The Sorcerer's Handbook

Chapter 155: You Are Not Ashe Heath

At the sight of the unexpected visitor, Syrin sprang to his feet with a loud thud. The Blood Moon light streamed through his hair, illuminating half his face, frozen in shock. ”You... why are you here...”

”Probably just to see that expression,” Ashe said with a smile.

He continued lightly, ”Ashe Heath, who never learned swordsmanship, faces an arrogant elven swordsman in battle, defeats him by sheer miracle, escapes from prison, tracks down the man who framed him, and begins a tumultuous life of revenge. What do you think of that script?”

Ashe added with a hint of playfulness, ”Oh, and don’t move. My fingers might slip.”

A sudden chill traced the line of Syrin’s neck. Warm liquid trickled into his collar.

Ashe said seriously, ”Don’t lower your head. It’ll fall off.”

He formed a sword gesture with his right hand and pointed it directly at the elven professor. From beneath his tongue, Ashe drew a sword and planted it on the floor, activating the Sword Barrier Miracle he had prepared in advance.

Syrin’s gaze flicked downward. ”Swordhea... Varkas’s Swordheart spirit? I see now. I had wondered. Varkas was never careless. If he truly wanted you dead, there’s no way he would have let you slip through. Such a ’mistake’ only makes sense if it was intentional. He loved showing off even as a child.”

Ashe repeated, ”Even as a child?”

Syrin nodded. ”Yes. Scoring exactly one point higher than before on every exam. Performing handstands on a single finger. Losing ten points in a sword match, then making a dramatic comeback. He was obsessed with his own talent. He wanted to be a dazzling hero and always raised the difficulty just to draw attention.”

Syrin lowered his eyelids halfway. ”A mischievous and proud child.”

Ashe’s pupils widened. ”You... what was your relationship with Varkas?”

Syrin tilted his head slightly, letting the Swordheart slice a thin line across his throat. ”I know what you’re thinking. For thirty-one years, I taught at the Emerald Dragon Orphanage. It’s called Emerald Garden now. In my second year there, the Church of Devotion sent six elven children to us. One of them was Varkas Uhl.

”I gave him that name. It means free water lily. Normally, elves choose a new name after leaving the orphanage. Mine was self-chosen as well. It means ornate iron begonia. He never changed his name. That means he liked it. And it also means...”

Syrin pressed his right hand lightly to his chest. ”He respected me as the guardian teacher who raised him.”

Ashe had long suspected that Syrin and Varkas shared an unusual relationship. The disgust Varkas displayed when he spoke of Syrin back then had been genuine, suggesting their conflict extended far beyond mere self-interest. Still, Ashe had never imagined it would go this deep.

”Then why did you... Why send Varkas to the Blood Moon Tribunal?” Ashe asked.

Syrin’s reply was calm but sharp, ”What a bizarre question, Heath. He broke the law, was imprisoned, and sent to the tribunal. All of it was his own doing, and he got what he deserved. He chose the wrong path, made the wrong steps, and brought about his own downfall. Why are you speaking as if I killed him?”

Ashe sneered. ”Drop the act. After hearing Fernandez’s speech the other day, do you think I’d swallow this nonsense? You sit in high office, wield authority, wrap private motives in public righteousness, and hide personal vendettas inside official procedures. With all that at your disposal, it’s obvious you can achieve your goals within legal limits. It’s nothing more than a petty indulgence of power.

”What I want to know is, with a bond that deep, how could you decide to eliminate him? Was it really just because he failed to kill me in the Death Match? Or was it to guarantee my death at the tribunal, so you shoved him onto the execution list as well, dragging him down with me?”

Anger flared across Syrin’s face. ”Just? I tried very seriously to murder you. I exhausted every means I had. And you reduce all of that effort and resolve it to a single just?”

The sudden outburst forced Ashe back half a step. Another inch, and the Swordheart would have cleaved Syrin’s throat. Syrin pressed forward into the blade, unafraid of his own safety, as if Ashe’s words had struck a buried nerve.

”Calm down, Professor Syrin. Calm down,” Ashe muttered, unsure even of his own words. ”Let’s talk this through. Don’t move. I didn’t want things to turn out this way either.”

In an instant, their roles reversed. The would-be assassin became cautious and conciliatory, while the intended victim grew assertive.

The reason was simple. Ashe realized his threat was far less effective than expected.

He had assumed that once the Swordheart rested at Syrin’s throat, only two outcomes were possible. Either the elf refused to yield and received a swift death, or he broke in terror, allowing Ashe to savor revenge.

However, Syrin did neither. He was surprised, but not afraid. He did not fear death, yet he was willing to reveal information.

Ashe had initially suspected Syrin might launch a counterattack Miracle, and he stayed ready to strike at the first move. Instead, Syrin never retaliated. He deliberately pressed his throat against the blade.

This left Ashe in a dilemma. He needed information, yes, but more importantly, he needed a way out of the Blood Moon Kingdom, something a stateless drifter like him could never uncover on his own.

The elf before him was a high-level player revered across every domain, with political prestige as a councilor, racial prestige as head of the Elf Rights Association, academic prestige as a university professor, and underground prestige as Woodpecker’s shadow backer. Two centuries of connections had made Syrin a walking trove of intelligence.

At Ashe’s current level, Syrin was the best consultant he could hope for to escape Blood Moon.

Of course, he was not the only one who knew such paths. Bloodrage Hunter Captain, Gerard, the Institute Director, the Battle Zone Commander, and the Bishop of the Church of Devotion. Any one of them might hold the answer, and that was exactly why Ashe was conflicted. Unlike Syrin, each of them could easily strike him hard enough to make last night’s dinner spill back out.

