Sorcerer’s Handbook

Eight years ago, in the year 1660, Kaimon City.

On a sweltering summer day, Fernand Snow drove his sedan into the Lower District, into the manure pit he swore he’d never set foot in again.

At that time, Mayor Punk, due to his death in an Exploration in Virtual Realm coupled with old age and frailty, was preparing to resign and retire. Seizing the opportunity, Fernand Snow colluded with councilors, bribed civil officials, and was determined to secure the mayoral position. It was also during this time that he established the Forest Gallery, which wielded significant influence over the upper echelons of Kaimon City.

At this critical juncture, plotting to become the next mayor, he set aside all official duties, canceled all meetings, and drove alone in his unremarkable sedan. He parked on a decrepit road that seemed to sprout manure on its own, turned the car’s air conditioning to maximum, smoked his pipe, and gazed at a studio at the street corner.

It was an ordinary ogre studio.

The entire street was lined with ogre studios, which is why the stench was unbearable, greatly depressing the surrounding property values.

Oil painting was a unique talent of ogres. With an average educational level equivalent to prenatal education, these low-quality citizens didn’t challenge the difficulties of life. With a talent that allowed them to slack, they would slack off to the point where no support could prop them up.

Despite the large number of practitioners, the industry wasn’t plagued by internal competition. Instead, there was a demand far exceeding supply. A genuine ‘ogre oil painting’ was highly sought after.

The reason was that ogres occasionally triggered a resonance with the Virtual Realm while painting. Oil paintings created in this state enabled viewers to slowly increase their Faction Realm, as if they were navigating through the Virtual Realm.

However, ‘ogre oil paintings’ came with a time restriction, losing their effect after about 60 days. Thus, ogre oil paintings were not art pieces but consumables. Moreover, they were consumables that could affect sorcerers, naturally making them extremely valuable.

However, the prerequisite is that they must be able to invoke a resonance with the Virtual Realm and create a true ‘ogre oil painting’. Without this resonance, what they produce is nothing more than trash.

Therefore, most ogre painters start as apprentices in the studio, working and learning for months or even years until they paint their first piece and earn their first pot of gold. As for the apprentices’ duties, they hardly need to clean, as ogres are not particularly fond of cleanliness.

If not for dignity’s sake, Fernand Snow would have liked to tear off the white shirt that felt as though it were choking him.

With a sigh, he exhaled a ring of smoke and slightly turned his head, catching sight of a young ogre passing by the car.

The youngster wore a tank top that was once white but now a dingy brown, paired with shorts full of holes. Standing at one meter ninety, he was short for an ogre but his features were closer to those of a Standard Race, with fierce yet not ugly sharp teeth.

He was carrying two large meal boxes, fulfilling his duty as an apprentice: buying meals for the painters.

Ogres feel the urge to eat every two hours, favoring hot meals, but they are too lazy to visit a restaurant. Delivery is exorbitantly expensive—no delivery person would dare enter the ogre district, where not even insurance companies would cover incidents—hence hiring an ogre apprentice became the ideal solution.

They don’t have to pay the apprentice in money, just provide meals.

The moment Fernand Snow laid eyes on the young ogre, he froze.

The youngster also looked at the car, as if making eye contact with a middle-aged ogre inside.

But after scanning the surroundings and confirming that nobody was around, the young ogre smirked and spat a loogie of stinking, murky saliva at the car window. He then set down his meal boxes, urinated on the car door, and afterward picked up a small stone to scrape against the car’s body viciously. The grating sound pierced Fernand Snow’s eardrums like a knife.

The car’s windows and windshield were double-glazed, invisible from the outside.

Watching the young ogre tread the scorching streets, whistling with meal boxes in hand as he approached the Studio, he seemed to get a scolding from the boss just as he entered. He nodded and bowed with a pleasing smile, then secretly spat into one of the meal boxes before respectfully walking in.

Throughout this process, Fernand Snow remained still, his hand frozen in the act of holding his pipe.

His gaze followed the young ogre’s figure until it disappeared from sight.

Eventually, he drove back to the Government Affairs Hall and reported the car as public damage.

He never bought a painting from the young ogre, nor did he send anyone to help him. In fact, after that day, he never saw the young ogre again.

Even to get updates on the young ogre, Fernand Snow commissioned the Sin Hunter’s Hall to investigate several ogres under the pretense of ‘preventing violent crimes by ogres’—the young ogre was one of them.

Separated by a thin car window from the young ogre, but too afraid to roll it down, this man who had risen from the bottom to the pinnacle of power in Kaimon City finally understood the sickening horror of the Blood Moon Kingdom.

Eight years later, in 1668, at the Blood Moon Tribunal by Shattered Lake.

Fernand Snow, looking at the pale-faced Andrei, said, “You know, in most kingdoms, various Races maintain the family as the fundamental unit…”

Moken replied instinctively, “That’s because they are backward.”

“I’m not interested in arguing whether the Family System is backward or advanced. I’m just pointing out one thing,” Fernand Snow revealed a ferocious smile. “Other kingdoms also have ruling Races, but their ruling Races can reproduce independently, even giving birth to royalty and Nobles!”

The faces around him grew paler, illuminated increasingly red by the Blood Moon. Moken was almost pleading, “So they have rigid hierarchies, they are backward, Blood Moon Kingdom is the most civilized kingdom—”

“The reason we forbid the existence of families is that our ruling Race cannot reproduce independently; they are inherently homeless!” Fernand Snow roared, “Blood Saints undergo Blood Transfusions, Moonshadows undergo lunar cleansing, and after these transformations, they lose their ability to reproduce. To develop new offspring, they must have members of other Races undergo their transformation!”

“The Blood Saints and Moonshadows are like parasites that cannot survive on their own. They draw the most talented individuals from all Races to become part of themselves, absorbing the strengths of other Races to grow stronger, thereby enslaving all Races for millennia!”

“Why can’t we have families? Because the Blood Saints and Moonshadows have discarded the Bond of bloodline, so we are also forbidden to have it! In this way, we cannot form a collective due to the bonds of family, love, or kinship.”

“Why emphasize the freedom of individual rights among Races? Because the Blood Saints and Moonshadows are genderless, raceless, ageless monsters; they are almost a natural collective. And yet we are divided by Race, gender, age, education, and other factors! They deliberately incite strife among different Races, genders, and ages! Thus, we cannot form a collective based on shared interests.”

“The Human Rights Act raises high, thick walls around each of us, and the Bloodline Prohibition Act prevents us from breaking through these barriers. From then on, each of us is an isolated individual, facing the colossal entities of the Research Institute and the Church alone!”

Fernand Snow lifted his left hand, weighed down by chains, and pointed at the Prison.

“Do we have any difference from those death row inmates? No.” The Ogre said coldly: “Death row inmates are drained of value by the Prison, and we are drained of value by the Blood Moon; death row inmates are controlled by Chips, while our thoughts are controlled for life!”

“In Blood Moon Kingdom, from birth to death, there are only two paths: become a Blood Saint or a Moonshadow, or become their nourishment.”

“The Blood Moon is a beast in the guise of civilization, the most barbaric form of civilization.”

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