Sorcerer’s Handbook

“You can’t escape, you know.”

In the treatment room, Sivirin was drenched in sweat, her hands stained with liquid. Ashe let out a comfortable hum, contentedly watching the medic at work.

“Don’t be so definitive. Who knows, a miracle might happen?”

“Miracles are made, not hoped for from reality’s pity,” Sivirin said calmly. “In the Blood Moon Kingdom, everything from travel and consumption to vagrancy requires validation from a Miracle Chip. It’s impressive that you managed to completely remove your Miracle Chip while in prison, but it also means you’ve forfeited your right to live in modern society. You can’t use any public facilities—you’ll be left to sleep under a bridge, in a cardboard box.”

“I could live in the wild.”

“What about salt? Shelter? Can you hunt for food? Besides, while there are indeed vagabonds living in the wild, the Sin Hunter’s Hall just can’t be bothered with them. But with the commotion you’ve caused, they’ll surely go to great lengths to capture you.”

“It’s still better than sitting here waiting to die.”

“Blood Moon Tribunal might mean a possible death, but choosing to escape from prison is certain death.” Sivirin glanced at him, applying pressure with her hands. “Now, even the Human Rights Association has no grounds to protect you. The Sin Hunter’s Hall will issue a ‘top-level arrest warrant’ that allows Blood Mad Hunters to kill fugitives like you on the spot.”

Ashe hummed, “At least I can choose the way I die.”

Sivirin shook her head and pulled out a tissue to wipe her hands. “Alright, the bleeding has mostly stopped. What were you humming and hawing about over there?”

On the bed before Sivirin lay an ogre with a severe abdominal injury. Its wound was nearly putrid until Sivirin forcefully debrided the necrotic flesh and wrapped it with bandages. Only then did its breathing begin to stabilize, as it lay unconscious on the bed.

“Thanks for that. We don’t have a single person who can treat the living back where I’m from.” Ashe lifted the earpick in his hand. “I got a bit too comfortable digging my ear just now, couldn’t help but make a noise, sorry about that.”

“Is ear digging really that enjoyable?”

“Maybe it’s because I can sit while doing it. As you know, the restroom doesn’t even have a chair, and other than a man’s thigh, there’s nowhere else to sit.” Ashe came over to check on Fernand Snow’s condition. “Is he going to be alright?”

“Ogres have strong regenerative abilities; he’ll wake up in a few hours.” Sivirin inquired, “How did he get injured?”

Ashe looked helpless when he mentioned this.

“Would you believe me if I said it was just because he glanced at someone?”

Half an hour earlier, Ashe had taken Fernand Snow to the hall to register in the Catalog of Sinners, then planned to confine the mayor to the dormitory.

However, during the registration, Fernand Snow glanced at Harvey, who was in charge of the Catalog of Sinners. Suddenly enraged, Harvey’s fingernails transformed into sharp, grey claws and stabbed like spears into the ogre’s abdomen.

Although Ashe managed to restrain the angry necromancer, he felt that the ogre mayor would not be grateful upon waking up.

In Shattered Lake Prison, a death in blissful ignorance might be the most comfortable way to go.

The escape from prison team had long been aware of the feud between Harvey and Fernand Snow and didn’t mind letting Harvey have his revenge, but only after they had left—theoretically, only the ‘Processor’ in Shattered Lake Prison could detect Fernand Snow’s vital signs, but what if?

For the same reason, after Ashe used the Slay Me Miracle to Purify the escape team’s five Chips, and Harvey used Necromancy to manipulate the ‘Processor’ to impose restrictions on all the prison guards, they didn’t kill anyone—not even causing injury, just restricting everyone’s range of movement.

It wasn’t that they were remarkably noble; they simply couldn’t afford to take the risk. If the Prison Guards were to die and their vital signs alerted the Processor in Kaimon City, catching the attention of the Sin Hunter’s Hall, they couldn’t even think about escaping from prison, let alone leaving the vicinity of Shattered Lake.

They had no one with a Healing Spirit, but Harvey could suture wounds—after all, stitching up a Corpse was practically an occupational skill for a Necromancer.

However, Ashe didn’t trust Harvey to stop Fernand Snow’s bleeding, so he sought a Medic’s assistance.

Of course, Ashe didn’t lift the Medic’s arcane energy Restriction during this process; he simply had the Medic use gauze and bandages to stop the bleeding. Although Medics typically utilize spirits to cheat their way through, they were still capable of basic medical treatment.

“It seems your companions aren’t very reliable.”

“That’s for sure, I’m the only normal one in the team.”

“That doesn’t exactly inspire confidence in your escape from prison.”

“You can say that again. The whole team relies on me to lead the way, but it’s still better than sitting here waiting to die—”

“Do you really think that?”

Ashe looked at the Crow Mask in surprise; Sivirin didn’t look away, staring straight at him.

“Do you really think you’re on a dead-end path in Shattered Lake Prison? You came up with a viable way to escape, and in less than a month, you’ve established your position in the prison… Even as you say, someone outside the prison has framed you, but is this really the only path you can take?”

“Compared to fleeing Shattered Lake Prison and being opposed by the entire Blood Moon Kingdom, wouldn’t it be simpler and safer to find a loophole, a way to survive within the walls of Shattered Lake Prison?”

“If you were just trying to scrape by, you wouldn’t have chosen the most dangerous path of escape from prison. You’re driven by a certain desire, even willing to gamble your life as a stake.”

Ashe was momentarily taken aback.

Reflecting on his actions over the past half-month, he realized that he had never truly considered accepting his legal punishment… No, it was carrying Heath’s false accusations and spending the rest of his days in Prison.

From the beginning, his thoughts were focused on how to escape from prison. Aurora’s Sorcerer Handbook, the Swordswoman, Igor… all these were opportunities for his escape, yet the idea of escaping seemed to be deeply ingrained in his mind, unwavering.

Was he not aware of the extremely low success rate of escape attempts, not to mention the risk of death?

Did he not realize that even if he succeeded in escaping, he would be hunted relentlessly, with no peace to be found?

He could almost foresee his fate: never full, never warm, never rested, with every encounter an enemy, and no place left for him in the Blood Moon Kingdom.

A person cannot stand against the collective; one must blend in with it.

In fact, if he just wanted to scrape by, there should be other ways, like leveraging his knowledge to become a scribe of sorts, significantly increasing his Contribution points, proving his value; or perhaps meticulously preparing a stand-up comedy script, turning the Blood Moon Tribunal into his own show.

There were many, many other options, each one safer than attempting to escape from prison, even with a higher chance of success.

But why had he never entertained thoughts of ‘surrender’ or ‘compromise’ from the start?

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