Chapter 548: Burning Luck

Richard first picked up the mirror fragments and examined them carefully.

The mirror's surface was still pitch-black, reflecting absolutely nothing.

He stroked the surface, gradually recalling the second line of the old priest of the Black Earth River's honorific name:

"He who once used a mirror to illuminate the names of all things."

Even shattered into its current state, the mirror's essence remained unchanged.

The Tradition of Change had fractured into three branches in total: reflection, observation, and substitution.

The Mirror Tradition belonged to reflection, which was the branch he walked;

The Star Map belonged to observation, while the path with the fewest followers and the greatest concealment was substitution—the very branch the old priest had taken.

Richard slowly turned the mirror fragment over, closed his eyes, and gently rubbed the inscription on the back.

The ether inside was both deep and heavy. The moment he touched the bottom layer, Richard's hand snapped back as if he had been electrocuted.

This was likely accumulated over the past thousand years as the old priest repeatedly used the mirror to illuminate the names of others.

[Available Points: 2.15... 2.42...]

Ether surged frantically into his palm, and the points climbed at a visible rate, quickly reaching 4.21.

When the Available Points hit 4.31, Richard decisively withdrew his hand.

If he continued absorbing it, it might affect the actual usage of the mirror fragment itself.

Richard gently set the mirror fragment down and turned to pick up the Hittite Clay Tablet nearby.

This item had a rough texture and chipped corners, likely fired by a Hittite scribe some three thousand years ago.

[Available Points: 4.31... 4.52...]

The ether within the clay tablet was clearly very thin. Just as the Available Points reached 4.96, it nearly ran dry.

Richard sighed. He was just a little bit short.

As for the tongue constantly twitching inside the silk handkerchief, Richard only gave it a single glance before looking away.

He had other ideas for that bizarre tongue.

"Still a bit short. What should I do..." Richard murmured.

As if thinking of something, he reached back and opened the Frost Branch Box.

He took out the three-hundred-year-old Silver Coin that Matthew had tipped him with and gently tossed it in his hand.

According to Matthew, it had been dug out of a dead man's mouth. No wonder there was a deep groove on its surface—it must have been a tooth mark.

[Available Points: 4.96... 4.99... 5.02.]

The points reached 5.02. Richard let go of the coin. It was enough.

[Preview: eating Lv.7]

[Advancement Condition: For seven days, rely on the ether stored within the body for daily activities and spellcasting. No food may be ingested. On the seventh day, perform a full-power release.]

[eating - Storage: Completely store the traits of food within the body, ready to be released at any time.]

"This..."

A look of deep thought flashed through Richard's eyes.

Back when he was still Lv.2, [eating] had been in a reserve mode.

His appetite had been greater than three or four people combined, and the excess nutrients were stored. At that time, it could only store nutrients. Lv.5 had provided the Decay Digestion mode, allowing him to eat things from behind the veil as well.

After eating, the nutrients were absorbed by the body, the ether flowed along his circuits, and the remaining parts were either burned away by the fire in his stomach or naturally dissipated.

To think that Storage could actually retain traits. What used to be a granary had now become an ammunition depot!

The corners of Richard's mouth curled up slightly.

He thought of Demeter's Underworld Narcissus, something he hadn't even dared to touch before.

The surging Inspiration from eating it, along with the gazes it attracted, would have been simply unbearable.

Now, he could store it away and release it when the time was right... It was almost unimaginable!

Richard reined in his excitement and focused his gaze on the advancement conditions.

No eating for seven days—that was manageable!

It was far more intense than the Church's forty-day Great Fast, but he could just use his massive stomach to gorge himself until he was nearly bursting beforehand, then slowly digest the food over those seven days.

Doing it right now was definitely out of the question. For one thing, Evelyn and Grey would be a problem.

If he skipped meals for even a single day, those two would personally bring plates of food and shove them down his throat. Furthermore, his spirit and body weren't fully recovered yet—how was he supposed to perform a full-power release on the seventh day?

