Sorcerer’s Handbook

“If hurt enough, use both hands, joyfully sever, yesterday’s curse. Await the daylight as night falls, leaving only scars behind…”

As the wake-up song filled the air, prison doors switched from locked red to open green, signaling the start of free time in the dormitories.

Ashe made his way to the Central Hall, just in time to catch the Holographic Screen broadcasting the weather: “…The Weather Sorcerer announces that on April 21st, it will turn from cloudy to clear, with a significant increase in the fertility rate of Goblins…”

The Death row inmates were coming and going in the restaurant, as usual. When Ashe entered, many greeted him with respect—having survived two Deathmatches and lived through the Blood Moon Tribunal, the ‘Demon’ Ashe was now regarded by the prisoners as another strong man who might very well end up wearing out the prison floor.

As soon as Ashe sat down for breakfast, Igor took the seat across from him. They exchanged a glance, said nothing, and quietly finished their meals before heading to the top-floor Sea-view Terrace, where Langna and Ronald were waiting for them.

Except for those with ulterior motives wanting to survey the maritime situation, no one would come to the terrace to bask in the early morning sun. With only the four of them there, Igor didn’t hesitate to ask, “Is the Cast Miracle ready?”

Ashe clenched his fists, closed his eyes to recall the sensation of resonance with the spirit, and exhaled softly, “All I can say is, I’ll do my best.”

After days of synchronization and practice in the Virtual Realm, Ashe had mastered the ‘Slay Me’ miracle, even managing to invoke it without spending a speck of arcane energy. However, he couldn’t guarantee a 100% success rate in casting the miracle in reality—the difference between reality and the Virtual Realm could be as vast as that between a restaurant and a Restroom.

Igor nodded, accepting the uncertainty, and turned to Langna and Ronald, “Having been locked up for so long, can you still recall the ways of a Martial Sorcerer? If any issues arise later, it will be up to you to deal with those who raise them.”

Ronald had grown more haggard in the two days since Ashe last saw him. It wasn’t that his body had wasted away, but his vitality had clearly diminished—an apt description would be a programmer who looked as though he had been working 15-hour days for a month straight, living entirely out of the office.

Yet, his deep voice was filled with an indescribable force of life, his pupils seemed to shine, and it was as if a fire burned within his heart, suggesting a life within the decaying flesh ready to be reborn from the ashes.

This only worried Ashe more.

Typically, this was referred to by the average person as the ‘last rally before death.’

But as long as Ronald could last through the day… Ashe’s thoughts were filled with the cold pragmatism of a capitalist ready to exploit temporary workers to the fullest before discarding them without a second thought.

“I’ve been here for several years, so I can’t really say if I can regain my past strength,” Langna said. “But I’m a Fist and Claw Sorcerer, and I haven’t neglected my combat skills. Even if I can’t perform miracles, just being able to activate my spirit should allow me to reach 70% of my former combat strength.”

Among Martial Sorcerers, especially the unarmed Fist and Claw Sorcerers, many possess spirits that can enhance their physical abilities.

After all, battles in real life don’t follow rules; your opponents won’t refrain from using weapons just because you’re only using your fists. On the contrary, they’ll likely choose weapons specifically to counter you. Therefore, unarmed fighters must have spirits that can compensate for the disadvantage of not having weapons, either by enhancing their defense or by increasing their speed.

Langna, being a Moonshadow Werewolf, already has a significant increase in physical ability just by transforming. Coupled with his spirit, his combat strength in narrow, dim environments could be the strongest in the squad.

“Transport Ships generally arrive in the morning, and after Prisoners transfer the cargo, they return to Kaimon City’s Shattered Lake Port,” Igor explained. “But there is one detail— the crew of the Transport Ship and the Blood Mad Hunters will go to the restaurant to eat in two separate groups.”

“Blood Mad Hunters have a rule during training: meal times must not exceed five minutes. Adding the time to travel back and forth, we can assume that when the second group of Blood Mad Hunters appears in the restaurant, there will be less than ten minutes until they return.”

“That means when the second batch of Blood Mad Hunters steps into the restaurant, that’s our signal to act. We must Purify the chip, change into the Medic’s Crow Suit, and then board the Transport Ship using the Medic’s authority.”

“Got it?”

The whole plan was rough and urgent, with the potential for disaster if even one part went awry, and many stages were dependent on luck. But in Shattered Lake Prison, which was nearly impregnable, Igor had managed to create a theoretically viable plan, and Ashe and the others were quite impressed, nodding their heads in appreciation.

“If that’s the case, then let’s all make our final mental preparations and meet at the restaurant for an early lunch.”

Igor looked at Ashe: “Ashe, this is your last chance to back out. You have the ability to survive in this prison, and you could choose a less dangerous path.”

Ronald and Langna also looked at Ashe, knowing that Igor didn’t have a strong desire to escape and wondering how Ashe had managed to get the upper hand over Igor, who usually manipulated others.

Ashe replied, “I cannot go gentle into that good night.”

