The Sorcerer's Handbook

Chapter 158: Ritual Class Miracle, Virtual Chromatic Root Forbidden Technique

Syrin drove the dagger to his throat, but he did not pierce it. Instead, he drew the blade downward, stopping at his waist.

The steel sliced through the dense fabric of his shirt, carving a straight line of blood that neatly split his upper body in two.

Ashe's expression darkened. "You've changed your mind."

Syrin tossed the dagger aside. "Yes."

He brushed his long hair behind his ears, regaining the effortless elegance of an elf. His face settled into calm composure, and when he spoke, his voice was soft and even, "Imprisoning you was nothing more than my own naive wishful thinking. You are the Sense Heath summoned at great cost. You escaped even the Shattered Lake Prison. How could I ever hope to hold you?

"This world is filled with uncertainty. As long as the Four Pillars Deities watch over you, chance alone is enough to tear apart any plan I make.

"There's nothing I can do. I can't imprison you, I can't kill you, and I can't hand you over to the Heresy Court. I can't even hold you back. With the power of Sense, you could escape at any time.

"So I reached a conclusion."

The elf raised his hands, extending his index and middle fingers like hooks, and drove them into his own chest along the freshly cut wound.

His voice remained calm. "It has to be now. It has to be here. It has to be me. I will purify you."

Ashe tilted his head slightly. "As far as I understand, purification sounds pretty much the same as healing."

"Purification means expelling the impure, destroying the invader, and annihilating the parasite!" Syrin's emerald eyes grew brighter, almost luminous. "And you, the half-finished Sense lodged within Heath, are exactly what must be purified.

"I once intended to use this Miracle to destroy Heath. But I never dared. Fear held me back. That fear turned me into his puppet and led me to commit countless mistakes."

He looked at Ashe steadily. "Sense, I thank you. You have given me a chance for atonement."

Ashe narrowed his eyes. "But won't this kill me? Once I die, the ritual completes."

"That is why I am using a forbidden Miracle."

Light began to bloom across Syrin's body. His green eyes, blood, black hair, and even his skin shimmered with vivid color. It was as if he had become a living painting.

He continued, "It's not just you. Every arrangement the Four Pillars Deities placed upon you, every mark Heath carved into your body, will be erased completely. Anything that does not belong to this body will be purged."

Ashe drew a slow breath. "Syrin, you are only a Two-Winged Gold sorcerer. Do you really possess that kind of power?"

"I do not, but the Virtual World does."

A faint smile touched his lips. "You attended my class on Ancient Ritual Class a few days ago, didn't you?"

Ashe's pupils dilated. "Forbidden rituals."

"There was something I didn't fully explain back then," Syrin said, speaking as though he were teaching on the spot. "If you forcibly make a Two-Winged sorcerer a sacrifice, the most you can hope for is the full power of a Four-Winged sorcerer's strike. But if a Two-Winged sorcerer willingly offers themselves in the highest level forbidden ritual, the Virtual World acknowledges that resolve. It may even grant power beyond the Four-Winged level!"

His smile deepened. "Under the Blood Moon Lord's protection, the Four Pillars Deities can grant no more than Four-Winged blessings. Fate has favored me. In all of Caimon City, only I can properly eliminate you, the Sense."

Ashe's thoughts raced. He spoke quickly, "There is no need to go this far. Now that I understand you were forced into this, I will not come after you. I am already planning to leave the Blood Moon Kingdom.

"You'd be better off helping me leave. By then, I'd have been gone, and you wouldn't need to sacrifice your life. Everyone wins."

Syrin asked coldly, "Sense, do you truly think you know who I am?"

He sneered, "The president of the Elf Rights Association? A councilor? A criminal mastermind? A professor? A petty opportunist chasing profit? Or a long-lived coward afraid of death?

"I'm already 203 years old. When I was born, the Blood Moon Tribunal hadn't even begun. By the time I reached adulthood, I had taken part in the hunting festivals of the Outer Lands. I've traveled across the Blood Moon Kingdom, witnessed the fall of the old city and the rise of the new ones. Every suffering and every joy in this world, I have seen it all and lived through it myself."

Syrin's eyes brimmed with mockery. "Do you really think I cling to this frail, aging life? If death weren't powerless against Heath's command... if the law didn't forbid suicide... I would have long since entered the Blood Moon Heaven!"

Ashe froze. "Longevity Syndrome? So you secretly hope the Light of Hope will fade?"

Syrin shook his head, smiling faintly. "Longevity Syndrome? No. I do not wish the Light of Hope to fade. There are things far warmer, far more beautiful than it."

Behind him, the immense Blood Moon hung in the sky, its light draping over him like a divine blessing. "I have long wished to perish alongside Heath, but I could never defy him. I have been waiting for this moment. I do not seek revenge. I only wish to prove one thing... that I still love this Blood Moon.

"Ritual Class Miracle, Virtual Chromatic Root Forbidden Technique."

Syrin's hands, still pressed along the wound he had cut, suddenly pulled apart. His chest tore open like a pair of swinging doors.

What met Ashe's eyes was not crimson blood or purplish-blue organs, but color. Brilliant, cascading colors surged from Syrin's chest, flooding over Ashe like a river.

Syrin whispered, "The iron begonia and water lily both speak the language of loyalty."

At that moment, Ashe's thoughts flashed to Varkas. If Syrin wasn't after me willingly, why hate Varkas for failing his assassination attempt?

It wasn't because Varkas had failed. It was because he had wanted to succeed.

Earlier, Syrin had mentioned that the reward for Varkas upon completing his mission was reunion with his own child. By accepting the task, Varkas proved he had not repented and that he still sought to defy the laws of the Blood Moon Kingdom. For Syrin, a faithful devotee, this was unforgivable. Law was divine will; rules were God's desire. Varkas' actions were a desecration of Syrin's faith.

Syrin closed his eyes, softly reciting prayers for himself. "When I depart, when the Flayed Twins strip away my flesh, when the Crimson Handmaid draws my blood, when the Nightshade Priest gathers my bones, when the Blessed Angel guides my soul..."

He expected to see the messengers come for him, but instead, a long-buried memory surfaced.

Young Syrin sat cross-legged on the wooden floor, watching an elf child clumsily crawl toward him, arms outstretched. He laughed, scooped the child into his arms, and wiped away drool with a handkerchief.

"Read with me, Va–r–kas–"

"Varkas?"

"No. I'm not Varkas. I'm Syrin."

"Syrin?"

"Yes. You are Varkas, I am Syrin."

"Syrin!!~"

"One day, we will reunite in the Promised Land."

As the final splash of color poured forth, the elven scholar's body, now empty of its occupant, gently collapsed onto the carpet. Blood-red moonlight washed over the pure white fabric, casting the most pristine shade of crimson.

The vast study was left empty, save for Ashe Heath.

Without a source of mana, the tree that had bound Ashe withered and rotted, collapsing into a fragile, easily broken husk.

Ashe looked down at his hands, eyes wide with confusion. "I... I'm okay?"