Richard skipped past this and continued reading downward.

[Preview: Speculation Lv.7]

[Advancement Condition: Dismantle a structure set up by a high-ranking entity. This structure must never have been dismantled before, and the dismantling process must not incur any backlash.]

[Speculation - Structure Breaking: The load-bearing and instability points of Spell Formulas, seals, and arguments become more easily visible; adds a special attack effect of weakness exploitation.]

Structure Breaking and Morphostructuring were complete opposites.

One handled the things others built, while the other handled the things he built himself.

As for load-bearing points, he knew a bit about them, and his aunt had taught him about them as well.

Roughly speaking, it involved first identifying the Academy Style, then pinpointing the words it was most reluctant to dismantle.

But identifying them and actually striking them were two entirely different matters.

Empowered by the weakness exploitation effect, a single slash from the Severed Branch could cause the structure to collapse on its own.

That night at the Black Trench, Mr. Hutton's Latin verdict had been thrown right back by the water wall. Was there a problem with the verdict?

Not at all. It was simply because the words Mr. Hutton chanted weren't the ones the dead acknowledged.

Richard licked his lips, all the advancement conditions flashing through his mind.

The conventional seals on the Ebony Box didn't count, but the inner layer of the Mask of Hermes had never been dismantled.

However, even Prometheus's master had suffered backlash when trying to dismantle it, so he couldn't attempt it rashly.

That left only the Name Lock on the Carolingian Saint Statue Pedestal. With no one having dismantled it for over a thousand years, it was a suitable choice.

But as for the Rank of the person who set it up, he had no idea.

Richard buried these thoughts deep in his mind.

At the very least, until his spirit fully healed, he couldn't touch any of these things.

His gaze continued down the panel, finally stopping on [sleep].

[sleep Lv.4, Progress 100%. Advancement conditions fully met. Required Points: 2.]

With a thought, Richard directly allocated the Available Points.

[Available Points: 5.02 → 3.02]

[sleep Lv.4 → Lv.5]

[sleep - Precognition: Automatically triggers a Precognitive Dream before a major crisis or major decision.]

The advancement of sleep didn't bring much of a physical change. He only felt as if someone had gently pressed against his forehead, and his mind became noticeably clearer.

As for [Body], the final row was currently still grayed out.

[walking Lv.4, Progress 85%.]

Just a little more, and he would be able to plant that seed.

But how could he push forward this final bit of progress?

Richard fell into deep thought.

Relearning how to walk could also be considered a special experience.

"Thump, thump, thump..."

A series of footsteps came from outside the door, clearly belonging to more than one person. Sure enough, the door was pushed open, and Evelyn's flour-smudged face appeared first, her hands carrying a tray of oatmeal and lemon crisps.

Behind her, his grandfather and aunt followed closely. Even upon entering Richard's room, the two were still engrossed in their conversation.

The butler carried Richard up and down three flights of stairs twice today, and he had to stop and catch his breath for a long time in between.

"I don't think we can let this continue. The butler is already sixty-four this year..." Gerard frowned deeply.

"I know, which is why I already went to ask."

Isabella nodded and waved a small booklet in her hand.

"There's a company on Regent Street, a branch from the New Continent. Last year, they installed one in a countess's home, running straight from the cellar to the fourth floor. The quality is quite good."

"And roughly how much would that cost?"

"The machine alone is one hundred and twenty pounds. In addition to that, we have to factor in the cost of digging the shaft, installing the motor, and the monthly oiling."

"Install it!" Gerard's attitude was firm; after all, he was spending money on his grandson.

Richard took a lemon crisp and brought it to his mouth. "Grandfather, what are you installing?"

Isabella handed the booklet over with a smile. "An elevator. In the future, you'll be able to go down in your wheelchair to bask in the sun on your own. The butler is getting old, and we can't keep tormenting him."

