Sorcerer’s Handbook

Buzz!

A sports car thundered across the highway, its engine howling like a husky as it shredded the scattered sunlight filtered through the treetops. The wild rush contrasted sharply with the elegant silence of the passing Hovercars.

“Are we really not going to draw attention like this?” Igor, sitting in the passenger seat, was visibly anxious. “It’s like a disheveled old man going through withdrawal suddenly appearing in a rose-colored university campus—do we have to take the highway?”

Annan shrugged as he drove, “Taking back roads makes it easier to be spotted, unless you’re covered in crap; nobody walks them. Besides, driving in non-motorized lanes violates traffic laws. The Baroness and the Red Caps would just need to check who’s been muddying up with their cars to find us.”

“Driving this old clunker will indeed draw attention, but not in the way you imagine.”

“In an era dominated by automated Hovercars, manually operated vintage cars are still cherished by many. Nothing screams ‘noble taste’ quite like nostalgia.”

“Plus, this Uz Extinguishing Dragon is a special model modified by my father,” Annan added with a slight smile. “At night, the dragon patterns on its exterior flicker and light up, making anyone who sees it think the average age of its passengers is under twenty.”

Igor raised an eyebrow, “Your father’s modified sports car, why was it in your grandfather’s tomb?”

“Because my grandfather despised my father’s fascination with sports cars, and my father’s favorite pastime was to piss on his enemies’ corpses—I don’t mean that literally, but you get the idea.”

“Say, rather than worrying about how stylish we look, could we first consider the comfort of the passengers?” grumbled Ashe from the back seat, grimacing. “We’re practically squeezed in here!”

At 6 a.m., the group from the Funeral Firm departed promptly from Annan’s grandfather’s tomb. This time, however, they were not on bicycles, as the tomb housed a Uz Extinguishing Dragon sports car, which served as their escape vehicle.

As an escape tool, they couldn’t be too demanding of the sports car. After all, it had been decades, and the mere fact that the car could still run was a testament that deserved a three-second silent tribute to the automakers swept away by the tide of automated vehicles.

However, the ancestors of the Dolan Family, seemingly confident in their dwindling numbers, had the sports car designed as a standard four-seater, leaving no room for anyone even slightly overweight.

With six of them, Annan, always keen on appearing approachable, couldn’t possibly squeeze in with laborers; she took the wheel. The co-driver seat was determined by a dice game, and Igor, who “never cheats,” managed to outplay everyone.

Initially, Lise was supposed to be held by Aunt Bukin, but Lise, with her eyelids drooping, insisted on clinging to Ashe, who ended up holding her and squeezing into the back seat with the Necromancer and the Butler Youth—unfortunately, lacking the aroma of leek buns, otherwise Ashe could have dreamt of rushing for the subway at 8 AM.

“Endure it,” Igor said. “You’re the biggest here and still complaining, while these two haven’t even spoken.”

“Banjeet, can you fit a person in your suitcase? I suggest we start with the one with the foulest mouth to clean up the air inside the car…”

Compared to Ashe, who only knew how to complain, Harvey had a zest for life: “The sun is quite nice today.”

“Indeed,” Banjeet nodded. “It’s a good day for a big cleanup.”

“Could we stop around noon? I’d like Alice to get some sunlight.”

After a brief silence, Annan spoke up, “There’s something I’ve wanted to ask Mr. Harvey since last night, just wasn’t sure if I should.”

“Go ahead,” Harvey seemed in a good mood despite the escape. “Just don’t ask what I do during showers.”

Putting other matters aside, Ashe felt Harvey had a natural Talent for storytelling—how could he effortlessly pique someone’s curiosity with just a remark?

“The… partner you were commanding yesterday, was that the Corpse I took you to buy last time?”

“Yes, Alice was a gift from you.”

“But I remember,” Annan’s expression was complex, “the Corpse I bought… was male.”

At this revelation, Ashe, no longer minding the cramped space, urgently squeezed towards Banjeet, attempting to establish a no-contact boundary with Harvey.

“It was indeed male at first,” Harvey nodded. “But after listening to Ashe’s advice, I made some last-minute modifications—being a Necromancer, a bit of Bio-modification makes sense, right?—and so Alice was born.”

Ashe was taken aback. “What advice did I give you?”

“Sexual Function and Functionality,” Harvey replied. “I realized I had previously focused too much on the functionality of my partner, neglecting the potential of the Corpse’s sexual functionality.”

“For example, typical Corpses are menacing in appearance, pale-faced, oozing from their bodies, and massive in size, which can intimidate and pressure enemies on a sensory level. However, this style of intimidation only really scares ordinary people; normal practitioners, like you Ashe, aren’t frightened by Corpses, right?”

“How could I be!” Ashe’s voice rose an octave: “I’m not even afraid of the living, why would I be scared of the dead?”

“Ashe is afraid of terrifying Corpses” — Annan, Banjeet, and Igor quietly noted to themselves.

“But after hearing your thoughts, Ashe, I was deeply inspired and decided to take a different approach — dressing the Corpse in a way that could arouse desires. The allure of the Corpse, contrasting sharply with its combat abilities, would then…”

Ashe understood: “Stir up fear in the enemy’s heart?”

“No!” Harvey’s voice was buoyant, sunlight reflecting in his pupils, making it unclear whether he was fanatical or radiant: “The enemy will surely be captivated by this beautiful power, realizing that Necromancy is the Magical Faction that will bring happiness to everyone, and then become the minions of Haagen-Dazs—”

“Who is Haagen-Dazs?” Ashe asked.

“A legend passed down among us Necromancers, a great being that imparts souls to the dead,” Harvey looked at Ashe. “Interested in learning about the benevolent and great Haagen-Dazs? Our Necromancy Faction isn’t a religion, but it’s definitely more thrilling than any religion—”

Igor explained calmly, “Historical Magical Factions all tend to create a ‘great being’, which might be an evolution of a Legend sorcerer’s tale or perhaps the past glory of a lost Divine Master. For instance, in our Mind Faction, there’s said to be a great being called Madara, a collective consciousness of all living beings, whose vertical pupil on his forehead can make the world dance at his will. However, Mind Sorcerers generally don’t fall to the point of following a cultural symbol.”

Necromancers didn’t care about the Con Artist’s provocations; they had been squabbling now and then since the Escape Plan—really, everyone had argued with Igor at some point, as only customers could enjoy the spring breeze of his attentiveness—if Igor was burning ice, Harvey was a cold flowing fire, who disliked hurting others, preferring instead to set others ablaze, making them torches like himself.

“So, you mean to use a beautiful girl to spark interest in the Necromancy Faction?”

“Yeah, isn’t that what you taught me?”

Although that wasn’t exactly what Ashe meant at the time, Harvey’s “beautiful girl → attract attention” strategy subtly fit the mobile game model.

“Then why turn men into beautiful girls?” Annan expressed politically correct dissatisfaction. “Can’t beautiful boys work?”

“I personally think men playing women are more charming.”

“Why is that?”

“Because I have a living example right by my side.”

Everyone looked towards Igor, the co-pilot. The Con Artist hadn’t expected this to turn on him, but he wasn’t flustered: “You’ve got some taste.”

After all, if the intended target doesn’t feel humiliated, then the attempt at humiliation loses its effect.

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