Igor nodded thoughtfully: “Do you mean your dignity cannot endure merely scraping by to survive?”

“No, what I mean is, if I stay here, I’m bound to be selected for the Blood Moon Tribunal every time; not running is just waiting to die.”

“Even in prison, you have to worry about others’ revenge. Shouldn’t you reflect on your past actions?”

Seeing Ashe’s resolve was unshaken, Igor dropped the last bit of hope and left first—he needed to take a bath to calm down.

With one or two hours left until noon, Ashe didn’t know what to do with himself. He had fully mastered the Substitute, Heart Sword, and Circulation spirits and could invoke them at any time. As for Miracles, he dared not practice them carelessly because the ‘Slay Me’ Miracle required a specific target for casting. If Ashe accidentally Purified someone else’s chip and triggered the prison’s alarms, he’d just have to wait for Igor to mock him to death.

Wandering aimlessly, Ashe found himself unconsciously standing in front of the familiar Deathmatch Society.

Moved by a sudden impulse, Ashe didn’t enter the Deathmatch Society; instead, he found a dimly lit entrance behind it. The sounds of the surroundings suddenly became distant as he faced a heavy, pitch-black iron gate that seemed to whisper, “Those who fear death should not enter.”

This was the Treatment room.

Ashe pushed the door open and entered. The medical practitioner on duty glanced at him and said, “Go to Treatment Room One; your assigned medical practitioner will come to see you.”

He hadn’t even taken out his ID tag with the number 222, yet they already knew who his assigned medical practitioner was. Although it was strange, Ashe didn’t dwell on it and went straight to Treatment Room One.

The duty medical practitioner watched Ashe’s departing figure and let out a light chuckle under the Crow Mask, “Feel honored for your future.”

After waiting briefly in the Treatment room, Medical Practitioner 222 came in through a side door and tossed an apple to Ashe, “Where are you hurt?”

Ashe caught the apple and started eating it without bothering to wipe it, saying, “I’m not injured.”

“If you’re not injured, what are you here for? Although I hope you’ve come for medical aesthetics, given your previous resistance, I guess you’re not ready to adjust your timid aesthetic view. So you must be here to…” the medical practitioner reasoned with arms crossed, “undergo bio-modification?”

Ashe rolled his eyes, “Aren’t you overestimating my courage?”

“Bio-modification doesn’t need courage; it’s trendy now. Changing a hand, a foot, an eye, it’s all pretty standard!” the medical practitioner exclaimed in surprise, “Or are you some kind of purist, a member of the Terran faction who staunchly opposes new technology?”

“What’s wrong with the body I was born with, why change it?”

“Because it’s not good enough! Don’t you want to be more agile, stronger, have better vision, and more acute hearing?”

“I think my body is sufficient as it is now—”

“You can also modify your private parts to enhance sexual endurance and pleasure.”

Ashe’s eyes narrowed, “Next time I have the chance, I’ll consult with you about the profound world of bio-modification.”

“While I’m glad you’re interested in bio-modification, I think your private parts may not be of use in this lifetime…”

“I’ve said I will definitely escape from here! I will regain my freedom!”

“Even with that unrealistic assumption, I still don’t plan to change my opinion… unless you’re willing to undergo my ‘Handsome Man Transformation’ Procedure! Think about it!”

“It’s not that I don’t believe in the power of being handsome; I just don’t trust you.”

“Tsck.”

The medical practitioner pouted and sat on the bed, asking curiously, “So if you have no issues, why come to the Treatment room? It’s your first time coming here on your own initiative.”

Indeed, it was the first time Ashe had entered the Treatment room under his own power; every other time, he had been carried in.

“I came… to chat with you,” Ashe spread his hands, “After all, us death row inmates have a lot of spare time.”

“But I’m not free! Do you think I’m like you? I’m very busy, studying procedures, learning new knowledge, and I have to write research papers…” the medical practitioner stood with hands on hips, “I don’t have that much time to chat with you! We’ll let it go this time, but don’t do this again!”

Even with the disguise of the Crow Mask and voice changer, Ashe could tell she seemed quite pleased.

It’s true, no matter which world’s workers all have a strong desire to touch fish, and the happiest thing to do while touching fish is to chat about gossip.

After the Medic enthusiastically finished saying ‘the senior who had always targeted her was kicked out for stealing’, ‘recently had good luck in the Virtual Realm’, and ‘ate a double-yolked egg for breakfast’ among other joyful news, Ashe suddenly changed the topic.

“Hey, I just realized you’re quite good-looking.”

“Ah?” The Medic was taken aback: “Is, is that so? Actually, I’m not that good-looking—where do you think looks good?”

“Your outfit looks good.” Ashe said: “So, can you take it off and give it to me?”

It took a full five seconds for the Medic to realize the nonsense Ashe had just spouted.

When she turned around to open her toolbox and carefully selected a scalpel, Ashe felt a sense of foreboding—this person in front of him was capable of dissecting him completely and then stitching him back together, and incidentally leveling up her treatment experience!

“222, I don’t have much time left.”

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