Richard stared blankly at the printed image on the cover of the booklet, which depicted a lady in a feathered hat standing inside an iron cage.

One hundred and twenty pounds!

Plus digging the shaft, installing the motor, and the monthly oiling. His own father, working as an engineer in Briston for several years, might not even earn enough for that.

Thinking of this, Richard gently waved his hand.

"Grandfather, let's forget it! I only need to recover for another month at most before I can walk on my own."

Gerard looked at him expressionlessly. "Last time you swore confidently that you'd be back by dawn. And what happened?"

Richard opened his mouth but choked on his words, unable to say a single thing.

"Grandfather, this time is different from last time."

He could only give a wry smile. "This time I'm just resting my body. Besides, my nutrition has been great lately, and strength is slowly returning to my legs. By then, I'll have no problem going down by myself while holding onto the railing."

Seeing that Gerard had no reaction, Richard swallowed the lemon crisp and spoke lightly.

"Moreover, I remember there's an inscription left by my great-grandfather on the west wall. If we install an elevator, we'll have to punch right through it. Can you really bear to part with it?"

Gerard hesitated for a moment and stopped talking.

Isabella observed her troublesome nephew and shook her head helplessly.

"One month at most. If you still can't go downstairs by then, I'll find someone to install it."

"Alright."

Richard agreed and picked up a second lemon crisp.

Before he could even eat it, a stream of heat suddenly surged in his chest.

This heat was different from the [Gushing Spring]; this one was flowing outward.

Starting from behind his sternum, it flowed all the way out, as rapid and thin as if it were being forcefully drawn out by someone.

He hurriedly checked his panel:

[Luck: Credited - Ashford (Concealed)]

Everything at the beginning was normal, except the final "Concealed" was blinking continuously, followed closely by a line of small text:

[Triggering - Direction of the New Continent]

Richard silently put down the lemon crisp.

...

It was early morning in the Imperial Capital, but the New Continent was still shrouded in night. West of the Central Mountain Range, especially at the Mouth of the Underworld River, even the moon rarely appeared. Both the sky and the water were pitch-black.

At this moment, a flat-bottomed barge was anchored at the narrowest part of the river mouth. There were about a dozen people on board. It was entirely quiet, with no one speaking; they were all wrapped in blankets, dozing off.

The cabin was fully loaded with canned goods, as well as surveying ropes, copper chains, and precision instruments. At a glance, it was obvious these were supplies for a scientific expedition.

At the bow of the boat, a tall and sturdy man stood straight. He had a full beard, ruddy cheeks, and half a cigar clamped between his teeth.

If Richard were here, he would feel that this man was practically a middle-aged version of Vincent.

The man's name was Lauren Ashford. He had been escorting ships at the Mouth of the Underworld River for over a decade, and he had an excellent reputation.

There were all kinds of bizarre, evil creatures at the Mouth of the Underworld River, so the locals relied on people like him for escort.

For hundreds of years, whenever a boat passed through here, anyone singled out by an evil creature would tumble into the water as if possessed, vanishing completely.

Lauren seemed to be the bane of these things.

For a full one hundred and thirteen trips, not a single person had been taken on his watch.

This brilliant record could barely be called a great achievement, but at least in Lauren's eyes, it was.

But no matter how great the achievement, someone had to witness it. Back then, Lauren had crossed the threshold of Minor Adept on the Underworld river, but he had been stalled before the next gate for seven or eight years.

In the past, when he grew frustrated, he would go upstream to drink with Matthew. After drinking too much, he would act like a drunkard and smash some things, only to pay for replacements the next day.

Of course, after Matthew's promotion, he never dared to seek him out again.

Last year, he mailed a full fourteen crates of items back home, considering it a way to arrange his affairs in advance.

Since the winter solstice, his luck had been almost absurdly good.