Ashe quickly weighed the gains and losses and decided to go along with the elf for now. His plan was simple. First, soothe Syrin, draw out the information he needed, and then drive a sword through the professor’s throat, completing a flamboyant revenge that would make him a criminal with a perfectly justified bounty on his head.

Back then, Varkas pierced my throat at the Blood Moon Tribunal. Now I pierce yours. Seems only fair, doesn’t it? I’m merely taking a small bonus for myself. The Swordheart comes with me. In essence, this is Varkas’s rebellion against you.

As the saying goes, ”Every wrong has its source, and every debt its debtor[1].” Professor Syrin, once you reach the Virtual World, you can take your revenge on Varkas. Of course, you could also come after me. I’ll have the Swordswoman smash your head in.

While mentally preparing himself to play the ultimate villain, Ashe forced a strained smile. ”Professor Syrin...”

”I gave him chances.”

”Huh?”

Syrin’s voice was calm, yet sharp. ”I have never been stingy with mercy toward my own kind. Any elf who strays from the path, I give them chances to atone, again and again. If circumstances had allowed, how I wished I could have shared wine with Varkas, handed this study over to him, just as my predecessor did for me seventy years ago.

”He was once the successor I valued most. He despised politics, yet he excelled at it from a young age. He loved killing, but his strikes were always precise, leaving no trace behind. He adored danger, so much so that he served as leader of the Woodpeckers for ten years. Those were truly the most comfortable ten years. Compared to him, Gassas is nothing more than a wild boar digging for treasure in the mud.

”And your initial guess may not have been entirely wrong.”

”What?”

Ashe was momentarily stunned. My initial guess?

”Besides being Varkas’s guardian teacher, I may also have been his provider in the biological sense.”

Ashe’s mouth fell open. After a long pause, he forced out, ”May?”

Syrin replied evenly, ”I do not share Fernandez’s obsession with tracing bloodlines. But elves are a very special race. Our mating drive is low, and the probability of a successful genetic combination is extremely limited. Only during a certain month does the success rate rise from 0.8 percent to 13 percent. That month is called the Month of Elven Birth, occurring, on average, once every three years.

”Unlike other races, elves can only exercise full mating rights during this period. This ensures higher fertility and strengthens bloodline bonds. Elven births are simply too rare; if reproduction were scattered, providers could easily identify their children by birth date alone.

”A year before Varkas entered the nursery, I answered the Church’s call and participated in full mating. In theory, Varkas could indeed be my child. Our hair and eye colors match, and I can see my past self reflected in him.”

Syrin’s voice remained steady, but his eyes carried a weight that no words could convey. Time might not scar an elf’s body, but the immense burden of their past had long settled upon their souls. Flip through a single page of memory, and dust from countless journeys would spill forth.

”He was both your student and your child. Then why—”

Syrin covered his eyes with his hand. ”Varkas betrayed me. He was a stain upon the elves, a rebel among the long-lived. I gave him chances, promised him a reunion with his biological kin, yet he defied me regardless. I wanted nothing more than to see him suffer in the Blood Moon Heaven.”

Perhaps Ashe had spent too long in this twisted kingdom. He realized he could now observe these incomprehensible bonds calmly, without judgment.

Since the mystery surrounding Varkas had been resolved, Ashe asked his next question, ”Professor Syrin, what exactly was your reason... for—”

Suddenly, Ashe felt unbearably slow, as if he were struggling through a foreign-language listening exam. Syrin stepped back and moved out of the Swordheart’s range. Multiple spirits rose around him as he invoked a Miracle.

In that instant, Ashe thought, I need to activate the Sword Barrier Miracle.

However, before he could do anything, branches burst from the wooden floor, piercing the carpet. Trunks twisted along his body, and in moments, a towering tree filled the study. Ashe had been fused into the trunk and was completely bound.

Crack.

Time slowed to a crawl, each instant accompanied by a sharp, cracking sound. By the time Ashe recovered, it was already too late. The tree had bound him completely and sealed his mana. The floating Swordheart dissipated as its connection to Ashe’s mana was severed.

The branches had also seized the Honeyed Tongue Sword beneath his tongue, essential for using his Sword Class spirits. Every Sword Class spirit he had was now useless.

This was the weakness of specialized spirits. Once the common limitation of a particular class had been identified and the necessary casting medium seized, even the most powerful spirits could be neutralized.

”As expected, you cannot resist the control of the Dazzling Eye.”

It was only then that Ashe noticed Syrin had removed the glove from his right hand. Covering his eye, Syrin’s emerald-green pupil glowed deep and radiant, as if it could pull a soul straight in.

Ashe’s shock deepened when he saw a hole in Syrin’s palm, large enough for an eye to peer through.

Syrin lowered his hand, sat back down, and stared at Ashe with bewilderment. ”You are not Ashe Heath. Who are you, really?”

Ashe had no idea how he had been exposed. Still, he played along. ”Exactly. I am not Ashe Heath. I am just an ordinary person who couldn’t sleep and went out for a walk. I hope Your Elven Excellency will release me at once, or I will sue you for unlawful detention and violation of human rights—”

Syrin ignored him completely, instead muttering to himself with his head lowered.

Then he suddenly stood. His face twisted with terror and a feral intensity. ”Could it be... the ritual succeeded?”

He glared at Ashe as if he wanted to devour him alive. ”You are the true Sense, aren’t you?”

1. Every injustice or grievance has a person responsible for it, and every debt has a rightful person who must repay it. It emphasizes personal accountability and that wrongs or debts should be addressed to their proper source. ☜