Sorcerer’s Handbook

Shattered Lake Prison, Treatment Room.

“Are you going to pretend I’m still unconscious as long as I keep quiet?”

Ashe opened his eyes, staring intently at the medic who was fiddling with his face.

The medic had a badge marked “222” on her clothing, clearly the same one from last time.

“If you don’t want a rotten face, close your eyes!”

“Alright.”

After a few more minutes of tinkering, she finally let go of his face. “There, you can get up now. Here, the apple you asked for last time.”

Ashe quickly sat up and touched his face, relieved. Next to the bedside table was a plate of apples cut into rabbit shapes, with toothpicks inserted in them. Ashe picked them up and ate them one by one.

“Not bad, not bad. Two eyes, a nose, a mouth, not a single one missing. I thought I was going to contribute to species diversity for a moment.”

The medic crossed her arms over her chest, trying to look angry, but wearing a Crow Mask and with her voice altered by the mask, Ashe was not frightened in the slightest; he even reached out his hand.

“What for?”

“Didn’t you say that if you did cosmetic surgery on me, I’d have to pay you?”

“Oh.” The medic obediently pulled out her wallet but then realized something: “I did say that yesterday, but you never agreed!”

“So, did you or did you not perform cosmetic surgery on me?”

“Cosmetic surgery is complicated, not as simple as you think—”

“So, you did do it?”

“Just a tiny bit, actually a very small procedure… How much do you want?”

“Give me a Silver Coin.”

The medic clearly breathed a sigh of relief, rifling through her wallet before looking up to ask, “Would a Gold Coin be okay? I don’t have any change.”

Ashe, who had always been fed by the state, had no concept of the world’s economic system and was surprised: Are Silver Coins considered spare change to give to beggars in this world?

One daring to give, and the other daring to take, Ashe accepted the Gold Coin and felt a surge of excitement deep within his consciousness.

As his palm warmed, he seemed to see a human child in pajamas patting his round belly and then lying back to fall into a deep sleep.

He glanced down at the Gold Coin and had the vague feeling it was a little smaller than before. At this rate of consumption, it would probably last a year.

What the heck, feeding a spirit seemed pretty simple.

Although Ashe was someone who would not hesitate to take advantage when he could, there was a reason he asked for money this time.

After all, the Swordswoman had told him that spirits needed to be fed with money, and without any, he had to find a way to scrounge some from those less intellectually endowed.

Ashe contentedly put the Gold Coin into his pouch and casually asked, “So, what kind of cosmetic surgery did you actually do?”

“The forehead skin extension and wrinkle-removal procedure of Drew, to put it simply, it’s like getting rid of frown lines.”

The Medic paused, slowly stood up straight, and looked down at Ashe with her crow-like mask: “I was willing to perform the surgery for you, you should be bowing down in gratitude. You should know that forehead lines can really affect a person’s looks, and out there, a Drew Procedure can cost a lot of money to—”

“What? You actually removed my most handsome and manly forehead lines?”

Ashe was outraged: “Unethical Medic, taking advantage of a patient while they’re asleep to disfigure them, robbing them of their most brilliant and beautiful features! Is there no law and order here? Is there no reason anymore? This is medical malpractice, this is scheming for money and murder!”

The Medic was taken aback by Ashe’s rebuttal, confused for a moment before opening her wallet again.

“How much do you want?”

“Hey, don’t be like that, I’m not that kind of person.” Ashe refused righteously: “I’m not the kind of criminal who would use leverage to force others into servitude.”

The Medic pondered for a moment.

“Just sit here for a while, I’m going to go look up some news reports about you…”

“In any case!” Ashe quickly pulled the Medic back: “I just want to ask you a few questions.”

“Don’t ask my name, don’t try to take off my mask, and don’t touch my skin!”

The Medic was startled, quickly knocking Ashe’s hand away and crossing her arms defensively, which made Ashe finally feel the dignity of being a death row inmate.

But Ashe was also curious: “Why not?”

“It’s the rule of Shattered Lake Prison, Medics are not allowed to have private conversations with prisoners. If discovered, a Medic could be dismissed from their position, and in severe cases, even imprisoned!”

“So you’re saying… we might soon become fellow inmates?”

“If you have questions, ask them quickly and then get out of here.”

The Medic didn’t seem to care much about the rule, and Ashe got the impression she might be looking forward to an unpaid long vacation.

“That Elf I fought to the death with, is he still alive?”

“His injuries were lighter than yours; he left a while ago.”

“Lighter injuries?”

“He just had his throat cut, that’s nothing. Someone healed him in a few minutes. It took me over an hour to help you grow back your flesh.”

The Medic spread her hands, looking like she wasn’t lying.

Ashe looked at his intact thigh and shoulder, wondering if the treatment costs here were calculated by weight.

The more flesh lost, the harder to heal. Throat cuts and headshots are no big deal?

