Sorcerer’s Handbook

Ever since arriving in this world, Ashe had heard the term “Blood Moon Tribunal” more than once.

Initially, he thought it was a firing squad program.

Then, he thought it was a live broadcast of a firing squad.

After that, he thought it was an online guessing game where they randomly executed a lucky viewer.

Now, Ashe had come to think of the Blood Moon Tribunal as a variety show featuring unrestricted combat live.

“Yes, when death row inmates participate in the Blood Moon Tribunal, the prison will lift all restrictions, and you’ll be able to harness arcane energy to animate spirits.”

The Medic extended her hand, and a spirit resembling a kind-hearted old grandmother materialized in her palm.

“If you’re wondering whether there’s a chance to make deals during the Blood Moon Tribunal, theoretically, yes, there is. But in reality, no one can do it. And I don’t need to tell you why, do I? You’ve watched the Blood Moon Tribunal, haven’t you?”

“I haven’t seen it!”

At this point, the Medic refused to divulge any more information, feeling that her dignity was insulted by Ashe’s poor lie. It was bad enough to deceive, but to do so with a lie that not even a child would believe was downright disrespectful!

Ashe felt wronged; he genuinely hadn’t seen the Blood Moon Tribunal, but everyone here assumed it was common knowledge, something that didn’t require explanation.

Since he couldn’t deceive any information out of her, Ashe was ready to go eat, but then the Medic stopped him from leaving.

“Why did you ask about that elf’s condition? Are you worried about him?”

“To say I’m worried would be a bit embarrassing; I’m just a little concerned.”

Ashe scratched the newly healed tender skin on his shoulder: “After all, he was the first person I killed. Isn’t there a saying that murderers will return to the crime scene to watch? I guess I’m kind of in that mindset.”

“Really? He was your first?”

“The way you put it really leads to misunderstandings…”

“You’re a death row inmate who could afford a luxury suite at Shattered Lake Prison! Shouldn’t destroying a life be as simple for you as dressing or eating, and tormenting a soul as habitual as breathing?”

“I may not be a good person, but I really am wronged!”

“I’ll believe the first part of that for now.”

The Medic looked down at the spirit in her hand, seemingly weighing her words.

“Alright, I’ll believe it’s your first time killing someone. So why do you care about the elf’s life or death? Do you hope he doesn’t survive, or do you wish he doesn’t die?”

“Both.”

“Both?” The Medic couldn’t help but laugh: “Do you want him to be dead and alive?”

“To be honest, my grudge against him isn’t to the extent that I absolutely want him dead. If possible, I’d rather give him a good thrashing with a geoduck-shaped soft stick to vent my anger, and since I have questions for him, I don’t really want him to die.”

Ashe shrugged, “But if he really died, I might just reflect tonight before sleep that life is like the ocean, and only those with strong will can reach the other side… So even if he dies, I won’t care too much.”

“I’m starting to believe it was your first time killing someone,” the Medic remarked. “Your stance doesn’t win favors from either side. In the case of public disclosure, you’d get sympathy from Human Rights Organizations for showing mercy, or support from extremist groups for being thorough. But this indecisive, wishy-washy approach you’re taking is despised by all.”

“It seems that the outside world isn’t easy to navigate either,” Ashe sighed. “But aren’t most people indecisive like me?”

The Medic was momentarily taken aback, then shrugged, “It’s not that there aren’t indecisive people, but you need to have the capital to afford indecision—like being good-looking, for instance!”

The Medic pulled out a photo album and started flipping through it in front of Ashe: “Look, these are the popular handsome templates from the past five years. Do you want to pick a new face for yourself? I particularly recommend this Face #1. It’s very trendy, almost a dead ringer for the latest pop star. You’d definitely like this one…”

“It seems like you’re the one who likes that face!”

“So what if I like it? If you get that face, you’re the one who benefits!”

“Who says that? I’m not the one who’ll be looking in the mirror all day. I usually can’t even see my own face. What good does being handsome do for me? Instead, it’s others who get to stare at me all day. Do you think I’d willingly accept their creepy gazes just to be selfless?”

