The Sorcerer's Handbook

At the Shattered Lake Prison’s cafeteria.

Ashe arrived earlier than usual, only to find the place already packed with prisoners eating breakfast. He looked closer and froze. Besides the humans, orcs, and goblins he had expected, there were countless other species in the cafeteria. Some crawled across the floor, some had two horns, and some had four arms.

He even spotted a woman with a striking, barely-covered figure. She had hooved feet and soft, fluffy ears. He had no idea what species she belonged to. The sight sparked a strange curiosity in him, along with an odd line of thought about the world’s wellness industry. He wasn’t exactly a pervert, but...

Just then, the cafeteria lady snapped Ashe out of his thoughts with a simple question, ”Are you ordering food?”

He randomly picked a few dishes to fill his stomach. Then, something at the counter caught his eye. It was a dish labeled ”Limited to one per person,” and it looked especially tempting.

”What’s this, ma’am?”

She explained, ”Signature Seafood Lala Fat. Seasonal delicacy, very limited. If you came any later, you’d have missed it.”

”All right, I’ll take—”

Before he could finish, a booming voice drowned him out. ”Give me five!”

Ashe turned to see a green orc scooping food. The lady immediately dumped all five remaining servings into his massive tray.

Ashe stared. ”Huh? Wait, how can he take five?”

”He’s an orc,” she said plainly.

”And? Why can an orc take five?”

”Orcs have always taken five.”

”But if he takes five, I get none! How is that fair—”

Suddenly, a blinding warning screen flashed before Ashe.

[Warning: You are attempting to make a racially discriminatory statement! Please note: This is prohibited! In the Blood Moon Kingdom, racial equality is the first principle!]

Seeing that, he choked on the rest of his sentence. How does calling an orc a big eater count as racial discrimination!?

Sulking, Ashe carried his tray to find a seat, only to realize the hall was full. Just when he thought he’d found an empty seat, he noticed a blue-skinned creature with an enormous bottom occupying it, along with the seat beside it.

In his old life, he would’ve turned around and looked for another seat. But this was the Shattered Lake Prison. Unless he entered a Death Match, no one here could lay a finger on him. Gathering what little courage he had, he walked up. ”Hey, you’re taking up two seats. Move over.”

The creature paused mid-chew, glanced at him, then lowered his head and kept eating.

”I’m an ogre,” he said.

”Oh? And? Being an ogre doesn’t mean you can take two seats—”

[Warning: You are attempting to make a racially discriminatory statement! Please note: This is prohibited! In the Blood Moon Kingdom, racial equality is the first principle!]

Even pointing out that he was hogging two seats counted as discrimination!?

Ashe wanted to curse, but the chip stopped him, preventing the words from leaving his mouth. Frustrated, he tried to shove his tray at the ogre, only for the chip to freeze him once more.

The chip embedded at the back of every prisoner’s neck made each of them the prison’s most obedient law enforcer. Within the bounds of law and morality, they had complete freedom. But the moment they crossed a line, even if it was just a single word or an improper glance, they would be immobilized by the chip.

A broad-shouldered man tapped Ashe on the shoulder. Lifting his own tray, he gestured for Ashe to take the seat.

”Thanks,” Ashe said.

The man looked familiar. Ashe vaguely recalled seeing him the day before at the Death Match Club.

The man introduced himself, ”Desmond.”

He then shot a disdainful look at the ogre and the goblin at the table before saying, ”I’m heading to the Death Match Club. We shall have a match sometime too.”

At the mention of the Death Match Club, the others at the table distanced themselves slightly. Ashe sat down. Listening to the ogre chew like heavy machinery and watching the goblin crouch on the chair while scattering crumbs everywhere, he felt an overwhelming urge to flee.

This wasn’t the same as a jailbreak, where he tried to break free because he knew that staying here would mean certain death. Here, the urge came from pure disgust at the environment.

The last time he had felt like this was during an internship with a clueless boss. Against a foolish colleague, he could still argue or outsmart them. But against a foolish boss, he had no chance to even protest. All he could do was endure. He could endure hardship if it meant a better future. But an incompetent boss meant endless endurance, with no reward in sight. At that point, it was pointless to work there. Overtime was the same everywhere. It was better to quit and find someone worth working for.

Here, the situation was even worse. The entire environment was idiotic. He felt anger but couldn’t say a word. He wanted to resist, but his body refused to obey.

Ashe suddenly realized something. He had thought the Shattered Lake Prison treated its prisoners well. In truth, cramming a group of hated death row inmates together, forbidding any misconduct, and forcing them to fight to generate value for the Blood Moon Tribunal was pure psychological torture.

First, extinguish their anger and crush their hope. Then break their courage and snap their spines. After that, plant despair, frustration, regret, and fear until their bodies and minds deteriorate, driving them to madness. All so they could step onto the Blood Moon Tribunal as perfect victims, ready for the tragic end they deserved.

It’s no wonder so many of them flocked to the Death Match Club. It’s the only place inmates can vent, and the only scrap of fresh air in this prison. In essence, it’s a garbage disposal.

