Sorcerer’s Handbook

Ashe felt a soft pressure at the back of his head and couldn’t help but sneer internally.

Huh!

What do they take me for?

Though indeed the pillow was comfortable, was he really someone to be manipulated so easily by a paramour?

With such rational thoughts swirling in his mind, Ashe felt his dignity climbing higher. However, he suddenly noticed Sonya and Deya calmly observing him, their gazes as unflinching as if they were looking at a Corpse.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“After all, she’s been holding you for nearly thirty seconds. You only noticed us now; we can only look at you this way.”

“What, thirty seconds already? Wasn’t it just three seconds? This must be a Miracle! paramour, did you secretly cast a Miracle on me!? I misjudged you!”

After a second of thought, Danzel confirmed that Ashe must be unable to resist her allure. Having secured her man, she turned to Deya and said, “I have discovered some information that might influence your answer. As repayment for this information, I hope you will not pursue what I have just done and assist me in responding—at least do not interfere.”

Deya blinked decisively and agreed, “Alright.”

Danzel was straightforward: “Ever since my Lover (Sonya) confirmed the correct answer through eye contact in the first question, I have been very observant of the eye characteristics in the painting. Then I noticed—the Witch’s eyes, identical to the woman in the painting.”

Eyes?

Deya sharply turned to the Witch, who boldly met her gaze, her face still featuring that eternally unchanging smile. However, at this moment, her smile resembled the sight of a cockroach at the bottom of a bowl, every hair on end.

Deya then looked down at the painting. The Princess therein naturally bore no smile. Her gold and white robe was immaculate, every hair in place, even her eyelashes perfectly aligned. The Princess seemed like a perfect female figure that could only exist within a painting, every shade of color declaring nobility, utterly unlike the jovial Witch.

Yet, in her pupils, there flowed the same arrogance as the Witch’s… an arrogance as if regarding all things in the world as mere puppets on strings.

Perception was being re-Weaved, and rationality was being reconstructed.

When Deya snapped back to reality, she found herself in a strange place, with everyone else gone.

She was in a room atop the Tower, the night sky lulling the city to sleep outside the window. Dressed in a silk robe, Deya lay in bed, seemingly about to sleep—or perhaps just waking up.

As she walked barefoot on the marble floor, the chill that crept up through her feet felt so real that she started to doubt whether the cabin Adventure was merely a dream.

Voices and footsteps echoed from beyond the door, sparking an inexplicable urge in Deya. She tiptoed to the door, pressing her ear against the room’s only door made of superalloy, to eavesdrop on the conversation in the hallway:

A middle-aged woman’s voice: “…she goes to sleep promptly at midnight, and then every hour, ‘Ode to Joy’ is played for the Armoring Ritual, without fail.”

A melodious yet detached female voice: “Three.”

The middle-aged woman began to sound slightly anxious: “Yes… during the 16th Armoring Ritual, the Princess suddenly turned over in her bed, which was the biggest incident this month.”

Detached voice: “Two.”

Middle-aged woman: “On the 23rd, the Princess expressed a desire for Red Velvet Cake, so I had the kitchen prepare one… I’m sorry, it’s all my fault.”

Detached voice: “One.”

After a brief silence, the middle-aged woman suddenly sobbed, “I’m so sorry! I, I just don’t understand why we need to confine the Princess like this, why we have to…”

“So I secretly sought out the Gospel to ask what the Armoring Ritual was, I’m sorry, I thought Your Majesty wanted to…”

“After all, rumors in the palace say that Your Majesty can remain forever young because…”

“I really like the Princess, I just didn’t want… But now I fully understand Your Majesty’s good intentions, I completely understand. The Princess will surely appreciate your nurturing, inheriting the glory of Yisuo at the Weaving Festival, and achieving Armoring Sanctification once again—”

All voices abruptly stopped.

The world became so quiet that only Deya’s own heartbeat remained audible.

Deya didn’t know why, but she was growing increasingly anxious, every hair on her body seeming to tremble.

Tap.

Suddenly, footsteps echoed from outside the door.

The number of footsteps.

Just one person.

“Hey.”

The Witch’s voice pulled her from the Tower back to the cabin: “What’s your answer?”

Deya’s mind exploded with voices, realizing that the voices inside her head at the Tower had always been quiet, not because they were behaving, but because they had been blocked by some force until now.

The strong emotional turmoil from her sisters finally breached Deya’s rational defenses. She didn’t even have the strength to bite Ashe, only managing to muster her last bit of energy to say, “It’s the third option…”

With that, she fainted directly into Sonya’s arms.

“Don’t worry,” the Witch restrained Ashe and the others from their rough attempts to awaken her. “For her, this is a normal mental fluctuation; she just needs some rest. If you’re really concerned, just throw her out of the cabin, and she’ll return to normal once she retrieves her memories.”

“The treasure linked to this question is… never mind, you’ve already passed out.”

The Witch seemed somewhat dispirited as well, flicking two beams of light towards Deya, then going to sit next to the Swordswoman. However, the Swordswoman seemed to dislike her, moving a seat away, and the Witch closely followed.

As the two Phantoms tangled, the Empress picked up a sketchbook from the table: “Now for your second question…”

“And his first.”

Unnoticed until now, the Observer had moved his favorite chair next to the dining table.

The Empress looked at him in surprise: “You want to co-create a question with me?”

“Is there a problem?” the Observer retorted, “Your question happens to be the same as mine…”

Impossible!

Ashe and Danzel had never seen each other before entering the cabin; how could they possibly have the same question?

Countless words choked in her throat, yet the Empress could only nod expressionlessly. As a Phantom, she still had to abide by the mechanisms of a Phantom, not revealing any information about the answers to the questions.

“The question is simple.”

The Observer opened the sketchbook, displaying an image of the Masked Girl whom Danzel wanted to ‘live and die’ with: “You just have to guess who this girl is.”

“First, the Preaching Saint who redeems the people.”

“Second, the secret advisor to the first ruler.”

“Third,” the Observer glanced at Ashe and Danzel: “the Incarnation of the Gospel of the Omniscient Weaver.”

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