Sorcerer’s Handbook

“Coming to Prison feels just like coming home.”

Ashe patted the iron bars and sighed, “It’s just that the environment is much worse than Shattered Lake.”

“This is just a detention room, of course the environment isn’t great,” Igor commented. “I’ve seen documentaries; the prisons in Gospel are more luxurious than the Blood Moon, and without the Blood Moon Tribunal, too. You can look forward to that.”

“That’s good, as long as the prison food includes Lala Fatty, I’ll be satisfied.”

Listening to their boundless chatter, Annan raised an eyebrow. “You guys don’t seem too worried about your situation?”

“Ah, who would have thought, Annan, that you actually have a mother who is a Sanctuary Sorcerer. How can we afford to worry?” Ashe spread his hands.

“Right,” Igor added, “From what I understand about ‘parents’, your mother, even if she can’t give her life for you, will at least meet most of your demands. Covering for us falls within the parental duties.”

“That’s debatable.”

Everyone’s gaze shifted to Lise, who was looking down at a small mirror, swinging her legs back and forth, and said, “Not all parents love their children…”

Ashe grimaced in response—they were blaming him, and yet, this was his first time being a father. Lise hadn’t faced any life-threatening dangers for so many days, which was already him being responsible!

Ashe could never forget the days when he was cared for by his father as a child, which were more thrilling than a roller coaster… There was even a photo in the family album of Ashe on the parallel bars, and aside from the fact that he wasn’t taller than a fire hydrant in that photo, there wasn’t any other issue.

“If you were to categorize the parents of this world, 99% have feelings for their children, 1% do not,” Annan spoke illogically, “Qenna belongs to those parents who wish their children were emotionless marionettes they could manipulate. If you expect her to cover for you because of me, you might as well hope Banjeet could arouse her desires.”

Everyone turned their gaze to the youthful Butler Youth, Banjeet, who sighed, “Miss Annan, I know you feel upset when you see Lady Qenna, but it’s one thing to insult me; you shouldn’t insult your mother.”

“I didn’t insult her,” Miss Annan responded. “Isn’t my father quite similar to you?”

“That doesn’t mean you can insult me either,” Banjeet retorted.

Ashe curiously asked, “Miss Annan, your mother is an Elf, and you are a Human?”

“Have you forgotten? After the elimination of reproductive barriers, children born from different races randomly inherit one of the parent’s traits. The Human genes of the Dolan Family overpowered the Elven blood of the Senhaeser,” Miss Annan explained coolly. “Lady Qenna would love to stretch my ears just to prove the genetic superiority of the Senhaeser lineage.”

Igor inquired, “Is your relationship with your mother that bad?”

“Our relationship isn’t about ‘good or bad’; it’s more about ‘existent or non-existent.’ I don’t want to recount my negligible childhood to you, nor do I want to feed your sympathy with my tears. You just need to know that old woman has no concept of family. The only thing she cares about is the Senhaeser surname,” Miss Annan said with a cold laugh. “I’d rather ask my Aunt for help than have anything to do with her. In fact, our encounter just now was our first meeting in ten years… Look, Lady Qenna was quite warm towards me.”

She pointed to her swollen face, unable to heal the injury inflicted by her mother’s high boots due to the Magic shackles restricting her arcane energy.

Ashe and Igor exchanged glances, their eyes reflecting a shared sentiment.

Miss Annan twitched her nose, “I smell your silent criticisms…”

“Has your nose been modified like Harvey’s too?” Ashe teased. “Harvey is sensitive to Corpses, are you intolerant to unspoken thoughts?”

Purple Moth scoffed, “You’re not thinking that Lady Qenna actually cares about me, but she’s just a mother who’s bad at expressing her feelings, so there are many misunderstandings between us… are you?”

Igor and Ashe blinked, clearly hit by the accuracy of Miss Annan’s assumption.