He won eleven consecutive hands at the card table, making the onlookers' eyes red with envy;

The Silver Bullets shipped over from Galveston were all perfectly usable, without a single one having gotten damp;

Even his Hunting Rifle hadn't jammed a single time.

He had had a similar streak of great luck for a while last year, and everything had gone just as smoothly back then.

A saying had always circulated among Hunter families: Luck follows the surname.

It was obvious that this luck was coming from the family back home, and he was merely enjoying the cool shade under a big tree.

So tonight was the time. When the barge reached the center of the river mouth, there was clearly something moving beneath the water.

Lauren immediately became alert. He quickly tucked his cigar into his pocket, steadied his Hunting Rifle, and swept his gaze across the surroundings like a falcon.

Soon, the evil creature guarding the crossing surfaced from the right side of the bow.

This was clearly a bit unusual.

Normally, it would always float up from the stern, because the people who boarded last—the ones most reluctant to leave the shore—were usually there, making them the easiest targets.

Yet today, it actually appeared right next to him, carrying a hint of provocation.

The evil creature's appearance could no longer be simply described as hideous. Its long body was pierced with all kinds of oars.

Each oar represented a person it had kept behind.

"Bang!"

Lauren's gun fired, and a Silver Bullet embedded itself deeply into its eye socket.

The evil creature's movements were slightly hindered, but it quickly opened its mouth again to bite the young surveyor at the bow.

At this moment, the thick layer of clouds overhead quietly cracked open to reveal a gap. It was very small, yet large enough for a sliver of moonlight to leak through, spilling onto the perpetually sunless Underworld River, and also casting light onto the evil creature's back.

At the same time, the figure from the tradition cast a glance in this direction.

Lauren grew thrilled. Was he finally going to be seen, going to be acknowledged?

Before that figure could take more than a couple of glances, the clouds overhead closed up once again, shutting out the leaked moonlight.

"Damn it! Just a little bit more, just a little..." Lauren couldn't help but curse.

A woman sat quietly at the stern, holding a Star Catalog in her hands. Her eyes, covered in a hazy white film, stared straight up at the sky.

"According to my catalog, the moon should have already passed behind the mountains by now."

The woman's voice was extremely low, as if speaking for Lauren to hear, yet also as if muttering to herself.

"Then stop looking at your catalog!"

Lauren gritted his teeth, a ruthless gleam flashing in his eyes as he cleanly drew a Silver Blade.

With a light push off his feet, he leaped onto the back of the evil creature.

On the other side, in the room at 13 Chelsea Road, Richard leaned quietly against the headboard, his [Speculation] operating on its own.

There was his grandfather standing by the window, his aunt going downstairs to make a phone call, Evelyn lying at the foot of the bed counting her fingers, and his mother who had returned to Briston, along with Vincent and Baldwin far away in Flanders to the east.

And on the New Continent?

There seemed to be only one person.

That was his uncle Lauren, separated from him by an entire ocean!

His uncle was the eldest of his mother's generation, and in order to break through to Minor Adept, he had gone to the New Continent alone to carve out a living for over a decade.

Matthew once told him that he had seen a ship escort at the Mouth of the Underworld River who looked very much like his uncle.

According to Matthew, the man looked a lot like him, had a terrible temper, and often went to the tavern to drink and smash things.

Richard touched his chest. That stream of heat was still surging outward, like a thread being pulled out inch by inch.

And it was being pulled with great difficulty; only a tiny bit could be drawn out each time.

He finally understood—this wasn't like hoping for a good hand at the card table; it was more like fighting desperately for one's life.

As for what he was fighting for?

He was either facing a deadly crisis or in the middle of a promotion. His Luck was concealed by himself, and concealed very thickly, causing the pull from the other side to be extremely arduous.

Richard suddenly thought of Vincent and the others. They were at the front lines, and there was no guarantee they wouldn't encounter similar perils in the future. This pool of Luck in his hands might be their final trump card.

If he burned it all toward the west right now...

