Sorcerer’s Handbook

Just as Ashe was about to be persuaded, he suddenly became alert. “Wait, Anfel, are you Yvaren’s envoy?”

“Wow, that was close. I almost fell for it. You’ve got quite the silver tongue. What Spellcasting Sect are you from? Mental Sect? Dominance Sect? So, have you secretly used a Miracle to cloud my judgment? No wonder you approached me; it was all part of a plan!”

“This is outrageous! You, a henchman of Belldate’s, please spare my life!”

“Mr. Ashe, you really are an amusing person,” Anfel chuckled. “But I still don’t recommend you stay in Mephila.”

“Why not?”

“Because the previous ranking lists show that you, Mr. Ashe, have great ambitions. You are destined to become a legendary sorcerer, leaving a significant mark on history and the Virtual Realm. Belldate cannot anticipate your future. Mephila is just a wonderland for mortals; you are meant for a greater stage.”

“I will continue to follow your progress in the Gospel Book,” Anfel said, clenching her fists in encouragement. “You are the first person I know to appear at the Weaving Festival. Although I don’t know how long you’ll stay here, if you encounter any trouble, come to me. I’ll do my best to help you. Please take care of me in the future!”

Looking at the radiant face of the red-haired girl, Ashe suddenly felt a bit dazed.

He recalled his past first encounters—

Harvey, who spent an afternoon discussing his peculiar fetish;

Annan, who captured him right from the start;

Qenna, who almost pierced his ear…

But Anfel, not only engaged in friendly conversation with him and offered sincere advice, but also cheered him on, her smile as pure as vanilla.

Thinking about it, Ashe couldn’t help but turn his head. Anfel blinked. “Mr. Ashe? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, I just feel strangely moved,” Ashe sniffled. “I think if I keep looking at you, I might start having unrealistic fantasies about reality—”

“Anfel, what are you doing here?” A voice suddenly echoed down the hallway.

Yvaren quickly approached the two of them. She noticed Ashe staring at her intently, his unreserved gaze making her instinctively cover her important parts with her hands. “If you keep undressing me with your eyes, I’m going to have to charge you. Starting price: 10,000,000 bell points.”

“Ah,” Ashe sighed in relief. “Thank you, Yvaren. Seeing your wretched face has finally helped solidify my shaky worldview.”

“Hey! Do you believe I won’t pay the fine just to beat you up?” Yvaren raised her fist threateningly. Since Ashe had been so rude to her multiple times, she wasn’t going to be kind: “Anfel, come with me.”

“Yes, sister.”

Ashe was stunned. “You two… are sisters?”

“Yes.” Anfel nodded, quickly explaining, “But Mr. Ashe, I spoke sincerely earlier. I wasn’t deceiving you… Mr. Ashe, why are you crying?”

Ashe covered his mouth, his eyes welling up as he looked at the two of them.

“I just thought of how you’ve been oppressed and humiliated by your half-sister all these years. I couldn’t help but—”

“We are full sisters! Same father, same mother!”

“Impossible, your hair colors are different!” Ashe had a flash of insight. “Wait, unless—”

Yvaren interrupted his epiphany: “That’s the result of a sorcerer’s Miracle! Our parents specifically selected the best genetic information for us!”

“But that still doesn’t make sense. Your inner worlds are so different. Anfel is taller, more beautiful, and has a better personality than you… Oh, I get it. The first attempt is always a trial run, and with experience, the second attempt produces the perfect product!”

“Damn it! Anfel, don’t stop me. I’m going to kill him for calling me a dwarf again!”

“Sister, Mr. Ashe didn’t call you short… Oh right, didn’t you need to discuss something with me? Let’s go quickly!”

As Anfel hurriedly dragged Yvaren away, Ashe was about to return to his work when he faintly heard Igor’s name in the distance.

He had merely mentioned that Anfel was taller than Yvaren, which was enough to ignite the dwarf’s fuse. Igor had openly criticized Yvaren at noon, and Ashe wondered how Yvaren planned to deal with the Con Artist.

Feeling a bit concerned, Ashe summoned his Substitute to carry him and followed them. After all, he was still burdened with the weights Yvaren had punished him with, and running would be exhausting.

By the way, the reason Ashe didn’t let his Substitute do his work was because Yvaren had already closed that loophole—her work requirements specified “real manual labor,” with the reasoning that “only intelligent creatures can provide the most appropriate service.”

Ashe and his colleagues could use a spirit Miracle to enhance their bodies, but they couldn’t let the spirit Miracle do the work for them. Otherwise, it would be deemed “low-quality work completion” → “exploitation of Belldate,” which was prohibited.

Although having his Substitute carry him drew a hundred percent of the attention, the servants along the way merely glanced at Ashe before continuing their work. Their dedication was as if they were polishing ancient artifacts of the Angel Alliance’s Dragon King, even though they were just doing routine cleaning. They seemed to genuinely love their work.

“Work diligently, play heartily, take comfortable vacations, and live freely…” Many thoughts crossed Ashe’s mind.

Yvaren and Anfel didn’t go to any secretive place but arrived at the second-floor courtyard garden. Ashe trailed behind, thankful that the garden’s dense landscaping was like a maze, ensuring he wouldn’t be discovered.

Hiding behind a hedge, Ashe heard the sound of someone sitting down, followed by Yvaren’s voice: “This is my sister, Anfel; this is Igor Bukin, a companion of the necromancer.”

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Bukin.”

“Just call me Igor. Nice to meet you, Miss Anfel.”

Yvaren said, “Bukin, didn’t you just say that the reason you refused my offer was because you didn’t want to sign any Pact with me?”

“Yes,” Igor replied. “Your family’s Angel ancestor left you a precious legacy regarding Pacts. I don’t think my shallow knowledge can compare to an Angel’s arrangements—I’m not Harvey, and the Angelic traps from 900 years ago still hold significant deterrence for me.”

“So, I now offer you a better choice,” Yvaren said. “This is my sister, Anfel Belldate.”

Ashe blinked in confusion—hadn’t she already introduced her? Did this dwarf have Alzheimer’s?

“Her child will be the next patriarch of the Belldate family, Mephila’s master.”

“As long as you can make her fall for you, Belldate will invest in you with all its might. Not only will we help you break Annan’s Pact, but we will also ensure you stand on the stage of the Weaving Festival and seize the wish of the Omniscient Weaver!”

“We can even find a way to control Annan, using the Dolan Family’s legacy for our own purposes! You fear the Dominance Sect, but what if the Dominance Sect served you? What if you could wield the Dominance Miracle of Belldate as well?”

“Igor Bukin, this is the deal I propose to you, and the value I place on you,” Yvaren’s voice now was more alluring than any salesperson’s. “Does this arouse your desire for an impulsive purchase?”

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