The Sorcerer's Handbook

Chapter 157: There's Still The Swordswoman

Ashe had almost turned into a tree-man, like a tombstone standing in the heart of a forest. Every branch was hard as steel, and every leaf constantly drained his mana.

This was an extraordinarily powerful Verdant Class Miracle. While the Verdant Class usually focused on creation and production, this Miracle was unusually vicious. It was impossible to fathom how many spirits had been fused together to combine restraint, slaughter, and debilitation into a single, devastating effect.

Syrin was over two hundred years old and a Two-Winged sorcerer. Given that, it was no surprise he could create such a powerful Miracle.

Advancement through the ranks of the sorcery classes was a merciless trial. It formed an unbridgeable chasm that blocked all talentless and ill-fated mediocrities from ascending further. Effort meant nothing to sorcerers because it was merely the baseline. Without talent, no matter how long one lived or how desperately one struggled, the vistas at higher levels would remain forever out of reach.

Syrin might never reach those higher vistas, but having lived for so long, he had the time to appreciate the towering majesty of ancient trees, the venom in a bee's sting, the secrecy of spiders, and the hidden lethality buried within plants.

All resources, even time itself, could be transformed into a sorcerer's strength.

Ashe had never looked down on Syrin simply because he, too, was a Two-Winged sorcerer, not now and not in the past. But time was not on Ashe's side. As it passed, the Heresy Court would track him with increasing ease. While hiding, he had already discovered through the Curtain that they had begun a large-scale sweep of the Lower District and the Pig District.

Freya's home had been a comfortable refuge, but it could just as easily become his grave.

He had to obtain the information he needed, and Professor Syrin was his only option. Ashe had known before coming that this was a gamble with his life. Life was just another valuable chip, and when the moment came to wager, he would have no choice but to place it on the table.

And yet... how important was that chip, really? This was not a game he knew, nor were the gamblers familiar. If it weren't for the fear of someone else taking it, he might have discarded it long ago.

Ashe lowered his lashes and narrowed his eyes, as if he were in a slumber. He spoke in a steady and commanding tone, like he was the one in control of the situation. "Have you made your decision, Professor Syrin?"

Syrin paced around him, murmuring, "Now that Heath is gone, I no longer need to serve him or obey his orders. I am a free Blood Moon Elf.

"But your existence remains a tremendous threat. No one can guarantee that Heath will not return suddenly and leave seas of corpses and blood in his wake."

Ashe remained calm. "But you will not kill me. Once you knew I was not Heath, you no longer wished to kill me. In fact, you must protect me."

After careful consideration, Ashe realized he was not in danger at all.

If he were truly Heath, Syrin would have been compelled to obey the order to assassinate him. And yet, Heath would also have had the means to control Syrin. Since Ashe was not Heath, Syrin had broken free of those shackles and had no reason to harm him.

Even if Syrin had once been enslaved and controlled by Heath, he did not hate Ashe by association, nor would he destroy the stand-in along with the master. If vengeance were all that remained in Syrin's heart, Ashe would have been crushed like a peach long ago. Now, all Syrin felt was fear.

Syrin stopped behind Ashe. His voice trembled as he spoke, "Yes. Since Heath wants you dead, you must live. Even if you cling to life in misery, you must live. Even if living is worse than death, you must live."

Ashe asked, "Do you know why Heath wants to kill me?"

Syrin replied, "I don't know. But since you are so weak, so ignorant, and so insignificant, it can only mean one thing..."

Syrin stepped in front of Ashe and pressed a finger to his forehead. "The ritual isn't complete. You're not yet the complete Sense. You're only a half-finished product.

"Only by killing you can the ritual be completed. Only then can Heath's vision descend upon this world."

Ashe looked at Syrin's finger. "Sense? What exactly is that? And what happens after I die?"

"I don't know! I don't know!" Syrin clawed at his hair, hysteria creeping into his voice. "It's a secret of the Four Pillars Deities, a ritual whose full truth only Heath understands! All he ever told his followers was that he wasn't yet a complete Sense. When the ritual is finished, he will return from suffering, break free from honor, fall from the heavens, rise from the grave, and become a Sense that transcends all things. And then..."

His voice trembled with terror. "Then he will remake the world as he pleases."

Ashe's lips curved slightly, a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "That sounds like... Once the ritual is complete, I'll surpass even the so-called Four-Winged sorcerers. So if you kill me, I'll become something... on par with the Blood Moon Lord?"

Syrin's glare was icy. "You won't get that chance."

Ashe murmured, "Then... are you planning to hand me over to the Heresy Court?"

Syrin shook his head violently, as if swatting away flies. "No. Absolutely not. Gerard might kill you outright, and the Blood Moon Tribunal would certainly cost you your life. I can't hand you over. I won't.

"The arrogant Blood Saint clan only wants to dissect you. The stubborn Moonshadow clan doesn't care about you at all. Only I understand how serious this is. Only I can do this. Only me..."

Syrin's whisper was as cruel as a demon's vow. "I'll sever your limbs, lock you inside a puppet box, and bury you in the deepest basement of the third underground level. I'll keep you alive with nothing but an IV drip, sustaining only the bare minimum of life."

Ashe felt nothing. He didn't feel any shock, nor fear. Yes. That sounds about perfect.

He was satisfied with Syrin's decision. If Syrin handed him over to the Tribunal, escape would be impossible. Even the dumbest prison would know how to guard against his chip-neutralizing Miracle.

Increasing the frequency of his life-sign transmissions from once every ten minutes to once every second would be enough. The moment he removed the chip, Gerard would arrive at Shattered Lake. Syrin could throw up as many external barriers as he liked, but nothing would be as decisive and airtight as the chip's restriction.

Ashe didn't care about losing his limbs. As long as he could enter the Virtual World, he would eventually gain the power to break free.

Besides, he hadn't truly lost all ability to resist. He still had the Substitute, the Swordheart, and the Slash Me Miracle, which were abilities he had fully mastered. He didn't need mana to use them. It's just that the tree had immobilized him entirely. Resisting now would be pointless.

When Syrin tries to move me, that will be my best chance to escape. I have memorized the security layout while following Gassas here. If Syrin tries to hunt me down, I can take out the guards and draw the hunters in.

The hunters want me dead, while Syrin wants me alive. If I play my cards right, I can even provoke a clash between them. With enough casualties, I can exploit Fernandez's recent speech to ignite racial and class tensions, and then...

Thoughts spun in his mind, coalescing into the outline of a conspiracy.

At worst, I'd end up locked in a basement, sealed in a box, reduced to a motionless doll, with nothing but my own heartbeat for company.

Ashe felt nothing at the thought of this bleak fate. No fear. No tension. No excitement. It was as if he had stepped out of his own body and was standing to the side, quietly watching the fate of a man named Ashe Heath.

Pain, loneliness, torment, none of it can shake my will. Because in my world... in my world... I still have the Swordwoman.

The thought snapped him awake.

Light returned to his eyes. The sensation was indescribable, as though he had been on the verge of ascending beyond the world, only for a tether to yank him back, slamming him into reality. The sound of moving air, the scent of earth, the pulse of his heartbeat, all rushed back at once. It was as if he had just woken from a long, deep sleep.

At that moment, Syrin let out a strange, soft murmur. "Syrin Dorr... you can't keep running. You're free now. You can't run anymore."

The elf drew an ebony dagger from a drawer, approached Ashe, reversed his grip, and pressed it gently against his own throat.