“I wouldn’t even console myself with such naive fantasies when I was six,” Annan said calmly. “Back then, I even thought I might be the reincarnation of a Divine Master, that Qenna treated me that way to foster my growth, to nurture my hatred, and ultimately, she would serve as a Sacrifice to guide me to slay her. This would free me from hatred and elevate me beyond the mundane, ascending the ladder of the Gospel… Oddly enough, such dramatic plot twists did provide some comfort to my younger self.”

“I advise you not to hold any expectations for that old woman,” Annan said with her eyes closed. “That’s advice from someone who’s been through it.”

With such family matters, there wasn’t much room for anyone else to comment, but Igor showed an expression that read ‘as expected’—as a ‘Blood Moon’ adherent who held disdain for the Family System, he found Annan’s strained relationship with her mother to be reasonable.

“Cough, cough, cough!”

Harvey, who had been lying on the iron-framed bed, suddenly began coughing himself awake. He sat up, holding his head, his expression a bizarre mix of excitement and exhaustion.

He picked at the hangnails on his fingers and said, “Don’t you feel it?”

“What feeling?” asked the others.

The Necromancer pointed to his head: “Excessive dopamine secretion… My brain is constantly stimulated by dopamine across five types of receptors. If this continues, the threshold will increase to a dangerous level. I usually have to be careful smoking and eating sweets because once that threshold is raised, it doesn’t come down.”

“Look, I feel nothing even when I tear at my hangnails, it’s actually kind of thrilling; pain has turned completely into pleasure,” the Necromancer showed his hands. “Purple Moth, you don’t feel your face hurting either, right? Just a cool sensation… Has this city gone mad?”

Even the Necromancer thought the city was outrageous.

However, Ashe and the others really didn’t feel anything abnormal—though, being so relaxed and comfortable in a detention center was indeed a bit odd.

But given Ashe’s past experiences, it was hard for him to feel any real fear about being arrested. He no longer knew whether this was due to an inner confidence or because the fog was overly comforting.

“Ah, unexpected that the first to notice something was wrong was someone with a smoking addiction…” Annan commented. “Makes sense, accustomed as you are to numbing yourself with hallucinogenic pheromones, you’re more attuned to changes in bodily hormones than we ordinary folks. If we’re talking about the boiling frog scenario, Mr. Harvey, having once been scalded by hot water, you’re more sensitive to shifts in temperature.”

“But as I mentioned before, that’s just the kind of city Fanmula is. Beauty Mist envelops every corner of the city, keeping everyone in a constantly cheerful and pleasant mood—this is what’s at the core of Fanmula.”

Banjeet explained, “Azura is a new city that developed over the last two hundred years, utilizing all the latest technological advancements from the Gospel Kingdom. It can be said to be the most developed and advanced city in the empire. Other tier-one cities might not be as advanced as Azura, but they retain the cultural essence accumulated over hundreds or even thousands of years of development.”

“Essence?” The Necromancer laughed. “If the threshold keeps rising, do you really not realize what’s happening? Endless pleasure only leads to a brutal end.”

“What will happen?” Lise asked curiously.

“If we say that a person is a machine and happiness is the start button,” Harvey said, “normally, an average person might press it four or five times a day—those little moments of happiness that keep our machine running smoothly.”

“But for those living in this city, their happiness button is constantly being pressed by this mist, nonstop. While this certainly makes the ‘human machine’ operate much more efficiently, a machine can wear out, and the button can rust. When the threshold rises, it means the button has rusted and becomes hard to press.”

“When the threshold reaches a certain level…”

“The button can no longer be pressed,” Igor added. “And then the human machine completely fails to start.”

“According to my perception, people living in this city will break down mentally within a year, rusting into a toy that can’t function at all,” Harvey said, somewhat puzzled. “But it seems like those people on the streets can still live and work normally…”

“Your thinking is essentially correct,” Annan said. “But so-called sorcerers are a group of miracle creators who defy common sense.”

“The button will rust, but isn’t that what lubricant is for?”

“What lubricant?” Ashe asked.

“Fight poison with poison,” Miss said, touching her swollen face, her voice full of disdain. “A pleasure more intense and insane than Beauty Mist, more than dopamine, more than any hallucinogenic drug—”

“Love and Family.”

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