The irony was that Ashe, unable to tolerate the environment, was the trash, while these relaxed, self-contented death row inmates were the model prisoners.

He finished his meal as quickly as possible and headed to the only place left for garbage.

The Death Match Club wasn’t holding any duels at the moment. The room was bright, and across the hall, Ashe spotted Ronna lying in his boyfriend’s arms. For some reason, he felt like his boyfriend had slimmed down a bit since yesterday. No way! Is Ronna really the type to drain his boyfriend dry!?[1]

Ronna raised a hand in greeting. ”Ashe, you’re here early. Just finished breakfast? Want to take a walk to work some of it off? Varkas hasn’t arrived yet.”

Ashe nodded and casually found a seat, only for someone to immediately sit next to him. The man said, ”Syrin Dorr.”

”Who?” Ashe asked, glancing at the person beside him warily.

It was Iger, his previous opponent from the Death Match Club. Iger raised an eyebrow. ”No need to be nervous. I’m not here to invite you to a Death Match. I don’t fight unless I’m certain of the outcome, and I won’t waste time on trivial matters like pride. If I lose, I accept it wholeheartedly.”

”You’re the kind of person who plays with tactics. I don’t trust you.”

”Then let’s skip the pointless preamble and go straight to the oldest interaction among humans.”

”Mating?” Ashe said flatly.

”Trade. Trade!” Iger enunciated so sharply that he practically bit the words out. ”You answer one of my questions, and I’ll answer one of yours.”

”I don’t have any questions for you.”

”Really? Don’t you want to know why that elf Varkas willingly challenged you?”

Elf?

Ashe was a little surprised internally, but he kept his expression neutral. ”Fine, I’m a bit curious, but how do I know you won’t lie?”

”How do I know you won’t lie to me either?” Iger asked, smiling. ”We’re taking the same risk.”

”So what’s the point of this trade?”

”Because I’m confident I can tell when you lie. Even if you do, I can still piece together the truth, and so can you.”

Ashe shook his head. ”I can’t. I’m not that cultured. You’d fool me without even trying.”

Perhaps it was Iger’s first time meeting someone so self-aware. He seemed momentarily at a loss for words. After a pause, he sighed. ”Fine. I’ll just give you the information. You decide if it’s valuable, and if it is, you answer my question. Fair enough?”

He sounded as if he’d been wronged, like someone reluctantly agreeing to a spicy hotpot. Ashe thought about it and felt that he probably wouldn’t suffer any loss and there was probably nothing he could be taken advantage of, so he nodded.

”Varkas Uhl used to be a researcher at Caimon General University. He was imprisoned for stealing important patents, raising children without authorization, and murdering colleagues. Since he’s an elf, he’s the only inmate who didn’t attend a Blood Moon Tribunal in the month he entered prison. Five years in, and he hasn’t participated once.”

Ashe let out a soft ”Ah.” He remembered Ronna saying that every death row inmate had to attend their first Blood Moon Tribunal. In prison, it was called ”going through the motions,” a prerequisite for creating value in Shattered Lake Prison. Skip it, and your only fate was to become fertilizer.

”How did he avoid the Blood Moon Tribunal? Because he’s an elf? Isn’t racial equality the first principle in the Blood Moon Kingdom?”

”Racial equality is indeed the first principle,” Iger said with a smile that was impossible to read. ”But some races are more equal than others.”

Indeed, equality was like the horizon that was always in sight, yet forever out of reach. Ashe didn’t dwell on it. He had only just arrived and knew little about how racial equality was enforced here.

”Then why did he challenge me?”

”That comes down to his crimes. Stealing patents and murdering colleagues are serious, but not enough[2] to land him in Shattered Lake Prison. The real crime that angered the authorities was raising children on his own.”

Ashe froze. ”What?”

”Why is raising children on your own the most serious crime?”

”Because it’s forbidden. No one can raise children privately.”

Ashe grew more confused. ”No one raises children... then how did we grow up?”

”We were all raised in orphanages,” Iger said, frowning. ”Socialized upbringing is the Blood Moon Kingdom’s national policy. Are you trying to pick a fight with this question?”

Socialized upbringing? Ashe tried to grasp the unfamiliar term. ”You mean... we were all raised by the state, every single one of us...”

He wanted to say orphaned, but couldn’t bring himself to utter the word. It wasn’t the chip in his neck this time, but the lack of vocabulary. Ashe searched through Heath’s mind for context and realized that in his mother tongue, words like father or mother didn’t exist. The only relevant term was guardian.

This was proof enough. The concept of ”parents” didn’t exist. In the Blood Moon Kingdom, these roles were completely absent from society.

Wait... State-raised orphans, combined with neck chips controlling everyone’s words and actions... Ashe felt a sudden twinge of fear for the world beyond the prison walls. What kind of world have I traveled into?

1. The phrase drain a person dry is an idiom that means to use up all of someone’s energy or resources. ☜

2. Seriously? Killing, not enough? ☜