The Sorcerer's Handbook

By the time Ashe reached the cafeteria, it was nearly eight in the evening. The Signature Seafood Lala Fat had already sold out, so he randomly grabbed a few meat dishes and sat down.

”Does victory make the food taste better?”

Ashe looked up and saw Varkas sitting across from him, casually sipping a cup of water.

”To be honest, these leftovers are already a bit cold... and you guys cleared out all the Lala Fat,” Ashe admitted.

”You could’ve placed an order. You earned thirty-seven Contribution Points from beating me. Spending one or two to treat yourself isn’t much, right?”

Ashe frowned. ”Order food? Spend Contribution Points?”

”You didn’t know? Oh, right, you’ve only been here for two days.”

Varkas pointed to the menu board on the cafeteria wall. ”You can place an order anytime, no matter what the cafeteria cooks that day. Outside free-activity hours, they’ll even deliver straight to your cell, as long as you spend Contribution Points.”

It was only then that Ashe realized the board wasn’t just for decoration. It was a custom-order menu. Until now, he had assumed the cafeteria was simply showing off: ”Look at all these dishes! We definitely aren’t skimping on the prisoners’ rations!”

The menu looked surprisingly affordable. For just one Contribution Point, you could choose any three gourmet dishes, including favorites like Seafood Lala Fat, Creamy Chicken Fettuccine, and Mist-Spinach Egg Tart. It would have been an incredible deal if points functioned as ordinary currency. Unfortunately, that wasn’t the case.

Every death row inmate started with only fifty Contribution Points. Ten points were deducted automatically every month, and points were required to apply for Death Matches. The lower your Contribution Points, the higher up your position in the tribunal sequence, meaning a far greater chance of being chosen for the live-broadcast Blood Moon Tribunal.

Contribution Points weren’t just money. They were a means of survival. Spending them was slow suicide, or worse. With slow suicide, at least you didn’t know exactly when death would come. With Contribution Points, you watched your remaining life shrink day by day.

Varkas continued to explain, ”There isn’t much to do in this prison anyway. But if you want to spend Contribution Points, there are ways you can do that. Haircuts, custom uniforms, specialty toiletries... or even a better cell. Three bedrooms, two living rooms, a window. Rent? One point per day.”

”One point per day? That’s insane. Who would live there?”

”There are people who do. Diamond Tiger’s been in that VIP suite for years. His points pile up faster than he can spend them. New idiots keep handing theirs over. If you convert a point to a Gold Coin, Tiger might be richer in prison than he ever was outside.”

Ashe raised an eyebrow. ”So... according to the prison’s evaluation system, each of us inmates is worth only fifty Gold Coins?”

”You think that’s low?”

”Is it not?”

”Most people without higher education never earn fifty Gold Coins in their lives. Very few sorcerers make that much unless they’re successful. In Caimon City, you can already live comfortably with just one Gold Coin a year.”

It finally hit Ashe how valuable the Gold Coin in his pocket was. Three meat dishes here could cost someone an entire year’s earnings. It’s no wonder the Lala Fat was considered a luxury.

”I suddenly feel that these cold leftovers taste pretty good,” Ashe muttered.

Varkas snorted and continued watching him eat.

After a moment, Ashe couldn’t hold back any longer. ”Sir Elf... I’m the type who can’t, well, let’s say I can’t perform when someone’s staring at me.”

”Shh~ shh~”

”I was making an analogy! You don’t have to whistle like that!”

Varkas chuckled. ”I thought the younger generation enjoys eating and peeing at the same time. What I’m about to say next is just me talking to myself. Most of it is nonsense. You can pretend like you didn’t hear it.”

Ashe was taken aback.

”Besides being president of the Caimon City Elf Rights Association, a council member, and a university professor, Syrin Dorr has another identity. He’s the secret backer of the Woodpecker Gang. Publicly, he opposes the Blood Saints and Moonshadow councilors on racial issues, but he has made plenty of secret deals with both sides. The Woodpecker Gang is his black glove. Fernandez, Caimon’s mayor, also owes part of his rise to him.

”The Four Pillars Cult hasn’t appeared for years. It’s almost like it has vanished. Rumor has it that eight years ago, during the Eastern Ruins excavation, important ritual texts of the Four Pillars Deities were unearthed. That same year, a Virtual World storm destroyed most of the findings.

”Professor Syrin Dorr happened to be the chief consultant for that excavation.

”Syrin has more patience than any creature I’ve ever seen. If he wants someone dead, it means that person holds vital information, which, if exposed, could cause him immense harm.”

Varkas sipped his water and glanced at Ashe.

”Technically, every death row inmate’s memories have already been scanned. If someone held something dangerous, the Heresy Court would have found it... unless their memories haven’t been extracted by the memory specialist.”

So that’s how it is.

Ashe still didn’t know the exact nature of his connection with Professor Syrin, but he understood perfectly why Syrin had gone to such lengths to kill him. Syrin must have believed Ashe held a secret that hadn’t yet leaked. Because of the Four Pillars Cult, the Heresy Court dared not extract Ashe’s memories, leaving him the only inmate in the prison who still kept his secret.

