Invitation Letter

The old man turned his attention back to the magnifying glass in his hand.

"Goods from the Eastern Continent are hard to source. Shipping's expensive, genuine articles are scarce, and fakes are everywhere.

"Other than that lamp, there are only a few old coins and a pair of earrings left."

"Can I take a look?"

"Find them yourself on the shelves. Don't squeeze them too hard."

Richard made a round of the shop and found the old coins and earrings.

Three old coins. The panel did not react at all.

A pair of earrings shaped like two tiny coiling snakes. Their workmanship was crude, the sort of imitation tourist souvenir, and the panel showed no reaction either.

All worthless scrap metal.

He broadened his search and scanned the objects in the other parts of the shop as well.

Western Continent porcelain, silverware, old clocks, old books... none of them elicited any response.

The entire shop had only one "living" item: the Sphinx Oil Lamp. Everything else was dead matter.

The old man's voice drifted over from behind the counter.

"Why are you pawing at things with even more enthusiasm today? Are you treating my shop like a place to clock in?"

"No. I just like the lamp's design."

"If you like it, buy it and take it home. It pains me to watch you keep holding it every day."

"Not a penny less than two pounds?"

"Not a penny less."

"Then I'm still a little short. I'll come back later."

The old man snorted, pulled out a piece of velvet cloth from a drawer, and came over to carefully wipe down the lamp.

"Are you here to look at antiques or wreck my things? You held this lamp for so long that the rust on its wings has darkened by another shade."

He set the lamp straight again and glared at Richard.

"You're not a competitor's spy, are you? Deliberately damaging my things so you can haggle the price down?"

"Mr. Clement, I'm a student."

"Students can't get up to mischief? I've seen more bad students than the loaves of bread you've eaten."

Richard felt that he could not explain himself to the old man, so he quickly took his leave.

The little bell jingled again. Standing in the alley, he sighed.

It seemed the freeloading route was no longer viable.

Each visit yielded points more slowly than the last, and the old man had begun growing wary of his frequent appearances.

If he wanted the lamp, he would have to pay for it with real money.

He tucked his hands into his pockets and headed home.

When he got home, there was a bicycle parked outside the courtyard gate. It was not his family's.

Richard pushed open the front door and found an extra person in the living room: a postman.

His mother sat on the sofa, clutching a letter. The unfolded paper lay across her knees.

His father stood by the window with his back to the door, hands in his trouser pockets.

Evelyn poked her head out from the stairwell. When she saw Richard return, she gave him a meaningful look.

The message in that look was clear: something had happened.

"What is it?" Richard asked as he shut the door.

His mother handed him the letter.

The letter paper was high quality, thick and subtly patterned. The writing was neat and beautiful, done in expensive indigo ink.

A family crest was printed at the top: an oak tree and a rampant lion upon a shield-shaped base.

This was his mother's maiden family—the Ashford Family.

The letter's contents were brief:

"A family dinner will be held at the Imperial Capital residence on the fifteenth of next month.

"Margaret Williams, née Ashford, and her family are cordially invited to attend."

The signature bore the butler's name, but there was a handwritten line at the end of the letter. Its handwriting differed from the body, stronger and more forceful:

"I especially look forward to meeting Margaret's eldest son."

His mother looked worse than usual today, her lips drawn tight.

"At the last family gathering, everyone who could go went," she said quietly. "This time, they only want to see our family."

The kettle in the kitchen came to a boil, steam making the lid clatter noisily, but no one paid it any mind.

"We have to go. We have no choice."

His mother lowered her head and folded the letter, pressing the creases deeply.

Evelyn came down from the stairs and sat beside Richard.

"Grandfather specifically asked to see you," she whispered. "Mom looked awful the moment she received the letter."

Richard looked at the folded letter on the coffee table and began sorting through the information in his mind.

The Ashford Family clearly held no low status in the Imperial Capital.