Richard hesitated for only a fraction of a second before making a decision. After all, that was his cousin's father.

If it were Vincent in his shoes, he wouldn't have hesitated at all.

"Evelyn?"

"What is it?" Evelyn blinked.

"Help me poke the stove. I'm a little cold."

Cold? The little girl eyed the blanket pulled all the way up to his chin, curled her lips, and muttered a couple of words, but she still reached out for the fire tongs.

Watching his sister slowly scrape away the stove ash, Richard gradually let go of the restraint he had been gripping tightly in his heart.

He wouldn't conceal it anymore!

The flames inside the stove abruptly flared up, startling Evelyn so much she plopped down onto the ground.

"Ah! What happened?"

Richard didn't reply. He merely felt that, as the thread was released, the stream of heat in his chest began to flow smoothly, rushing out rapidly and steadily.

[Luck: Credited - Ashford (Burning)]

At this moment in the sky above the Mouth of the Underworld River, the thick clouds were completely scattered, revealing the night sky.

The moon hung high in the sky like a thin crescent, its light blanketing the entire Mouth of the Underworld River. The water was no longer pitch-black.

The people on the boat all raised their heads, their faces full of astonishment.

The surveyor was completely unaware that the pencil in his hand had dropped. He stared at the moon and muttered, "Half a month... this is the first time..."

The woman at the stern stared expressionlessly at the moon for a long while, as if calculating something. After a long time, she lowered her head and wrote a line of text in the blank column of the Star Catalog:

"Mouth of the Underworld River. Moon emerges. No calculable cause."

The moonlight not only blanketed the Underworld River's waters but also spilled onto the evil creature.

At this time, Lauren, holding his Silver Blade, was riding on its back.

The moment the moonlight cascaded down, both Lauren and the creature stopped.

The man's lips trembled slightly. He felt it!

The tree in his chest had taken root, and it had rooted itself incredibly deep!

At the same time, the witness of the Moon Hunting Tradition that he had always sought an audience with had finally cast their gaze here!

The High-Tier Evil Entity, dripping with black water, panicked. It tried to sink beneath the surface but found it impossible.

The moonlight acted like a spear of judgment, firmly pinning it in place.

The opportunity had arrived!

Lauren's gaze hardened. He raised the Silver Blade high and forcefully plunged it into its back, dragging it all the way down along the path of the oars.

The oars popped out of its back one by one, accompanied by streaks of shadows drifting toward the shore.

Those were all the people who had once been left behind.

Now, they could finally go to a place touched by the moonlight.

The evil creature gave one final, feeble struggle before its long body fell apart into a pile of wood, drifting on the Underworld River.

Drenched from head to toe, Lauren crawled back onto the boat and looked up at the moon. Once he caught his breath, he suddenly laughed aloud.

"Whoever it was, thanks..."

Upstream, in a stilt house.

Matthew looked at the burnt fish in his pot and shook his head helplessly. He could only dish it out, squat next to Friday, and eat it slowly.

Friday, however, barked wildly at the moon.

...

In the room, Richard opened his eyes from his light sleep and touched his chest.

The burning of his Luck had stopped; it seemed things had naturally run their course.

He didn't know how the person on the other end was doing—whether they had survived the crisis or achieved their promotion.

But the thread had stopped very steadily, meaning the outcome couldn't be too bad, at the very least.

Richard shifted his gaze back to the panel.

[Luck: Credited - Ashford (Concealed)]

Now, Sophia would be able to enjoy a satisfying winning streak at the card tables again.

Richard looked at his grandfather standing by the window, the corners of his mouth curving into a slight smile.

For decades, his grandfather had constantly hoped that the family would produce another Major Adept to uphold their reputation.

Looking at it now, if his uncle had merely advanced to Minor Adept, he wouldn't have needed to burn such a strong amount of Luck.

If it truly was a Major Adept... Richard shook his head, deciding not to think too much about it.

