Sorcerer’s Handbook

In the villa’s second-floor study, Ashe was almost turning into a treant, like a tombstone of a forest. Each branch was as hard as steel, and every leaf was drawing upon his arcane energy.

This was an incredibly powerful Senro Faction Miracle. It was common knowledge that the Senro Faction primarily focused on creation and production, yet this Miracle was ferociously potent, unimaginably combining numerous spirits to result in an ability that could confine, slaughter, and weaken all at once.

Professor Sylin, over two centuries old, was a Two Wings Sorcerer, which was not unusual. The Faction Realm is the most merciless of assessments, acting like a chasm that blocks all but the most gifted or fortunate ‘mediocrities’. Effort is meaningless to a Sorcerer because effort is the foundation of their practice; however, without Talent, no matter how long-lived, diligent, or desperate one is, it is impossible to reach the lofty vistas above.

Although he could not see those higher vistas, the abundance of time allowed Sylin to appreciate the lofty grandeur of towering ancient trees, the venom of bees, the secrecy of spiders, and the hidden lethality within plants.

All resources are converted into a Sorcerer’s power, including time.

Ashe, also a Two Wings Sorcerer, never underestimated Sylin—not now, not ever. But time was not on his side. As it passed, it became easier for the Sin Hunter’s Hall to locate him. He had discovered within the Curtain that the Sin Hunter’s Hall had already begun a large-scale search of both the Lower District and the Pig District.

Freya’s home might have been a haven of comfort, but it also threatened to be his grave.

He had to obtain the necessary information as quickly as possible, and Professor Sylin was his only option. He knew the risks before coming; after all, life is merely a significant chip in the game of stakes, and when it’s time to bet, one must wager.

And how important was the chip of life to him, really?

This was not the familiar gamble he was accustomed to, nor were the gamblers known to him. Perhaps he would have discarded this chip long ago, had he not feared it being picked up by someone else.

Ashe lowered his eyelids and squinted as if in deep slumber.

His voice became high and steady, as if he were the true master of this domain: “So, have you made your decision, Professor Sylin?”

Sylin paced around him, murmuring, “Now that Heath is no more, I have no need to pledge loyalty to him or execute his commands. I am a free Elf under the Blood Moon.”

“But your very existence remains a massive threat. No one can guarantee that Heath won’t resurrect, returning with a mountain of corpses and an ocean of blood, swift as lightning.”

“But you won’t kill me,” Ashe stated calmly. “Once you realized I am not Heath, not only did you not desire my death, but you also found yourself compelled to protect my life.”

After careful thought, Ashe understood he was in no real danger.

If he were truly Heath, Sylin would have been bound to follow orders and assassinate him, but Heath would also have means to control Sylin; and since he was not Heath, Sylin, now unfettered, had no reason to kill him.

One might wonder, wouldn’t Sylin, once enslaved and controlled by Heath, hate by association and seek to utterly destroy Ashe as a stand-in?

Of course not. If Sylin were consumed only by thoughts of vengeance, he would have crushed him like a peach moments ago.

But Sylin was afraid.

“Yes,” Sylin stopped behind Ashe, his voice trembling, “Since Heath wants you dead, you need to stay alive, even if it’s barely clinging to life, even if it’s a life worse than death!”

Ashe asked, “Do you know why Heath wants me dead?”

“I don’t know, but your weakness, your ignorance, your insignificance, they all point to one thing…”

Sylin stepped in front of Ashe, his index finger pointing at Ashe’s forehead, “The Ritual is not yet complete. You are not the full embodiment of ‘Tactile’; you are unfinished.”

“Only by killing you can the Ritual be completed, and Heath’s fantasy can descend upon this world.”

Ashe looked at Sylin’s finger, “‘Tactile’? What is that? And what will happen if I die?”

“I don’t know, I do not know!” Sylin exclaimed.

