Chapter 47: True

Aurora glanced at the slightly stained white tablecloth and smiled at Lumian.

“If the ritual’s target is yourself, a dirty altar doesn’t matter—but if you’re petitioning a deity or a hidden entity, I suggest replacing the cloth with a cleaner one, or just removing it and wiping the table.”

“Petitioning yourself is all about being casual, right?” Lumian couldn’t resist teasing.

Aurora let out a soft laugh.

“‘Casual’ applies mainly to the environment, materials, and tools—the ritual’s procedure and corresponding incantations must still strictly follow occult rules.”

Saying this, she pulled a pale orange-yellow candle from her hidden pocket.

“This is a candle infused with citrus and lavender—what matters isn’t their domains, but that I like it.”

She first held the candle above the makeshift altar.

“Remember: candles representing deities go here—right now, these spots can remain empty.”

Then she placed the candle near herself.

“Remember: this is the position of ‘me.’”

After setting the candle, Aurora went to the kitchen and brought back a cup of clear water, a small dish of coarse salt, and a tiny steel bowl.

“Next, we create a clean, undisturbed ritual environment—remember, spiritual cleanliness, which we must construct ourselves.

“The method is to enter meditation, focus your mind, and channel spiritual power through auxiliary items to form a spiritual wall around the altar.

“For ‘Seekers’ and ‘Fortune-Tellers,’ this is simple; but before reaching Sequence 7, ‘Hunters’ need other aids—like incense that calms your emotions and clears your mind, or a crystal ball that enhances spiritual activity and focus.

“Uh, the meditation I taught you before was incomplete—only the first step, meant just to gather your thoughts and stabilize your state. I’ll explain the rest later.”

The meditation method was incomplete? Then how did I trigger the dream’s peculiarity and make those two symbols stand out? Lumian felt slightly puzzled.

Aurora pulled another item from her hidden pocket—a silver dagger.

“Now watch closely how I build the spiritual wall.”

Lumian stared, dumbfounded, and blurted out:

“How do you have so many things on you?”

First came ritual materials, a telescopic monocular, a miniature inkwell holding the Spirit World creature “White Paper,” and ritual candles—and now a dagger.

Aurora sighed helplessly.

“Do you think I want this? This is the inconvenience of being a ‘Wizard.’

“I have to alter every outfit myself for hours—sometimes I even wonder if I’m Doraemon, pulling out whatever I need.”

“What’s Doraemon?” Lumian didn’t understand the foreign word his sister had used in the last sentence.

Aurora paused, her expression subtly complex.

“You don’t need to know.”

For some reason, Lumian suddenly sensed a faint sadness in his sister.

Aurora quickly regained her composure and extended her right hand toward the pale orange-yellow candle representing herself.

“In ritual magic, candles can’t simply be lit—though sometimes ordinary lighting works, it’s often not a good thing,” Aurora explained. “The correct method is to extend your spiritual power and rub it against the wick to ignite it.”

As she spoke, the candle burst into orange-yellow flames.

The table acting as the altar and its surroundings were instantly illuminated, imbued with a strange, deep mystery.

Aurora’s pale blue eyes had darkened; invisible winds swirled around her.

She plunged the silver dagger into the coarse salt and chanted a mysterious incantation:

“xxx, xxxx!

“…”

Lumian stared blankly, watching as his sister withdrew the dagger after finishing the chant and plunged it into the cup of water, then lifted it out.

Aurora pointed the dagger’s tip outward and walked a full circle around the altar; with each step, Lumian felt invisible power surging from the blade, lively and dynamic.

It merged with the air, forming an invisible wall impervious to wind.

When Aurora completed her circle, Lumian felt as if she stood in another world.

“Did you see the steps clearly?” Aurora’s voice sounded slightly distant now.

Lumian nodded obediently:

“I saw them, but I didn’t understand what you were chanting.”

Aurora couldn’t help laughing.

“You’re truly an illiterate in occultism—literally.

“That was Hermesian. Translated roughly, it means:

“I sanctify you, blade of pure silver!

“I cleanse and purify you, that you may serve me in this ritual!

“…

“In the name of Wizard Aurora Li,

“You are sanctified!”

Lumian scratched his head.

“Sounds pretty ordinary.”

“The translation sounds ordinary—the key is the incantation’s intrinsic meaning and the language used,” Aurora’s eyes flickered upward. “Say it in Intis, and it’s mundane. But use Hermesian, Ancient Hermesian, Elvish, Draconic, or Giant—then it’s different.”

Lumian asked curiously:

“Only these languages possess the power to communicate with the occult?”