Whether it was or wasn't, he just had to wait for the news. Getting excited in advance was useless.

The Shadow Ibis on his bedside table nodded at him quite intelligently, its little eyes rolling around as if agreeing with him.

Elsewhere, the sun had already risen high in the sky, but in January's Cairo, the sun was just beginning to peek out.

At the Museum, inside the director's office on the second floor.

Yusuf Halaf sat in front of the blinds reading a newspaper. He read straight down, from the obituaries to the classified ads.

He had his own explanation for this habit: obituaries let him know who was gone, while classified ads let him know what the remaining people needed.

Today's classified ads: an apartment for rent in Garden City; new tire replacements; a lady from the Imperial Capital recruiting students for piano lessons... It was all too varied.

Halaf's gaze suddenly paused. Amidst all these ads, there was a line of text that seemed completely out of place.

"A certain party has pledged your shadows as collateral. This was canceled on the night of the Winter Solstice. Summit of Myriad Ledgers."

Halaf frowned and put down the newspaper. "Ahmed!"

The young secretary answered the call and walked in.

"Read this line for me."

"Yes, Professor."

Ahmed picked up the newspaper and spoke in a loud, clear voice:

"A white Wire Fox Terrier is currently missing. It has a defect on its left ear, and its name is Pip.

"If found, please contact Number 32 Baghdad Street. Reward: one pound."

"Professor, do you want to keep a dog too?"

Halaf shook his head. "Exchanging one pound for a dog isn't quite worth it."

On the roof of an abandoned mosque in the north of the city, Horus was also reading this exact line.

He stared at it in a daze, not even reacting when his peregrine falcon perched beside him and pecked at the edge of the newspaper.

"Collateral..."

Horus murmured, his left hand unconsciously stroking the falcon's head.

On the east bank of the canal in Qantara, a group of bare-chested laborers carried iron pipes on their shoulders, shouting work chants as they trudged arduously through the desert.

The Military was preparing to lay down a water pipeline in the Sinai Desert.

Under a canvas canopy not far away, Set sat leisurely reading the newspaper.

He had hauled a bucket of water from the other side of the canal to sell here as fresh water, instantly doubling its price.

At the same time, inside the typhoid hospital in Abbassia, Sekhmet had also finished reading the newspaper and even had the free time to conveniently take a patient's temperature.

Nephthys, inside the Museum's underground restoration room, read the same passage;

As did Bastet, who sold perfumes and rose essential oil in the Khan el-Khalili market, and Anubis, who carved tombstones for people at the Old Cairo Cemetery. Everyone had read this exact same line in the newspaper.

After nightfall, all seven of these individuals boarded the boat.

This boat was, in fact, the temple for this round table of the Black Earth River.

The hull was bundled from papyrus reeds, its stern curling upward, making it look like a closed lotus flower from a distance.

Right in the center of the cabin stood a small shrine with open doors, yet it was empty inside.

According to Black Earth River mythology, there was supposed to be a nocturnal sun inside this shrine.

The boat would carry Him across the Underworld, passing through twelve hours and twelve gates in sequence, ultimately delivering Him out at daybreak.

Even though the shrine was empty now, the boat continued to cross through the gates time and time again without ever stopping.

Tonight, it was the fourth gate.

Chairs were lined up along the gunwales according to rank, and the seven individuals took their seats in order.

Set struck the gunwale heavily, shaking loose layer upon layer of red sand.

"Apophis, as the first seat, do you really not know what this situation is all about?"

The first seat's cheeks were hidden behind a serpentine mask, concealing any expression. "I'm sorry, I truly have no idea."

Set's laughter was a bit forced. "For over a decade you've been managing the accounts at the Cairo Museum. If even a bug went missing from the storeroom, you'd know who took it.

"Now the shadows of the seven of us have been pledged as collateral by someone, and you actually have no idea?"

"I am merely an ordinary Major Adept Scholar. It's perfectly normal for me not to know about many things."