Ashe made a lot of sense, so much so that the Medic was convinced. Her Crow Mask sagged as she looked dejected, “Alright, you’re right…”

“But,” Ashe quickly changed his tone, “your willingness to listen to my grievances and talk with me for so long is the only warmth I’ve felt in this cold Prison. Since it’s a friend’s request, I’m not entirely against it…”

“What? Are we friends?”

“If not, then I’m leaving…”

“Okay, okay, so you’re willing to let me do the surgery?”

“I’m actually not that keen…” Ashe displayed a hesitant expression. “I’ve grown quite fond of my current face. After all, I’ve been looking at it for many years; I’ve become somewhat attached…”

“So…?”

“You’ll have to pay me more.”

“No problem!”

The Medic breathed a sigh of relief: “When do you want to start the surgery? Wait, I’m still not very familiar with some Procedures. Give me a couple of nights to review… Don’t worry, it’s very safe. My spirits can effectively prevent severe issues like flesh decay!”

Ashe tugged at the corner of his mouth, “I, I’m very reassured. I’ll be going now then, take your time and don’t rush!”

Arcane energy is the Sorcerer’s universal power source, just like money is society’s. Although he still hadn’t seen a glimmer of hope for escape from prison, Ashe realized he needed to start making some money just in case. Death row inmates, needless to say, were all poor and living off the state. After much thought, Ashe felt his only option was to cash in on his looks.

But now, it seemed like a hefty price to pay. The chances of ending up with a messed-up face were quite high, and Ashe was feeling the Cowardice.

No wonder the Medics don’t allow their names to be disclosed; maybe it’s to prepare for a quick anonymous getaway—after causing many medical mishaps in Prison and honing their skills, they can just dust off and leave. The Death row inmates can’t even curse someone because they don’t know who to blame.

Ashe walked to the door, then suddenly turned back and surveyed the Treatment room.

“I’ve been meaning to ask for a while now—are you being ostracized by your colleagues?”

“Huh?”

“How come both times I’ve woken up, I only see you? Where are the other Medics?” Ashe speculated. “Did they leave the most difficult jobs to you and then just call it a day?”

“No—well, you being the most difficult job is true.”

“Really? If your colleagues are shunning or boycotting you, remember to tell me.”

The Medic looked at Ashe and snorted with laughter.

“Why should I tell you?”

“Aren’t we friends? Friends are the ones who can gloat at the other’s misfortune.”

“Get lost, get lost, get lost!”

Ashe waved goodbye: “Then, Doctor [222], see you next time. The apple was delicious, thanks.”

The Treatment room returned to silence as the Medic packed up her toolbox and pushed open the door leading to the common Rest area—the Medics’ activity zone doesn’t overlap with that of the Death row inmates—at which point she saw a group of Medics wearing Crow Masks waiting outside.

The Medic was startled, almost thinking they had come to make a scene.

But upon closer inspection, she realized that among the group of Medics, one person wasn’t wearing a Crow Mask. Judging by the figure and the work badge, it was the tall Medic, [176], who always scolded her. His appearance was that of a Blue Scale Merfolk, but his eyes were a blood-red, gleaming like rubies.

[176] was not only without a mask, his hands were clasped behind his back in a reverse grip, his face clearly showed signs of cleansing, and around his neck was a dark green Vein Foam necklace.

The Medic knew exactly what that was.

Miracle Vein Foam.

This was one of the most commonly used offensive Miracles by Blood Sorcerers, combining entrapment and killing in one. For as long as the spell lasted, the veins of those caught by Vein Foam would be linked to the foam. Once the foam shattered, it meant that all the veins in the body would burst simultaneously, and the heart would rapidly fail due to loss of blood supply.

Every Sorcerer, even the weakest, has the ability to instantly annihilate a living being.

Being fitted with Vein Foam was the treatment of a criminal.

“What did he do?”

“He peeked at your Healing Procedures.”

A Medic with the badge [201] bowed in reporting, his respect unmistakable even through the voice-altering Crow Mask.

“Attempting to steal the intellectual achievements of the Blood Cry Research Institute without permission violates the constitutional principle of ‘the inviolability of personal and collective property’—there’s no doubt it’s a crime.”

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