Sorcerer’s Handbook

“Stop it, you can’t kill someone that way!”

“Can you guys hurry it up? Dozens of us are waiting here, and every minute you waste is dozens of minutes wasted for everyone!”

“That’s about enough.”

As Ashe and his companions entered the Deathmatch Society, the sounds that greeted their ears were not the adrenaline-fueled screams, the beast-like roars, or the malicious jeers, but rather the blatant complaints dripping with disdain.

If it wasn’t for the chip restrictions silencing these death row inmates from spouting obscenities, Ashe was sure he would quickly pick up a plethora of classic curses from the various races of the Blood Moon Kingdom.

Their group squeezed to the front, pushing past the impatient faces of the inmates nudged in their behinds. But as soon as they saw it was the ‘Demon,’ ‘Beautiful Beast,’ and ‘Gourmet’—the notorious ruffians of the prison—they hurriedly made space, some even flashing submissive smiles.

Though there was no hierarchy among the death row inmates, and no matter how powerful an inmate was, they couldn’t hurt the weakest among them—not even pluck a hair or scratch a freshly manicured nail. As long as one didn’t voluntarily enter the arena, they wouldn’t be bullied by others.

But the adoration of the strong is a natural instinct, and among these death row inmates, whose moral compasses were as unreliable as an old man’s diaper, this trait was even more pronounced. Even if Ashe and his team couldn’t harm them in the slightest, the inmates didn’t want to risk offending these formidable figures.

Ashe mentally crossed off these yielding individuals from his list of potential choices—after all, I’m the kindest and most innocent person in this prison. If even I scare them, how could they serve as bait? They all fail the test!

Reaching the front, Ashe saw two individuals on the lowest tier of the arena—one, a member of the Snake Species with a body covered in dark green, and the other, a prison mate Ashe actually got along with, whose first name he forgot but remembered the last name was Harvey.

It didn’t take long for Ashe to realize why everyone was complaining—Harvey and his opponent were staging a fake fight.

The member of the Snake Species didn’t fight back at all, simply kneeling and taking Harvey’s punches one after another. Even as the scaly skin on his face cracked and his tiny teeth shattered, he remained motionless, calmly looking up at Harvey.

It wasn’t until Harvey’s fists were caked with thick blood that the Snake Species slowly spoke: “Archibald, feeling better now?”

“Not yet!”

Suddenly, Harvey knelt down, tore open his clothes, and revealed a gaunt body covered in ugly scars, his face twisted fiercely: “Come on, Habron!”

The Snake Species shook his head but still reached for the Thorn Whip that lay at the edge of the arena. Ashe glanced at it and felt his hair stand on end—the Thorn Whip was covered in tiny barbs, making it painfully clear that a single lash would be excruciating, and with saltwater added to the mix, one’s Soul might just ascend.

Whack! Whack! Whack!

As the dull sound of the whip striking flesh began, the complaints in the Deathmatch Society diminished significantly. While some still mocked Harvey, calling him a fool, many more showed their respect through silence. To earn the respect of death row inmates, one had two options: be ruthless to others or to oneself.

Ashe suddenly asked, “How is it?”

“Not bad,” Igor replied. “I’ll investigate his ‘story’ later. There might be something we can use.”

“Archibald Harvey’s deathmatch record is 7 wins, 1 loss,” Langna stated. “Because of his frail appearance, he’s occasionally seen as an easy target, but those who fight him tend to lose consciousness without realizing it. He’s not weak.”

“We need this kind of fiery spirit,” Ronald said, clenching his fist. “Watching him has lit a fire in me! Let’s approach him right after the deathmatch is over!”

Igor shook his head: “No rush, we still have time to consider other candidates. Even if we decide on Harvey, I need to get a hold of something on him first. It’s easier to make use of someone when you’ve got leverage.”

“Ugh, you’re so scheming!”

“What, you have a problem with that?”

“Yes, look at how well that member of the Snake Species gets along with Harvey. If we can’t find a breakthrough with Harvey, maybe we can use the Snake Species—after all, he’s new to prison and probably still misses the taste of freedom.”

Igor nodded in approval: “Impressive, Ashe. It’s rare for you to come up with a good suggestion.”

“It’s nothing, just learning from the best, you.”

As the two exchanged sly grins akin to those of partners in crime, Langna kept a stoic face but inside was quite astonished. He had observed Igor Bukin and knew this Con Artist was a cold-hearted, selfish individual who always wore a professional smile. Deep down, he looked down on everyone, seeing them merely as Items to be used.

Of course, Langna didn’t think for a second that Igor considered Ashe a friend. If he dared to voice such a thought, Igor and Ashe would probably think he’d lost his mind.

However, according to Langna’s observations, Igor’s attitude towards Ashe was different from how he treated other inmates. It wasn’t filled with ulterior motives of flattery, nor was it the disgust reserved for enemies, but rather it seemed closer to… sincerity.

Yes, sincerity. Though the term seemed too naive to describe a Con Artist, this was Langna’s conclusion.

