It was a peculiar piece of paper.
Slightly thick, like stiff cardstock. The elongated strip was marked like a ruler, with scales from 0 to 10.
“What is this?” Angela flipped it over, examining it. “A measuring ruler?”
“This is a ritual compatibility gauge,” Carol explained. “The specific principles are hard to explain; they’re related to the divine…”
He glossed over the rest, and no one pressed him.
He continued, “In short, when you have a gauge and perform a ritual, you can use it afterward to check your ritual compatibility.”
“What’s ritual compatibility?”
“Good question,” Carol nodded. “The concept has many names—completion, accuracy, and so forth. But compatibility is the easiest to understand: how well your ritual aligns with the historical event it recreates.”
Everyone pondered this concept.
Bruer said, “We need to actively align… no, match what happened back then?”
“Yes,” Carol gave an approving look. “Take [Flowing Wind]. What angle, direction, and strength did the wind have that moved the leaf, ultimately creating the breeze we recreate?
“How closely your ritual matches the past event determines how well the recreated power mirrors that original wind. ‘Restoration’ is a form of power.”
It was easy to grasp but hard to judge in practice.
Carol continued, “With the compatibility gauge, we can see intuitively which actions yield low compatibility, leading to ritual failure or weaker effects. Through practice, we improve ritual outcomes.”
The Revelators fell into thought.
Siles suddenly asked, “If we know exactly what happened in the past, would the ritual compatibility always be 10?”
For instance, with the wind—if they were there, knowing precisely where it came from and its strength, could they ensure absolute success without the gauge?
Carol gave Siles an odd look, likely thinking of the research department.
He answered, “Theoretically, yes. But for more complex rituals, you consider more—not just recreating the wind but the tree, the surrounding air, the wind’s endpoint.”
Siles nodded slowly. “I understand. Thank you.”
After explaining ritual compatibility, Carol distributed potions and leaves, letting them try the ritual again in different corners of the room.
Exclamations rang out.
“Only 5!”
“8! My highest!”
“Last time was 3, now 7. I don’t feel much difference…”
“Hahaha, 9! I got a 9!”
Amid the excited or dismayed voices, Siles glanced at his gauge—the faint blue filled every corner.
10. Every time, 10.
…He even tried different postures and directions, yet the blue glow, as if sentient, left his fingertips at a specific angle, flowing into the leaf.
And Siles got one 10 after another.
As if fate favored him.
Siles inhaled quietly, pondering why this happened.
Carol approached, noticing the fully blue gauge, and praised, “Congratulations! You must have practiced a lot.”
Before he could respond, someone shouted, “10! I finally got a 10!”
Carol went to praise them, not dwelling on Siles’s 10.
Siles sighed in relief, stopping practice to ponder—was this his golden finger? Or tied to his Secret Keeper identity?
Why always full compatibility?
He couldn’t figure it out.
The afternoon passed in practice and questions. They grasped the profundity of Revelators and the toil behind the hefty Box of Knowledge.
By the end, several, like Mrs. Fuller and Eric, hadn’t achieved full compatibility.
They didn’t seem overly concerned. This highlighted that Revelators differed, with varied progress and success.
This gave Siles a subtle feeling.
After two hours, they bid farewell and left.
As Siles exited, a prompt sounded in his mind: 【Knowledge +1.】
…Another point?
He recalled the last knowledge increase was his first Historical Society visit, learning of Revelators, boosting both spirituality and knowledge by one.
Now, his knowledge rose again.
Was it due to learning about ritual compatibility? But hadn’t Glenfiel already mentioned the three elements and dimensions?
Siles realized he’d only learned the terms from Glenfiel, not their full meaning, so his knowledge hadn’t changed then.
As his understanding of Revelators deepened, his knowledge would keep rising. It was only 47 now.
Lost in thought, Siles lagged behind, joining Angela, who walked slowly, still wearing a stiff smile.
Siles felt helpless, then recalled a question and asked, “I need formal clothes for teaching. Do you know any clothing stores nearby?”
Women knew these things better.