So, does that mean the buttocks are the high-risk organ here? Are buttocks more important than the head?

“Any more questions? Hurry up.”

“I also wanted to ask if there’s a place inside the prison to trade spirits. A solitary man gets lonely, and I was thinking of getting a pet…”

The Medic stared at Ashe intently.

“I’m going to report you for plotting misconduct and attempting to escape from prison.”

“I’m already on death row, even if you report me, what more could you do, give me another sentence?”

“Sure, after you die once, we could revive you and let you die again.”

“What, that’s a thing?!”

“Of course not, that would be a waste of taxpayers’ money, and it’s also inhumane. They stopped that kind of repeated execution a hundred years ago.”

“So you’re saying a hundred years ago, death row inmates might have had to die several times…”

“Anyway, I won’t answer that question,” the Medic said with crossed arms. “You, as a death row inmate, should obediently serve as our medical material. When you’re no longer useful, just quietly go and die.”

“You surprisingly have quite the moral compass…”

“How did you figure that my morals are twisted?”

“Well, you’ve been chatting with a death row inmate like me for so long, I thought you were one of those rebellious kids who get curious about criminals.”

“I, I’m not curious at all. If I were, I’d just look at the news reports.”

As the Medic was packing up the medical equipment, Ashe hopped off the bed, swinging his leg and shoulder around.

The surgery was a success. Aside from the skin on certain parts of the thigh and shoulder being a shade whiter than the surrounding areas, there were no major issues.

“If I said I was innocent, would you believe me?”

“Don’t think you can fool me that easily,” the Medic scoffed. “Ever since the introduction of the memory evidence system, there haven’t been any wrongful convictions. The Sin Hunter’s Hall would have only convicted you after finding the proof of your crimes in your memories—”

“Nope, the Sin Hunter’s Hall didn’t take any memory evidence from my brain.”

“How is that possible—”

“You can check the reports, but the Sin Hunter’s Hall really didn’t take my memories, and I truly am innocent.”

Ashe spoke with conviction. Putting aside the fact that it was Heath, not Ashe, who was the criminal, what was more important was that Ashe didn’t even possess Heath’s memories, so he felt no guilt in saying this.

The Medic looked at Ashe with suspicion.

“You’re not lying to me?”

“Lying to you would cost me overtime pay I’ve never received in my life.”

“If you dare to lie to me, you’re dead for sure. You’d better pray you don’t get injured again because if you do and end up in my hands, I’ll change your Race and gender!”

The Medic’s words had a profound impact on Ashe’s young soul—he had wanted to experience the healthcare industry of a multi-Race world, not realizing that medical technology in this world had advanced to the point where even Race and gender could be changed!

Could he still trust the pretty girls he saw on the streets? Was there any trust left between people?

“But even so, I can’t answer you,” the Medic spread her hands.

“Your arcane energy as death row inmates is restricted. The first step in trading spirits is for the seller to release the spirit using arcane energy, and for the buyer to reactivate the spirit with their own arcane energy. Without the ability to use arcane energy, you can’t release a spirit, nor can you activate one.”

Arcane energy even had a sort of key authentication function. Ashe was starting to believe that arcane energy was indeed a universal energy source; he wouldn’t be surprised if he heard one day that arcane energy had Bluetooth capabilities.

No wonder the Prison doesn’t block their spirits; on the one hand, spirits might be unbindable, and on the other, as long as their arcane energy is restricted, they can’t stir up any trouble.

Ashe was still not giving up: “Is there really no hope? Isn’t there a place like the Deathmatch Society where we can lift the arcane energy restrictions?”

After going through an Exploration in the Virtual Realm, Ashe realized that finding all the spirits he needed in the Virtual Realm was as difficult as finding a needle in a haystack. If he had enough time, it wouldn’t be impossible to find that needle, but time was not on Ashe’s side.

Although Ashe didn’t shy away from risk and was willing to bet on the odds, he didn’t want to do so without a hedge. Just like how companies made their employees work overtime under a 996

1

 schedule and still bought them health insurance – no matter if an employee suddenly passed away, the company was still “winning”. As an outstanding employee of the year, Ashe naturally grasped such an excellent corporate culture and was always prepared with a backup plan.

If he could find a spirit trading platform, even if all Ashe picked up in the Virtual Realm was junk, he would still have the chance to sell it off and recoup some losses.

“Yes, of course, don’t you know?” the Medic replied, catching Ashe off guard, “Why would I know?”

“Because that’s an experience all Death row inmates go through at least once… Oh right, you’ve only been in Prison for a few days and haven’t had the chance yet.”

Ashe immediately understood the implicit meaning of her words.

“The Blood Moon Tribunal?”

Footnote:

1. 996:

   996 is a common work schedule found in many Chinese internet companies, referring to a workday that starts at 9 AM and ends at 9 PM, with employees working 6 days a week.