Apophis stared at him, his tone flat. "Just like how I don't know exactly how much mud and sand you mix into the fresh water you sell to Albion every month."

"You..." Set gritted his teeth, swallowing the second half of his sentence.

Horus glanced at the two of them, not saying a word from beginning to end.

He walked along the gunwale to stand beneath the lamp and angled his body sideways, presenting his complete shadow on the deck.

"Come and look at this, all of you!"

Horus pointed in a deep voice to a white mark on the shadow's ankle. It looked exactly as if shackles had once been locked around it.

The expressions of Set and the others changed. One by one, they flattened their own shadows onto the deck to inspect them, and sure enough, they found the exact same white marks.

Set's was particularly deep, even bearing a smear of rust red.

Apophis didn't make a sound, nor did he lower his head to check.

Set's voice turned somewhat cold. "First seat, aren't you going to check your own?"

"I've always known it was there." Apophis's voice remained calm.

Horus's face was grim. "That night on the Winter Solstice, just as my shadow returned..." He glanced around before continuing. "I found a mirror reflected in my peregrine falcon's eyes. It was pitch-black and smoking."

"Whose?"

Set asked subconsciously.

Horus shook his head. "I don't know. The hand holding the mirror didn't have a face attached to it, or rather, I couldn't see one."

Nephthys paused the thread in her hands. "I saw that too! On the surface of my... coffee!"

"I... found mine reflected in a patient's glasses."

Sekhmet gulped, looking somewhat fearful.

Anubis gave a bitter smile. "Mine was even more terrifying. I found it on a tombstone. A newly polished tombstone can reflect a person's image, and my reflection appeared on it together with the mirror..."

Upon comparing notes, everyone realized they had all seen a similar sight on reflective surfaces:

That same obsidian mirror had shone toward them, and then an imperceptible restraint on their bodies had shattered, allowing their shadows to return to normal.

Horus suddenly came to a realization. "It must be the person holding that obsidian mirror who severed the shackles on our shadows!"

He wanted to discuss it further with those present, but Bastet abruptly stood up, knocking her chair over in the process.

"I'm sorry, I... I want to leave the table!"

She was trembling, her voice as shrill and high-pitched as a cat's.

"I came here because this place had divine names, and I heard it could help people enter the business more easily, allowing us to exchange intel and Spell Formulas... No one told me our shadows could just be taken and casually used as collateral by someone else!"

Anubis quickly stood beside her, his eyes equally filled with dread. "I... I'm leaving too."

"You may." Apophis's emotions still showed no fluctuation; he neither urged them to stay nor scolded them.

"You can leave, but there is a price."

Bastet and Anubis exchanged a glance. "What price?"

Apophis explained methodically, "You have worn these masks for so long that they have already swallowed your names. Even if you leave, they won't give them back! If you take off these masks, your names will be missing a piece."

"Have you thought it through?"

Bastet's face turned deathly pale. She had to grip the gunwale to keep from falling.

Horus walked over and picked up the chair she had knocked over.

"Then don't withdraw. We'll go and find the person who freed our shadows!" As he spoke, he cast another cold glance at Apophis.

"And we'll go find out exactly who it was that used our shadows as collateral!"

By the time the meeting dispersed, the people on the boat had unknowingly divided into three factions.

Horus led Bastet and Anubis—a bird, a cat, and a dog—constantly discussing their plans.

Set sat at the bow, whispering something to Sekhmet and Nephthys.

Only Apophis remained alone at the stern, stroking the Serpent Tail Mask on his face.

The moment he stepped out from that boat on the Black Earth River, he went straight to the bronze mirror hanging on the wall and asked directly:

"Our shadows—did you pledge them as collateral?"

The Black Earth River Master was sealed by the administrator, so he could only barely transmit his voice through the mirror.

He was quite unyielding toward Apophis, seemingly unwilling to let his current weakness show.

"You have no need to know!"