It was the final week of the training program.
Those who had been eliminated had long since packed their bags and gone their separate ways.
Those who remained were waiting for the final practicum.
The practicum was set to take place at the museum, so there were no proper classes for the next few days.
The Mentors were each wrapping things up, submitting the rosters, evaluations, and letters of recommendation.
Richard found himself with some leisure time. He took a few days off for himself, no longer pushing himself as hard as he had during the training program.
That morning, he rested his mind with his eyes closed as usual, summoning the panel.
[Perception] Lv. 2, Progress: 97%.
That night, three masses had collapsed behind the Curtain, crushing each other.
He hadn’t dared to look too closely, only venturing to extend a sliver of his inspiration to probe the area.
Just from that sliver, his progress had shot up again overnight.
And then, there was Number 17 Huayue Street...
He had sat before that coffee table for over an hour, his eyes feasting on images filtered through heavy layers of interpretation, supplemented by what Lady Mary had taught him.
At this rate, reaching 100% progress by the end of the summer training program wouldn’t be a problem.
But even if he maxed out the progress bar, the real bottleneck was the Points.
Richard did a quick mental calculation.
[Walking] had also reached Lv. 2 and was at 86% progress. All it needed now was for the bar to fill, plus one Point to level it up.
Advancing [Perception] to Level 3 would cost another Point.
Expanding [Spiritual Appearance] from ten to twenty would require yet another Point.
Every last one of them seemed to have its hand out, demanding Points.
But after spending Points on [Sleep] and [Eating], his entire stock was down to just 0.73.
He suddenly thought of the summer training program’s final practicum, at the museum.
Of the artifacts brought back from the Black Earth River Basin, all those bearing the Priest’s Inscription were Marvels.
The ones citizens bought tickets to see were just a decoy. The truly valuable items were locked in the innermost part of a sealed warehouse, the most precious of which was a perfectly preserved Priest’s Scepter.
For a High-grade Marvel of that caliber, the Seal must be incredibly tight.
The academy and the Divinity School were currently fighting a lawsuit over the research rights for that batch of items.
With so many eyes on them, the Seals would be layered one upon another, ensuring no Ether would be allowed to leak out freely.
’But what if...’
The Ether from the pillar fragment in Donal’s back room at Number 7 Huayue Street—a relic from a Fire God Temple—couldn’t be fully contained by its Seal.
He had simply been too weak to withstand the immense pressure of that Ether Field.
Then there was his own Sphinx Lamp; its Seal had been tight before he pried it open.
But when he first encountered it at Clement’s, he still managed to skim a wisp off it for free.
As long as a Marvel contains Ether, no matter how airtight the Seal, a sliver is bound to seep out from the weakest point.
’That warehouse full of Marvels at the museum... even if each one only leaks a tiny amount... all gathered in one place, it would add up to a tidy sum.’
The corners of Richard’s mouth turned up.
’It would pay to be extra observant when the time comes. No harm in that.’
......
That day, Isabella called Richard to the department office again.
In the department’s small conference room, besides Isabella, sat a middle-aged man he had never seen before.
"Mr. Williams." The man nodded at him.
"I’m Clayton, a representative from the Academic Review Committee."
"Mr. Clayton." Richard greeted him formally.
Isabella lifted her chin toward the empty chair.
"Sit."
Richard sat down at the other end of the table.
Clayton got straight to the point.
"Your empirical paper has passed the review."
Richard felt half the weight in his heart lift.
"But..." Clayton opened the file in his hand. "It’s been flagged for ’special attention.’"
"...Special attention?"
"The core deduction in your paper."
Clayton’s fingertip tapped on the file. "The Curtain is thinning, and the return clauses of old Seals are loosening."
"This deduction itself is logically sound, and the evidence is solid enough."
"Then why the ’special attention’..."
Isabella took over the conversation.
"It’s because your deduction stepped on a thirty-year-old sore spot."
Richard raised his gaze.
"The academic circles of the Imperial Capital have been arguing about the ’annual decay rate of the Curtain’ for over thirty years."
Isabella explained:
"One faction says the Curtain is thinning, and that it’s high time someone said it officially."
"The other faction says this is alarmist fear-mongering."
"If the annual decay rate is made dynamic, the maintenance cycle for every Seal within the Imperial borders would have to be recalibrated.
This faction believes that if such talk spreads, it will shake the entire system and cause widespread panic."
"The two factions have been deadlocked for thirty years, with neither side able to gain the upper hand."
She twirled the pen in her hand.
"After being suppressed for so long, it became an old issue that nobody wanted to bring up again."
"You were recommended by Professor Mortimer."
"He belongs to the ’Curtain is thinning’ faction. Decades ago, he wrote an article on this very topic."
"Now, this student paper of yours," Isabella said, looking at him.
"With empirical evidence from a Boundary Stone and two field missions, has dredged this old issue back up again."
"Both factions probably want to use your paper to open fire and reignite this debate."
Richard understood.
’Both sides were spoiling for a fight; all they needed was a pretext.’
’And his paper had just given them one.’
"So... does this mean I passed or not?" Richard asked.
"You’ve passed, but you need to do another defense."
Clayton, at the side, finally found a chance to speak.
"A brief oral defense, so both factions can hear you out.
After the defense, a decision will be made on whether to allow your paper to be published publicly."
"When is the defense?"
Clayton gave a specific time:
"It’s tomorrow. It won’t interfere with your museum practicum this weekend."
......
The defense was scheduled for two o’clock the next afternoon.

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