I Loaded the Mysticism Panel

"The Practitioner stage is the most comfortable on the entire path of ascension."

"You possess abilities far beyond ordinary people—able to use Techniques, perceive Ether, and banish Lower-rank Evil Beings.

These abilities are enough to grant you a respectable social status in the Surface World.

Whether teaching in a school as a Scholar, holding a post within the official system as a Hunter, or taking on private jobs as a Secretive One."

"You can live a life wealthier, safer, and more influential than the vast majority of people."

"At the same time, the light you cast behind the Curtain is still dim.

The things in the depths won’t notice you, and naturally, they won’t come to bother you.

The vast majority of Practitioners can live peacefully to a ripe old age and die in their own beds."

"If you were to ask for my advice to a fledgling Newcomer, it would be this: stop once you become a Practitioner.

Build a good life for yourself in that position, take care of your family, and do what you can within your abilities."

"Don’t mistake this for cowardice. This is the wisdom of survival."

"I’ve seen too many Practitioners who, dissatisfied with their current state, were eager to advance further, only to end up feeding themselves to those long-waiting mouths."

"The world behind the Curtain has no shortage of explorers. What it lacks are explorers who return alive."

"The probability of survival at the Practitioner stage is far higher than at any Tier above it."

"Because at this stage, you are not required to perform any rituals."

Richard noted that the author had mentioned rituals again.

The text had spoken at length about signing one’s name, but that was just about signing a Marvel, not a ritual.

From Newcomer to Practitioner, no part of the entire process required you to "declare" anything to what lies behind the Curtain.

You just need to wait for your inner circulation to stabilize, choose a path, pass the verification, and sign your name on your chosen Marvel.

The Curtain knows you exist, but it won’t push the door open an inch for you because of it.

You stand outside the door. The light leaking through the crack is just enough for you to work, but the door itself doesn’t budge.

’And above the Practitioner Tier?’

He flipped a page in his notebook, preparing to continue selecting the next set of ciphered words.

Just as the pencil tip touched the paper, a dull ache throbbed at the back of his head.

He stopped and waited for a few seconds. The pain didn’t worsen, but it didn’t fade either.

Richard looked up at the sky through the gap in the curtains.

It was pitch-black; even the light from the streetlamps was indistinct.

He looked down at the white papers spread across his desk. Four sheets were already filled, densely packed with comparative analysis and translation.

More than two hours had passed without him realizing.

Looking at his fingers, he saw a faint red mark where the pencil had rubbed between his thumb and index finger.

He set the pencil down, leaned back in his chair, and closed his eyes.

He began the Quadruple Breathing.

Inhale for four counts, hold for four counts, exhale for four counts, hold for four counts.

Warmth spread from the Throne of the Sun, traveling up his spine. When it passed his cervical vertebrae and reached the back of his head, it collided head-on with the dull ache.

The two sensations briefly intertwined.

After a few breathing cycles, the warmth enveloped the dull ache, making it less sharp, but it didn’t disappear completely.

It was like a small shard of ice held in the mouth; its volume shrank as the temperature rose, but it remained, hard and solid, a reminder of its presence.

Mr. Hutton’s words surfaced in his mind:

"If someone without the proper foundation reads knowledge of Mysticism, it will place a great burden on them. Mild cases result in headaches and hallucinations. Severe cases..."

He opened his eyes and looked down, examining the translated drafts on his desk.

Four white sheets, covering everything from the nature of Tiers and the entire signing process to a brief description of the qualitative change at the Practitioner stage and the author’s personal advice.

The information density wasn’t particularly high; after all, half of it was explanatory plain language, not just a pile of technical terms.

But he could still feel its weight.

This weight wasn’t a metaphor.

The words he had translated didn’t feel like much as he read them.

But after he finished, the words began to settle in his mind. Once they had settled to a certain depth, his brain started issuing overload warnings.

’I have classes tomorrow.’

His Friday schedule was packed. In the morning, he had Mr. Hutton’s history class and Mr. Holland’s Latin class, and in the afternoon, there was a geography exam.

If he forced himself to continue decoding in his current state, his efficiency would only plummet, and his error rate would skyrocket.

Besides, if he walked out of his bedroom tomorrow morning looking pale and sickly, his family would definitely press him for an explanation.

Richard stacked the translation drafts in order and locked them in a drawer along with the notebook.

He turned off the desk lamp, and the room went dark.

He sat in the darkness for a moment, letting his eyes adjust.

A sliver of faint light filtered through the gap in the curtains, likely the moonlight reflecting off the opposite roof.

His mind was still pondering the content he had just read.

’The Practitioner stage is the most comfortable on the entire path of ascension.’

The author’s advice was written with such sincerity and frankness; it was the kind of heartfelt counsel that could only come from someone with experience.

He recalled his conversation with Philips in the library after the Cicero Cup.

Going down is easy, coming back up is hard.

’But if you don’t go down, can you even stay where you are?’

The two statements were not logically contradictory.

Remaining a Practitioner was indeed a wise choice, provided your circumstances allowed you to stay there.

’What if one day the environment changes, and the things behind the Curtain start actively coming for you?’

Richard pulled the blanket up to his chin and closed his eyes.

His breathing returned to its normal, gentle rhythm in the night.

’I’ll continue tomorrow night,’ was his last thought. ’I should be able to finish the second half in one evening.’

.........

On Friday morning, Richard woke up before his alarm went off.

The first thing he did upon opening his eyes was to check the back of his head.

The dull ache was gone. Completely. Not even a trace remained.

A night of sleep, combined with the passive healing of his triple [Body] Skill, had digested the knowledge-overload accumulated last night.

He rolled out of bed, got dressed, washed his face, and his steps were lighter than usual as he walked downstairs.

The SIZZLE of frying eggs and the aroma of black tea mixed in the kitchen, wafting toward the staircase.

Evelyn was up even earlier today. Her apron was already tied, and her hair was pulled back into a neat ponytail.

"’Morning," she said without turning around, sliding the fried egg onto a plate.

"’Morning."

Richard sat down at the dining table.

Evelyn placed the plate in front of her brother, then leaned in close to look at him.

"You’ve got dark circles."

"Yeah."

"Stayed up too late last night?"

"Was up late reading."

"What book?"

"A Latin one."

The girl straightened up, the corners of her mouth turning down in a pout.

That phrase had now become a private code between the siblings.

No matter what Richard was doing—locking his door, drawing the curtains, breaking into a sweat, staying up all night—the ultimate explanation was always "Latin."

Evelyn tossed her apron onto the back of her chair and sat down opposite him with a huff. "...Don’t just dip the bread in the yolk, eat the white too."

"Oh."