Sylin frantically pulled at his hair: “That is the secret of the Four Pillars, a Ritual only Heath could fully comprehend! Heath only told his followers that he is not yet the complete ‘Tactile’. When the Ritual is complete, he will return from suffering, be freed from glory, fall from the sky, rise from the grave, and become a ‘Tactile’ that transcends all. Then… he will paint the world as he wishes!”

“It sounds like, after the Ritual is complete, I should be able to surpass the so-called Quadruple Wings Sorcerer,” Ashe said with a slight upturn of his mouth. “So, if you kill me, I would become a being… comparable to the Blood Moon Sovereign?”

Sylin stared at Ashe with a fierce gaze: “You won’t have that chance.”

Ashe whispered softly, “Then, are you going to hand me over to the Sin Hunter’s Hall?”

“No, absolutely not, Gerard might kill you, and the Blood Moon Tribunal would surely take your life… You must not be handed over!” Sylin shook his head vigorously as if trying to shake away flies: “The arrogant sacred bloodline only wants to study you, the stubborn Moonshadow doesn’t care about you at all!”

“Only I understand the gravity of your situation, only I can do this… Only I…”

Sylin whispered devilish words: “Sever your limbs, lock you in a puppet box, and place you in the deepest basement of the third underground level, sustaining your basic life functions only with an IV…”

Yes, that’s it.

Ashe felt no disturbance in his heart; he was satisfied with Sylin’s resolution. If Sylin really handed him over to the Sin Hunter’s Hall, Ashe would not be able to escape from prison again, as even the dumbest Prison would know to guard against his Purify Miracle.

Not to mention, all it would take is changing the frequency of Ashe’s life signature transmission from once every ten minutes to once per second. As soon as Ashe removed the Chip, Gerard would arrive at Shattered Lake.

No matter how many obstacles Sylin put in place in the outside world, they were not as decisive and clean as the Restriction of the Chip. Ashe didn’t care about physical disabilities; as long as he could enter the Virtual Realm, he would eventually have the strength to break the game.

Moreover, Ashe had not truly lost all his power to resist.

Substitute, Heart Sword, Slay Me Miracle—these skills that Ashe had mastered completely, he could activate without any arcane energy.

The tree had completely immobilized his ability to move; resisting now was futile.

The best opportunity for escape would come when Sylin was ready to transfer him. Ashe had followed Gersas here, observing the surrounding security. If Sylin attempted to hunt him down, Ashe would strike the nearby guards and draw the Hunters to them.

The Hunters wanted him dead, and Sylin wanted to protect him. If executed properly, he could even incite a Conflict between Sylin and the Hunters. If it resulted in mass casualties, Ashe could use Fernand Snow’s speech from the other day to ignite racial tensions and class struggles. Then… Ideas spun up and extinguished in Ashe’s mind, soon forming a nascent plot.

In the worst-case scenario, he would be imprisoned in a basement, becoming an immobile, boxed puppet, with nothing but the sound of a heartbeat left in the world.

Ashe felt no disturbance about the miserable Destiny that awaited him—no anxiety, no fear, no excitement.

It was as if he had detached himself from his own body, quietly observing the Destiny of ‘Ashe Heath’ from the sidelines.

Pain, loneliness, torment—these could not shake his will because, in his world…

In his world…

…was there still a Swordswoman?

His thoughts were interrupted there, and Ashe jolted as his pupils regained their luster.

It was difficult to describe the sensation—it was as if Ashe was about to ascend and transcend the world when suddenly, a line yanked him back down, causing him to crash to the ground. Then the sound of air flowing, the fragrance of soil, the pulsating of a heartbeat—all sensations rushed into his mind at once.

It was as if Ashe had just been asleep, and now he had finally awakened.

At that moment, Sylin made a strange sound.

“Sylin Dole, you cannot escape,” he murmured softly. “You are free now, you cannot run away anymore.”

The Elf pulled out an ebony dagger from a drawer, then walked over to Ashe, holding the dagger upside down, and with a gentle push—

Pierced his own throat.

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