His mother's position within the family was probably that of some collateral branch or illegitimate line. In any case, she had little say in the household.

She and his father had met at university.

His father was actually quite outstanding too. He had put himself through university and found a relatively well-paying job, making him a standard member of the middle class.

But because they had to pay for his mother's treatment and medicine, while also sending both him and his sister to good schools, the family had always lived rather tightly.

Yet marrying a middle-class man like his father was considered marrying beneath herself in the eyes of that sort of family.

At the last gathering, his cousin Vincent had given him a copper pendant.

The remnants of supernatural power sealed inside had dragged him into an unrelenting fever and nearly killed him.

Did Vincent know there was something wrong with it? That question still hung unresolved.

Now, only a month after the previous gathering, his grandfather had specifically asked to see him again.

The interval was too short.

A normal family gathering was already impressive if it happened once a year.

To send two invitations so close together, and to specifically handwrite, "I especially look forward to meeting the eldest son," at the end of the letter—this was probably not mere politeness.

He boldly guessed that the Ashford Family might be connected to the mysterious side.

This speculation was not without basis.

A prominent Imperial Capital family had someone capable of obtaining an antique containing sealed supernatural power and giving it away as a gift.

And after Richard had barely recovered from his serious illness, his grandfather wanted to see him at the first opportunity.

His mother's reaction upon receiving the letter also suggested that she probably knew something.

Richard went into the kitchen and removed the kettle, half its water boiled away, from the stove.

The steam dissipated, and the kitchen fell silent.

He made his mother a cup of tea and carried it out, then poured one for his father as well.

His mother accepted the teacup, her fingers brushing over his fingertips.

"Richard," she softly called her son's name.

"Hmm?"

"When we get there, don't wander around."

When she said this, she did not look at him. Instead, she stared at the gray, overcast sky beyond the window.

"I know."

Dinner proceeded as usual: soup, bread, and a small dish of pickles.

His father ate in silence, while his mother occasionally spoke with Evelyn about household matters.

The Ashford Family's letter was not mentioned again. It remained on the living room coffee table, pinned beneath an empty teacup.

After dinner, Richard went upstairs, shut his door, drew the curtains, and opened a crack in the window.

But today, he did not hurry to read or decipher coded phrases.

He sat in his chair for a long time, organizing the information in his mind.

The family dinner was on the fifteenth of next month.

This weekend had already ended, and next week would be the final week of this month. That meant there were a little over twenty days left.

What could he accomplish in more than three weeks?

[Breathing] At his current rate of progress, reaching Lv.3 was unlikely.

Besides, Lv.3's Healing effect was merely, "Where the breath flows, minor injuries heal themselves, and chronic ailments gradually recede."

That was more than enough for ordinary sickness and pain, but he was not sure whether it would be useful against a genuine threat.

[Scholarship] He had only just reached Lv.2, so gaining another level within three weeks was unrealistic. Still, he could absorb as much knowledge of the mysterious side as possible during that time.

The more he knew, the more accurate his judgment would be, and the less likely he would be led around by the nose in unfamiliar surroundings.

The Cicero Cup would probably be held around a week after the family dinner, leaving only about a month.

The timing did not conflict much with the family dinner. He could pursue both matters in parallel.

Moreover, the prize money was currently his most practical source of income: get the money, buy the lamp, obtain points, and invest them in his skills.

Richard lay down on his bed, closed his eyes, and began today's Breathing Technique practice.

He inhaled, and Aether poured into his chest with his breath.

He held his breath, anchoring his attention on the Seat of the Sun and visualizing the stream of light converging into a point.

Warmth spread from behind his sternum. It was clearer than it had been in recent days, its boundaries more distinct.

The warmth did not completely fade.

During the four beats of exhalation, he could feel the residual warmth lingering all along.

That was a sign that Aether had begun accumulating in his body—the first ray of dawn from the Inner Sun.

The first milestone was close.