Syrin was lucky that Ashe hadn’t revealed anything, but he was also aware that this could all change the moment Ashe decided to speak.

If Ashe truly knew such a secret, he would have handed it over to the Heresy Court immediately, not out of selflessness, but from a streak of curiosity about Syrin Dorr. Ashe wanted a companion to relieve his boredom. If an opportunity arose to clash fiercely with him in a Death Match, all the better.

The problem was that Ashe knew nothing of Syrin’s secret. Heath had left him without a single fragment of his memories. It was maddening. Ashe longed to use Heath’s memories to help the Heresy Court bring wrongdoers to justice. So many people had broken the law, yet he alone had been caught. And now, fearing that he might expose secrets, everyone was trying to eliminate him, and still, he knew nothing.

The frustration dragged him back to his childhood, to the time he was falsely accused of stealing a classmate’s stationery, even though he hadn’t touched a thing.

Varkas stood up. ”Hey, you’re still here? Didn’t catch my rambling, huh? Let’s call it a day. I’ll find time to brainstorm with you later.”

”Really?”

”Ha, just kidding. I have no time, and neither do you.”

”Wait, Varkas,” Ashe called after him. ”Why are you helping me?”

Ashe had expected Varkas to give information out of wounded pride, but this wasn’t what he’d imagined. He thought Varkas would throw out a harsh remark, like, ”I’m the weakest of the Four Dark Kings. Beating me doesn’t matter. Our people are coming for you.”

Ashe hadn’t expected Varkas to turn so quickly. He couldn’t help but wonder if, in their previous match, Varkas had held back his punches because of a built-in moral correction.

Varkas shook his head. ”I’m not helping you. I just want to make life difficult for that bastard Syrin.”

Making life difficult for someone else without gaining anything for yourself... that’s actually a perfectly reasonable reason.

Ashe seized the moment. ”Then do you know if it’s possible to trade spirits in the prison? A few Sword Class spirits could give me a real advantage against Syrin—”

”None of my business.”

Ashe faltered, then tried a gentler approach. ”Since you didn’t kill me and lost, does that mean you’re in trouble—”

”None of your business.”

”Then at least tell me what Syrin plans to do next?”

Varkas cast a glance back and left him with a single sentence before walking away. ”You’ll find out the next time you meet Syrin.”

Ashe guessed that Varkas had landed in prison partly because of his sharp tongue and riddler’s nature. One thing he knew for sure was that the mastermind behind it all had to be Heath’s former university professor, the elf scholar Syrin Dorr.

***

After finishing his meal, Ashe headed straight back to his cell and called out, ”Swordswoman? Are you there?”

The Swordswoman sat cross-legged on the bed. Her deep black stockings accentuated the elegant curves of her legs. Resting her chin on her palm, she cast a sidelong glance at him. ”Yes, but not entirely. Do you need something?”

”You were the one who warned me during the Death Match, right?”

Ashe extended his hand. The Substitute spirit appeared in his palm, taking the form of a little human child in pajamas. It patted its round belly before quickly falling asleep.

”The chip still limits my mana output, but why can I summon the Substitute spirit?”

She responded, ”Isn’t it obvious? You understood the theory behind the Substitute spirit. With the right conditions, you resonate with it automatically, allowing you to affect reality. That’s how other death row inmates summon their spirits in prison.”

Ashe had heard it before, yet he couldn’t help marveling at the idea that a mature spirit could act on its own.

”But how did I understand the Substitute spirit?” he asked, puzzled. ”I never learned anything about it.”

”You did, and you understood it.”

Ashe froze, then remembered the Swordswoman’s earlier words. ”Is it because of this line? ’If it hurts, imagine you’re someone else. Then it won’t hurt as much.’”

She nodded. ”Exactly. Once you grasped that, you naturally understood the spirit. At its core, a spirit is just knowledge. When you possess one, even without learning it actively, its knowledge seeks you out.”

”Is it really that simple?”

She shook her head. ”Not quite. Seeing knowledge isn’t the same as understanding it... You have to be in extreme danger, covered in wounds, and on the brink of unconsciousness to resonate with the Substitute spirit. Learning alone isn’t enough. You have to empathize with it.”

Ashe studied the spirit in his palm, probing its essence with his mind. This time, he made slightly more progress. He could understand its feedback, though its structure remained a mystery. Last time, it was like tasting a dish without perceiving its flavor. Now he could taste it, but still didn’t know how it was made.

The Swordswoman saw through him immediately. ”Understanding a spirit is the limit. Unless it’s your lifebound spirit, you’ll never find its Door of Truth. It must be a spirit born from the knowledge you possess; otherwise, no matter how deeply you study one, it will never be yours. Truth must be pure and perfect.’”

Ashe thought, Truth really is strict.

He withdrew the spirit and looked at her. ”Where have you been all this time?”