception], allowed him to hear the whispers behind him.
The two middle-aged men from his train car were standing not far away.
The man in the fedora was staring wide-eyed at the black, four-wheeled carriage.
"...Good heavens," he whispered to his companion. "That young fellow is that well-off?"
"Look at that carriage, and that family crest." The man with the briefcase was also staring, dumbfounded. "That’s a prominent family."
"But wasn’t he just in the same car as us?"
"Second class."
"Someone from a family like that, riding in second class?"
The two men looked at each other in bewilderment.
Richard sat down in the carriage, and the coachman closed the door.
Through the window, he could still see the confused looks on the two men’s faces.
The carriage started moving, its wheels making a steady rumbling sound on the stone-paved road.
The Ashford Mansion looked just as it had last year.
The imposing iron gate, the neatly trimmed garden, the two pillars on the portico.
As soon as the carriage entered the courtyard, the butler came out to greet them.
On his first visit last year, this butler had treated his family with nothing more than superficial politeness.
The butler’s attitude only changed after Gerald confirmed that Richard had an Ether Micro-Cycle.
This year, his attitude had changed yet again.
The moment Richard stepped out of the carriage, the butler hurried forward and bowed slightly.
"Young Master Richard, you must be tired from your journey."
"Steward."
"The master is waiting for you in the study. Please, rest a moment and have a cup of tea."
The moment he sat down, a maid brought him a cup of tea.
’This kind of treatment is never gotten for free.’
After he had rested for a while, the butler came to invite him to the study.
Gerald Ashford was still sitting behind that enormous desk.
His maternal grandfather had aged a bit since last year. His hair was whiter, but his eyes were as sharp as ever.
"You’re here."
"Grandfather." Richard gave a small bow.
"Sit."
Richard sat.
Gerald didn’t speak at first, merely watched him.
After a moment, he raised a hand.
"Same as last time. Your hand."
Richard knew what he wanted and extended his hand.
Gerald’s Ether seeped through the point of contact.
This time, Richard didn’t feel the overwhelming, suffocating pressure that had gripped him last year.
The Ether Micro-Cycle inside him was no longer the fragile prototype from last year that would fall into disarray at the slightest touch.
The Throne of the Sun was operating steadily, and behind his sternum, the inverted Light Tree was deeply rooted.
Gerald withdrew his Ether. "It’s more stable than I expected."
He pulled his hand back onto the desktop.
"How long has it been? In just over half a year, you’ve gone from being less stable than a Newcomer to being on the verge of signing."
Richard didn’t respond.
Half of this "stability" was supported by Skills like [Breathing], [Eating], and [Sleep].
The other half was the result of his own genuine hard work.
"When your great-grandmother was alive, she often used to tell me something."
Gerald suddenly changed the subject.
"She said that the lamp of the Ashford Family was already on the decline."
Richard listened quietly.
His mother, Margaret, had told him about the Ashford Family’s situation.
"I’ve been hoping for decades that the family would produce someone who could hold up its reputation, but my hopes have been in vain."
Gerald’s voice grew quiet.
"That boy Vincent works hard enough, but his talent is average. He’ll be lucky to reach Minor Mastery in his lifetime."
"Isabella is a fine scholar, but she has never been willing to marry."
"Unless she can reach Grand Mastery, she can’t support the family."
Gerald looked at him and slowly nodded.
"Alright. You’re tired from your journey. Go back to your room and rest."
The butler led Richard to a guest room.
The room he stayed in last year was already luxurious enough.
This year’s room was another step up.
The room was larger, with a dedicated writing desk set by the window, fully equipped with stationery.
A silver table lamp sat on the nightstand.
The bookshelf was neatly stacked with rows of books—all original texts in Latin and Ancient Greek, along with a dozen or so textbooks from the Imperial University’s Classics Department.
"Miss Isabella gave instructions for these books to be placed here."
The butler explained, "She said that the Young Master needs to prepare for his exams, and it would be more convenient to study here."
A warmth spread through Richard’s heart.
His aunt had even prepared the books he would need for his exam preparations in advance.
The butler backed out of the room and closed the door.
Richard opened his suitcase and began to unpack.
The next morning, he would go to the Imperial University to find his aunt.

Comments

Loading...