Angela relaxed slightly, thought, and said, “Though formal wear is most proper, it’s not ideal for class. Southwest of Atherton Square, there’s a good tailor for ready-made suits.”
Siles nodded, thanked her, and parted ways.
Half an hour later, Siles left a clothing store with a bag, heart bleeding.
He knew Atherton Square shops weren’t cheap, but one suit cost twenty-five duke coins—two suits, his monthly salary! Three months’ rent!
Siles paid with closed eyes.
Fine, fine. From another angle, these suits should last years. Really.
Given the costly clothes and time, Siles chose a private carriage. About an hour and a half later—did Lamifa City have traffic jams?—he returned to 13 Milford Street.
He caught the Fains starting dinner and, at their warm invitation, joined them.
After dinner, noticing the clear weather—rainy season truly over—Siles strolled, passing Glenfiel’s Antique Bookstore, its faint light still on, and entered.
“Good evening, Glen.”
“Good evening, Siles,” Glenfiel replied, lounging behind the counter, reading, possibly another Antonia Kaming detective novel. “Back at the Historical Society today?”
Siles, unsure how to ask, paused at Glenfiel’s remark, thinking he knew the Society’s schedule too well.
Without overthinking, he nodded. “Yes, we learned about ritual compatibility.”
Glenfiel looked up. “Anything unclear?”
Siles thought, then nodded slowly. “Does compatibility always require practice to improve?”
His real confusion was his constant 10 compatibility, but asking directly might seem insane. Better to seem overly ambitious. This chapter was copied from g.com without permission.
As expected, Glenfiel rolled his eyes. “What else?” he said gruffly. “Think it improves out of nowhere? For a first ritual, 5 or 6 is excellent!”
Siles replied cautiously, “But I want to consider all possibilities.”
This made Glenfiel fall eerily silent.
After a moment, he sighed. “You really are…”
Siles stayed quiet.
Glenfiel, as if to himself and warning Siles, said, “Arrogant youths always want everything.” Without waiting for a reply, he added, “It’s possible.”
Siles blinked. “Under what conditions?”
“When you’re a god.”
Siles froze, then said in shock, “When I… am a god?”
“Yes,” Glenfiel said, all emotion gone, deadly serious. “The only known being to achieve full compatibility on the first ritual… is the Guardian of the Crevice of Time.”
Antinam.
That god.
Siles held his breath, feeling cold sweat on his back.
Noticing Siles’s pale face, Glenfiel warned, “Now you see how ignorant your question was? Honestly, young people, practice properly, don’t dream of shortcuts.
“I know you’re a scholar, digging deep, but this…”
He shook his head.
After a moment, Siles said casually, “I understand. But you mentioned the Historical Society is researching Revelator souls, so I wondered if some souls naturally… align with certain rituals.”
Glenfiel looked surprised, then said, “Not impossible, but few study it. Honestly, the research department’s doors are open to you.”
Siles: “…”
Lamifa University’s academic tasks were enough.
He chatted more with Glenfiel, mentioning his move tomorrow, adding, “If I get the chance, I’ll visit.”
Glenfiel nodded casually. “I’m at the Historical Society Wednesday mornings.”
Siles paused, then smiled. “Where can I find you?”
Glenfiel coughed, saying seriously, “Room 177.”
Siles noted it. He added, “The Antonia Kaming novel you gave me was a great read.”
The bearded man, hearing praise for his favorite author, lit up, lauding Siles’s taste, then gifted another Kaming book, insisting he take it.
Siles accepted.
Leaving the bookstore, he recalled something, went to Logan Market, and bought a fountain pen at a shop.
In a world without computers or phones, writing a novel meant handwriting. A quill would be torturous.
He noticed this world’s fountain pens had convenient self-filling ink technology, but a simple model cost ten duke coins.
Still, he chose a plain black one.
…Honestly, hadn’t he spent enough on suits today? What was a pen? He was an Earth native, versed in the art of bundling purchases!
Siles pocketed the costly pen, face expressionless, and returned.
At 13 Milford Street’s second floor, he met the mysterious folklorist, Alfonso Kalel, again.