“Not at all—there are many similar languages in occultism, each with unique properties—like those meant solely for the dead—but most adepts never use them unless studying a rare field or performing a specific ritual,” Aurora replied casually.

She elaborated further on the incantation:

“When sanctifying the silver dagger, the second-to-last line should invoke a deity’s or hidden entity’s name—but we’re unaffiliated adepts; better to avoid it if possible, to prevent unnecessary trouble.

“As an adept, sanctifying a common object in your own name is sufficient—it won’t be as potent as the original, but it works.”

Lumian nodded, then remembered a question:

“My name was given to me later—can I use it in the ritual?”

“Yes,” Aurora replied with absolute certainty. “A newly given name won’t work, but yours has been used for years—it has occult ties.”

She paused, then added:

“When sanctifying objects outdoors with limited materials, you can complete the ritual using only coarse salt or clear water.”

Saying this, Aurora pulled from her pocket a tiny silver-black metal vial, no taller than her index finger.

“This is my own blend of essential oil—‘Green Fairy Trail’—the only thing that matters is that it smells good.” She dripped three drops of pale green liquid onto the candle representing herself.

A soft hiss—the candle’s glow dimmed, faint mist spreading, making Aurora and the altar before her appear profoundly mysterious.

“Now comes the crucial part,” Aurora withdrew a small sheet of faux parchment. “If you’re performing a ritual to petition a deity, you must draw a symbolic glyph on the paper and burn it during the ceremony.

“The incantation has four parts: First, I petition the power of [someone]—[someone] must be a deity’s symbol, title, or domain—for example, ‘I petition the power of the Sun,’ ‘I petition the power of Order.’ Remember, there are always two lines, matching the two candles representing the deity.

“Second: ‘I petition the deity’s favor.’ Remember—not to speak the name directly; doing so in ritual is sacrilege. ‘Eternal Radiance’ can be referred to as ‘the God’ or ‘the Father.’

“Third: the thing you wish to petition—must be brief, one sentence only.

“Fourth: amplify the incantation’s power—something like, ‘Sunflower, herb of the Sun, lend your power to my words.’ Choose two or three materials you’re using and describe them.

“After chanting, drip one drop of essential oil onto each candle, burn the paper with the glyph, and when it’s fully consumed, the ritual ends. Then thank the deity, extinguish the candles in order: first ‘me,’ then ‘deity,’ right then left. And remember—the order to light them was left then right, deity first, then ‘me.’”

Lumian grunted twice:

“What about petitioning yourself?”

Aurora smiled:

“The incantation is simpler—I’ll use summoning a Spirit World entity as an example:

“First part: one word—‘I.’ Must be shouted aloud. Remember: not Hermesian—must be Ancient Hermesian, Elvish, Draconic, or Giant.

“Second part: ‘I summon in my name.’ From here, Hermesian may be used.

“Third part: the specific description of the Spirit World entity you wish to summon.”

“What’s a specific description?” Lumian pressed.

Aurora replied solemnly:

“A specific description must have exactly three parts, designed to lock onto the exact entity you want to summon.

"For example: today a stranger came and said, 'I'm looking for the prank king of Kedou Village, Aurora Li's idiot brother, the regular at the old tavern'—wouldn't we know exactly who he meant?"

“I get it!” Lumian suddenly understood. “When you don’t know the target’s name, appearance, or address, use their traits to find them.”

Aurora’s expression turned serious:

“That’s the principle—but in practice, there are many complications.

“When summoning Spirit World entities, the first line is usually fixed—either ‘Spirit wandering in illusion’ or ‘Spirit roaming the upper realms’—to point toward the Spirit World and clarify we’re summoning a spirit.

“The second line is also generic: we don’t summon spirits to kill ourselves, so we must restrict it to benevolent entities—and sometimes we add ‘weak,’ because some spirits may be benevolent, yet their mere existence poses great danger.

“Given these factors, the descriptions become standardized: ‘benevolent entity servable,’ ‘benevolent entity consultable,’ ‘weak servable entity,’ and so on.

“But even with these two parts, the target remains too broad—we can’t specify what kind of spirit will come. So the third part is vital: you must describe in one sentence exactly what entity you want.”

“It’s hard,” Lumian groaned just thinking about it.

Aurora nodded:

“Not just hard—dangerous.

“When the target is vague, you might summon an unwanted spirit—or one that brings danger. Remember: ‘weak’ doesn’t mean harmless, just as ‘benevolent’ doesn’t mean it won’t threaten you.”

(End of chapter)