The Sorcerer's Handbook

Chapter 156: Ashe, The Watcher

Why do these sorcerers always have to come up with new terms I've never even heard of?

Syrin's low, hoarse shout cut through the room. "It actually worked... Heath, it actually worked! How is this possible? How can this be possible!"

Then, in an instant, he became a whirlwind, slamming the desk with fierce, precise strikes. Both hands swept the Knowledge Curtain across the tabletop, sending it crashing to the floor in pieces.

Ashe swallowed hard. "Calm down. Calm down. Can you explain what's happening? Maybe I can help... in ways that aren't strictly practical. Hmm!"

Suddenly, the tree trunk constricted around him. Pressure slammed in from all sides, squeezing so tightly that he could barely breathe. Every inhalation was a struggle, and he felt as though he would be flattened in the next moment.

I... I can't breathe!

Syrin's voice was cold, "Still not resisting?"

He reached toward Ashe with his left hand, forming a grasping gesture. "Your body is still so fragile. One careless move, and I could crush you instantly. I'll count to three. Three... two... one—"

Am I done for? If only I had killed him earlier... if only I hadn't come to find Syrin... if only...

Faced with imminent death, Ashe realized something unsettling. he wasn't as strong as he had thought. Regret washed over him. He had always believed himself indifferent to life, but that no longer seemed true. Or perhaps... it wasn't life itself he valued.

He instinctively squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his teeth, bracing for the final agony.

Yet when the countdown ended, the tree loosened slightly, allowing him to breathe freely once again.

He opened his eyes to see Syrin staggering back toward the desk. Tears streamed down his face, but at the same time, a smile tugged at his lips. "You really aren't Heath. You really aren't... hahahaha! He succeeded? He actually succeeded? How could he succeed?"

Ashe watched in silence as Syrin laughed and cried at the same time, then asked after a long pause, "What were you testing just now?"

Syrin sank onto the carpet by the desk, paying no mind to etiquette. After a moment, he answered, "The real Heath holds the Key. No mana is needed, not even verbal communication. As long as Heath activates the Key, he can control any disciple, including me."

A fear deeper than death etched itself across Syrin's face. "It's a corruption worse than death itself, a total loss of self-control. I once tried to commit suicide, but even death offered no escape. In the moment before I died, my body was no longer my own. I had to complete the tasks assigned to me before I regained the right to use it. Since then, I've been unable to resist any command and could only execute his will faithfully.

"From the moment you pressed the Swordheart to my throat, I knew you weren't Heath. But I couldn't believe it. I couldn't take the risk that maybe Heath was acting, that perhaps you were just a fragment of his personality, or..."

Syrin's voice trembled. "I didn't dare believe he could truly disappear. I feared you were merely another one of his tricks."

Ashe glanced at Syrin's right hand. "You just mentioned the Dazzling Eye..."

"Didn't you inherit Heath's memories?"

Syrin raised his hand. The hole in his palm was perfectly round, like a missing piece of a puzzle. Moonlight passed cleanly through it. "Heath drilled this hole himself. It's the cost of the ritual."

"The ritual... the Ritual Class?"

"Exactly," Syrin said, lowering his gaze. "The cost is high, but the Dazzling Eye is incredibly potent. Anyone I look at through this hole experiences several seconds of mental paralysis. During that time, they cannot do anything, not even blink."

Absolute control.

Ashe felt the full horror of its power. In those frozen moments, he had been completely helpless, incapable even of thinking about resistance.

If ordinary thoughts were like a waterfall, pouring down in countless droplets every second, Ashe's mind was a stagnant swamp, where rot festered and only a single bubble rose over a long, drawn-out stretch of time.

Syrin continued, "Of course, such a powerful technique isn't without its drawbacks. The Dazzling Eye can only affect someone once. The first gaze catches the target completely off guard, leaving them paralyzed. After that... all that remains is a mere impression of its brilliance."

"So I just fell for the Dazzling Eye, and that proves I'm not Heath..."

Syrin spoke calmly, "He's already seen my Dazzling Eye. In fact, Heath has observed every disciple who was granted the Dazzling Eye within the cult. He wouldn't allow his followers any means to counter him."

Ashe couldn't be certain Syrin was telling the truth. Still, he could not deny that he had been trapped inside the tree, completely at Syrin's mercy. If Syrin had commanded him to stand on his head, Ashe wouldn't have been able to resist. Under such circumstances, there was no reason for Syrin to lie.

Nevertheless, Ashe found it hard to believe. Heath wasn't even a sorcerer. He was nothing more than a nobody. Without Ashe, Heath probably wouldn't have survived the rookie killer, Beautiful Beast Iger. He would have been crushed, losing all Contribution Points and bottoming out in the prison hierarchy.

If Heath really is some villain with a trump card... then where is that trump card? I came all this way to substitute for him, and he didn't even leave me a single backup plan!?

Still, Ashe felt Syrin was toying with him. A two-hundred-year-old, Two-Winged elf being controlled by a human barely in his twenties, who wasn't even a sorcerer?

If Ashe told the Swordwoman about this, she would probably just laugh and tell him, "Don't look too far into all this subversion at your age."

After a pause, Ashe asked, "Why are you telling me all this?"

With his eyes fixed on the floor, Syrin said, "Because I'm thinking about what to do with you. After all, Heath's last order for me... was to kill you."

Ashe froze. "Kill me... wait, but I am Ashe Heath. You mean—"

Syrin leaned against the desk. "Yes. Heath's final order was to kill him, to utterly erase Heath once the ritual was complete."

Ashe's lips twitched, his pupils dilating. "So that's why I was hunted by the Bloodrage Hunters... Varkas... the Blood Moon Tribunal... even Gerard's visit... it was all—"

Syrin finished the sentence on Ashe's behalf. "All your own will. I was simply carrying out your orders to the best of my ability."

Ashe tried to grasp what he had just heard. The one who wanted to kill me... is me?

He tried to gauge whether Syrin was lying, but his heart betrayed him. It thumped wildly as infinite malice and resentment crashed over his thoughts like a deep, cold ocean. In his daze, he could almost hear countless voices mocking him.

From the very beginning, he had been nothing more than a meticulously placed pawn. He couldn't even identify the real mastermind. He was like a child watching his backpack tossed around by bullies, unsure whom to strike, with tears threatening to fall.

Yet strangely, Ashe felt no surge of anger to chase away the cold. He calmly accepted the truth that he had been deceived and observed his own turbulent thoughts with detachment. It was as if he were merely reading someone else's Sorcerer's Handbook, enjoying a story filled with chaotic twists.

When you can watch pain, you are freed from it. When you can watch your story as a bystander, you are freed from fate.

Anger, resentment, and regret solve nothing. Only absolute calm, precise judgment, and mechanical execution allow one to perceive all secrets, understand the truths of the world, and carry out the will of the self.

Don't let hormones cloud your thinking. Don't let mundane conventions restrict your imagination. Don't let the uncertainty of fate destroy your calm.

Ashe, you must watch yourself. You must rise above reality. You must consider the correct next step, execute the strategy that maximizes benefit, and use every resource at your disposal.

Treat everyone else as a tool. Treat yourself as a tool. Only then can you become Ashe—the Watcher, with a mind free of distraction.