Perhaps even Igor didn’t realize that in front of Ashe, he had unwittingly let down the mask he had built to protect himself. He didn’t hide his contempt, nor his approval, treating Heath Ashe as an equal, engaging in normal conversation, and even normal arguments. The emotional fluctuations Igor had experienced over the past year and a half were nothing compared to these last few days.

Could this be due to Heath Ashe’s personal charm?

No, Langna did not think so.

It wasn’t that Ashe lacked charm, but Igor was not likely to be so easily influenced. Any Sorcerer who Majored in the Mind Faction, especially a Two Wings Sorcerer, would have a more resolute set of principles and will than other Sorcerers. Not to mention Igor was a Con Artist adept at manipulating people’s hearts. How could he possibly undergo such a ‘love at first sight’ type of mental transformation?

In the world of Sorcerers, there are no coincidences.

Only ‘Miracles’.

Although Ronald was a factor, as soon as Langna learned that Ashe was the initiator of the Escape Plan, he strongly sensed that the plan was destined to succeed.

Unlike Igor and Ronald, Langna had once been a servant of the Church, a servant of God, basked in divine glory, and deeply aware of the vast power of the Divine Master.

The will of God must be executed.

To the Blood Moon Sovereign, the flawlessly guarded, tightly secured Shattered Lake Prison was nothing more than a bubble, ready to burst at a touch, almost transparent.

The same was true for the Four Pillars.

Suddenly, the Lighting in the Deathmatch Society’s hall was fully turned on, the barriers around the Arena were lowered, the small doors to the Arena were opened, and the Crow Medics came out to carry away the Snake Species. When they went to carry Harvey, however, he refused — Harvey did not want to be treated.

As a battered and blood-stained Harvey emerged, the death row inmates instinctively cleared a path for him. Since Ashe and the others had to wait for Igor to find leverage over Harvey, they didn’t immediately approach to recruit him.

Yet, it was Harvey who took the initiative to approach.

“I was just looking for you, Ashe,” Harvey said. “I want to discuss something with you.”

“I’m broke.”

“Too many people here, let’s go—” Harvey said as he reached out to pull Ashe away.

Igor reached out and grabbed Harvey’s wrist, smiling, “That sounds quite interesting, may I listen in?”

Harvey glanced over Igor, Langna, and Ronald, then slowly nodded, “Of course.”

The five notorious criminals quickly left the Deathmatch Society and headed to the men’s Restroom — there was no other choice, as it was the closest private environment available. Besides, the restroom was frequently cleaned, smelled pleasant, and they could turn on the tap to cover their conversation, making it an ideal breeding ground for plotting schemes.

“So I heard you guys are planning an escape from prison?” Harvey wiped the bloodstains off his body with a damp towel while looking at Ashe in the mirror.

“Yes.” Igor did not intend to hide it; he had visited several well-known inmates in the past few days, and such news could not be kept secret.

But since Ashe’s Miracle, Slay Me, had not been revealed, and considering Igor’s past manipulation of newcomers using his position as the president of the Prison Escape Research Society, people either thought Igor was just fooling around or planning some machination. Moreover, since the death row inmates had been mostly tamed by the prison, nobody was willing to join, forcing Ashe to find ways to drag Ronald and Langna into the plan.

“I want to join you.” Harvey ducked his head under the tap, letting the water soak his curly hair. As he lifted his wet head, Ashe was surprised to find that when he wasn’t curly-haired, he actually had rather delicate features, not as grotesque and vulgar as when his hair was curly.

“I want to escape from prison.”

Ashe was overjoyed, but before he could speak, Igor stepped in: “If you want to join us, you need to contribute, to show us your value. We’re not lacking members now, and if you don’t play a certain role, there’s no need for us to let you join.”

“Actually, even without a contribution—”

“Shut up!” Igor glared fiercely at Ashe, who shrank back to the side, feeling aggrieved.

Originally, it should have been Igor asking Harvey to join them, but now that Harvey was volunteering, there was no way Igor would let this opportunity slip by. He seized the moment to make demands of Harvey. After so many trade negotiations, Igor understood that people tend to value what is hard to get, believing that the more difficult something is to obtain, the more precious it becomes. If he let Harvey join too easily, it might make Harvey suspicious of their professional standards or even give him the illusion of being more important than he actually was, making him harder to manage.

The strategy now was to raise the bar as high as possible, to fully leverage Harvey’s resources before ‘reluctantly’ allowing him to join. This approach would not only make Harvey grateful but also help him understand his place in the hierarchy. Even if he was ordered to serve as bait later on, he would be less likely to resist.

“A very reasonable request.” Harvey nodded at his reflection in the mirror. “I’m confident in my abilities and sure that you’ll be satisfied—I can operate the prison’s processors.”

“Hmm, that sounds pretty go… what?”

Igor paused, astonished: “Processors? You can operate the prison’s chip processors? How is that possible?”

“Why wouldn’t it be possible?” Harvey turned to face the other four, his wet hair draping over his face but not hiding the sharpness in his eyes: “If there’s anyone among the death row inmates who can operate chip processors, it can only be me.”

“Because I’m a Necromancer.”

“And the chip processor is a corpse.”

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