The old man returned his attention to the magnifying glass in his hand.
"Goods from the Eastern Continent are hard to stock. Shipping is expensive, genuine items are rare, and fakes are everywhere.
Besides that lamp, there are only a few old coins and a pair of earrings left."
"Can I take a look?"
"Find them on the shelves yourself, and don't handle them too roughly."
Richard took a lap around the shop and located the old coins and earrings.
There were three old coins, but the Panel didn't react to them at all.
The earrings were shaped like two coiled snakes. Their craftsmanship was crude, marking them as tourist-trap knockoffs. Again, the Panel showed no reaction.
They were nothing but scrap copper.
He expanded his search, sweeping his gaze across the rest of the shop's inventory.Local porcelain from the Western Continent, silverware, antique clocks, old books... none of them triggered a single response.
The Sphinx Oil Lamp was the only "living" thing in the entire shop. Everything else was dead.
The old man's voice drifted over from behind the counter.
"Why are you groping everything so eagerly today? Do you think my shop is some daily check-in spot?"
"No, I just like the design of this lamp."
"If you like it, buy it and take it home. It pains me to watch you handle it every day."
"Two pounds, not a penny less?"
"Not a penny less."
"Then I'm still a bit short. I'll come back another time."
The old man snorted. He fished a velvet cloth out of a drawer, walked over, and meticulously wiped down the lamp.
"Are you here to look at antiques or ruin them? You've clutched this lamp for so long that the rust on its wings has darkened a shade."
He set the lamp back in its proper place and glared at Richard.
"Did a competitor send you? Intentionally ruining my goods to drive down the price?"
"Mr. Clement, I'm a student."
"And students can't be up to no good? I've seen more bad students than you've eaten loaves of bread."
Knowing he couldn't reason with the old man, Richard quickly made his excuses and left.
The brass bell chimed once more as he stepped out into the alley and sighed.
It seemed freeloading was no longer an option.
His point absorption had grown slower with every visit, and the old man was starting to grow suspicious of his frequent appearances.
If he wanted the lamp, he would have to pay with real money.
He shoved his hands into his pockets and headed home.
...
When he arrived, a bicycle was parked at the front gate. It didn't belong to his family.
Richard pushed open the front door and found a postman in the living room.
His mother sat on the sofa, clutching a letter, the unfolded stationery resting on her lap.
His father stood by the window with his back to the door and his hands in his pockets.
Evelyn peeked out from the top of the stairs. Seeing Richard, she shot him a look.
The meaning was clear: something was wrong.
"What happened?" Richard asked, closing the door.
His mother handed him the letter.
The paper was high-quality—thick and textured with a watermark. The handwriting was elegant and precise, written in expensive indigo ink.
A family crest was stamped at the top: an oak tree and a rampant lion on a shield-shaped base.
This was his mother's maternal family—the Ashford Family.
The contents of the letter were brief:
"A family banquet 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."
It was signed by the butler, but a handwritten line at the very bottom stood out. The handwriting was different from the main text—much more forceful:
"I especially look forward to meeting Margaret's eldest son."
His mother looked paler than usual today, her lips pressed into a tight line.
"At the last family gathering, everyone who could go went," she said softly. "This time, they only want to see our family."
The kettle in the kitchen began to boil, the steam rattling the lid, but no one moved to check it.
"We have to go. We don't have a choice."
His mother lowered her head and folded the letter, creasing the paper heavily.
Evelyn came down the stairs and sat next to Richard.
"Grandfather asked for you by name," she whispered. "Mom hasn't looked well since she opened the letter."
Richard stared at the folded letter on the coffee table, organizing the information in his head.
The Ashford Family clearly held a prominent position in the Imperial Capital.
His mother's position in that family was likely that of a collateral branch or an illegitimate child—either way, she had little say in family matters.
She and his father had met in university.
His father was an outstanding man in his own right. He had worked his way through college and secured a relatively high-paying job, making them part of the standard middle class.
It was only because of his mother's medical expenses and the cost of sending both him and his sister to good schools that their finances were so tight.
But to a family like the Ashfords, marrying a middle-class man like his father was marrying beneath her station.
During the last gathering, his cousin Vincent had given him a Copper Pendant.
The residual supernatural power sealed within the pendant had cursed him with an unrelenting high fever, dragging him to his death.
Did Vincent know there was a problem with the pendant? That question still hung in the air.
Now, his grandfather was demanding to see him by name, barely a month after the last gathering.
The interval was far too short.
A normal family gathering happening once a year would be impressive enough.
Sending two invitations in such rapid succession, coupled with a handwritten note specifically requesting to "meet the eldest son," was hardly a gesture of politeness.
He strongly suspected that the Ashford Family was connected to the mystical side of the world.
This speculation wasn't baseless.
Someone in this high-ranking Imperial Capital family had managed to obtain an antiquity containing sealed supernatural power and casually give it away as a gift.
Furthermore, his grandfather had summoned him immediately after Richard recovered from his severe illness.
His mother's reaction to the letter also suggested she knew something.
Richard walked into the kitchen and took the half-dry kettle off the stove.
The steam dissipated, and the kitchen fell quiet.
He brewed a cup of tea and brought it out to his mother, then poured another for his father.
His mother took the teacup, her fingers gently brushing against his.
"Richard," she called his name softly.
"Yes?"
"When we get there, don't run off on your own."
She didn't look at him when she said this; instead, her eyes remained fixed on the gloomy grey sky outside the window.
"I understand."
Dinner was the same as always: soup, bread, and a plate of pickles.
His father ate in silence, while his mother occasionally exchanged a few words with Evelyn about household chores.
The letter from the Ashford Family wasn't mentioned again. It remained on the living room coffee table, weighed down by an empty teacup.
After dinner, Richard went upstairs, closed his door, drew the curtains, and cracked the window open.
But today, he didn't rush to flip through books or decipher ciphers.
He sat in his chair for a long time, organizing his thoughts.
The family banquet was on the fifteenth of next month.
The weekend was already over, and next week was the final week of the month. That meant he had about twenty days until the banquet.
What could he accomplish in a little over three weeks?
Based on his current cultivation progress with [Breathing], his chances of reaching Lv.3 were slim.
Besides, the Healing effect of Lv.3 only stated: "Where the breath flows, minor wounds mend themselves, and deep-seated ailments gradually recede."
It was more than enough to handle everyday ailments, but he wasn't sure how useful it would be against a genuine threat.
He had just leveled up [Learning] to Lv.2, so raising it again within three weeks was unrealistic. However, he could use this time to absorb as much knowledge about the mystical side of the world as possible.
The more he knew, the sharper his judgment would be, and the less likely he would be led by the nose in an unfamiliar environment.
The Cicero Cup was roughly a week after the family banquet, leaving him with only about a month to prepare for it.
The timelines didn't conflict, so he could work on both simultaneously.
Moreover, the prize money from the competition was his most realistic source of income. Get the money, buy the lamp, acquire points, and invest them into his skills.
Richard lay down on his bed, closed his eyes, and began today's practice of the breathing method.
Inhale. Ether flooded his chest along with his breath.
Hold. He anchored his focus on the Seat of the Sun, visualizing the flow of light condensing into a single point.
A warm sensation seeped from behind his sternum. It was much clearer than it had been a few days ago, its boundaries far more distinct.
The warmth didn't completely fade.
He could feel the residual heat lingering throughout the four beats of his exhale.
It was a sign that the ether was beginning to deposit within his body—the first ray of dawn from his internal sun.
The first milestone was approaching.