The Sorcerer's Handbook

[Mantos Chenor receives the reward Hemaira’s Honor Emblem.]

Hemaira’s Honor Emblem

- Within the Hemaira region, the holder’s mana, soul energy, and physical stamina regenerate at twice the normal rate. The holder is also granted three chances to return from death.

[The Obelisk receives the reward Guardian.]

Guardian

- This structure cannot wear down or decay. Any living being that gazes upon it receives a brief blessing of physical recovery lasting five minutes. This effect may trigger only once per day.

There was no doubt that Hemaira’s Honor Emblem was an extraordinarily powerful artifact. With three chances at resurrection, its holder could walk the streets of Hemaira without fear.

The Guardian reward was equally remarkable. Rather than empowering the obelisk alone, it extended its benefits to every citizen within its reach.

Yet no one in the living room felt inclined to discuss the rewards. The city outside lay in silence as it awaited the final results from the Book of Gospel.

[Art Ranking No. 8: Thousand-Color Vow: Pseudo God Body]

Synopsis: The sorcerer consumes all sanity, mana, and wings, along with their unique name and every trace of their existence, to condense a spectrum of ink. By painting themselves stroke by stroke, they leverage the power of the Virtual World to briefly gain power that transcends the realm of Legends.

Creator: Arifeiya Kalia

***

[Art Ranking No. 7: Five Thousand Blood Rune Diagram]

Synopsis: Five thousand, six hundred and twenty-three sorcerers used their own blood as ink to inscribe ritual runes across the entire city overnight. Acting as conduits, they drew upon the power of the Virtual World to reinforce the city’s structures.

Creators: Paris Sastin and 5,622 others

***

As the list continued, Ashe and the others remained relatively calm. Annan and Pankey, however, looked as though they were being suffocated. Their expressions were dark, weighed down with an immense pressure.

The Art Ranking did not directly depict the world fifty years into the future, but every piece hinted at the brutal disasters the Gospel Kingdom would face.

These were horrors where sorcerers marched to their deaths, nations crumbled, cities were erased, and bloodlines vanished. It was a catastrophe so absolute that it nearly brought the Gospel Kingdom’s 1,668-year-old history to a total end.

”What exactly happened...” Annan whispered, biting her finger. ”If the future is truly set like this, can we even fight for the Divine Lord’s Wish?”

Her eyes suddenly sharpened. ”No... the Divine Lord’s Wish!”

Pankey nodded. ”Right. Once we obtain it, we can petition the Omniscient Weaver to intervene.”

Iger tilted his head slightly. ”Oh? So you’re now planning to use the wish to save the world?”

He continued calmly, ”Mr. Pankey likely won’t live to see fifty years from now. And as for you, Miss, if you use the wish to elevate your strength beyond Legendary levels, even if you can’t stop what’s coming, you could leave the Gospel Kingdom and live safely elsewhere. Somewhere like our homeland. There’s no need to chase something as grand as ’saving the world,’ is there?”

Annan’s gaze swept across them. ”And what if I suddenly decide that I do want to save the world?”

”Then I’d be glad my employer is a good person,” Iger replied with a shrug. ”That kind of idealism isn’t something I share.”

Ashe thought, They’ve exposed themselves.

From the very beginning, Annan had never stated her true purpose. She had gone to such lengths for one thing only, which was the Divine Lord’s Wish.

Of course, everyone desired a wish. But what one chose to wish for made all the difference.

It would be understandable if Annan sought immortality, eternal youth, or even godhood. Cooperation could proceed as expected. But if she pursued an ideal, something lofty and selfless, then true cooperation would be impossible.

Iger and Harvey were selfish, and selfish people were the easiest to work with. Every selfish person feared death, and fear was the simplest form of leverage.

Idealists were different. Aside from death, they had no weaknesses. They faced only two outcomes, either victory or death.

Cooperation depended on all sides fearing the cost of betrayal. But if one side no longer feared consequences, then cooperation became meaningless. At any moment, they could overturn the table.

Annan and Pankey seemed to sense the growing distance between themselves and the others. Neither spoke again. They simply continued watching the Art Ranking unfold.

Before long, the reveal approached its end.

Unlike the grim scenes from before, the first-place painting opened on a serene setting. Soft sunlight spilled across the wooden floor of a studio with white walls, where indoor plants swayed gently. The sight alone could lull one into a lazy drowsiness.

As the camera drew closer, a beautiful woman in purple appeared, focused on her canvas. Across from her sat a cushioned chair, seemingly meant for a model, yet it was empty. Despite this, the woman continued to paint as if nothing were unusual.

As the camera panned slowly, her face finally came into view. Everyone in the living room nearly leapt to their feet in shock. Though she appeared more mature and even more radiant, the painter in the scene was unmistakably the head of the Funeral Agency, the Purple Moth, Lady Annan.

The Annan in the painting wore a heavy expression. Each stroke of her brush moved with a slow, agonizing weight. Her bristles touched only thin paper, but every line seemed to bear an unbearable burden, making the process painful to witness.

When the final stroke fell, a sense of liberation finally washed over her. She rose abruptly, snapped the brush in two, and shouted through clenched teeth, ”It’s over!”

A sharp crack rang out. The pristine studio, the soft sunlight, and the fragile calm all shattered like glass.

In that instant, the scene shifted. She no longer stood in a quiet studio, but in the heart of burning ruins. The ground split and crumbled beneath her feet. The sky hung in a murky, gray-yellow haze where day and night were indistinguishable, as though the world itself had fallen into rot.

The point of view shifted to behind Annan. The chair that had been empty moments ago was no longer vacant. Someone sat there now, but the canvas obscured most of the figure, leaving only his legs visible. Not that it mattered. Everything hidden from view had already been captured in Annan’s painting.

This was the first-ranked work of the Art Ranking.

Amid the burning ruins of the city, a man in a dark red coat sat in a luxurious crimson leather chair. Propping his cheek up with his left hand, he sat with one leg crossed over the other. A mask concealed his face. Messy bangs fell loosely across his brow as his gaze drifted lazily over the ruined world, his eyes narrowing as if in quiet amusement.

A chill crept up Ashe’s spine.

[Art Ranking No. 1: Ashe Heath]

Synopsis: A portrait of Ashe Heath, ■■■■■■■■■, ■■■, ■■■■■, ■■■■■■■■■■■■■, ■■■■.

Creator: Annan Dolan