The Sorcerer's Handbook

Lys looked at them, her large, beautiful eyes blinking rapidly, shimmering like tiny stars.

Ashe found it strange that two death-row inmates could possess such a strong moral awareness. But on second thought, it made sense. Despite their crimes, even if they had committed robbery, arson, and murder, they had grown up in an orphanage under the full education of the Blood Moon.

That education was built on two core principles, the sanctity of human rights and the promise of racial equality. It was that very emphasis that made the Blood Moon Tribunals so popular. For the audience, the actual death was secondary. The real spectacle was watching a criminal’s rights be stripped away and trampled in front of everyone.

Even if Iger and Harvey rejected the system, the concept of human rights had taken root in them. They simply believed the Blood Moon Kingdom had not yet reached a stage where it could truly uphold those ideals.

Had they grown up in a harsher, darker, more merciless nation, they would never have questioned a system that culled the ”unwanted.” It would have felt natural, like stepping into a foul-smelling latrine and finding flies and cockroaches.

The Gospel Kingdom, however, was different. Its culture stood above that of the Blood Moon, yet it harbored an elimination system even more primitive. It’s no wonder they reacted with disbelief.

Ashe thought, This is bad. Even death-row inmates from the Blood Moon found it unacceptable.

”We may have our disagreements, but I’m glad your moral baseline is higher than I imagined.”

It sounded like praise, but Annan’s tone carried little admiration. It was more like watching people cling to outdated, feudal remnants.

”It’s about time.”

The clock read 23:58. Less than a minute remained before the first ranking would be released.

Everyone tensed, Pankey and Annan included. For Annan, this was her first Woven Festival.

Pankey had experienced it once before, fifty years ago. This would likely be his last.

When the time reached 23:59:59, a glowing bookmark appeared in every Book of Gospel.

At the same moment, the t screen in the city center burst into a dazzling display of rainbow light.

The Woven Festival had begun.

***

At the Caimon University Affiliated Hospital in the Blood Moon Kingdom.

”If I had power so great that the weak could not ignore me...

”If I had wisdom so deep that the foolish could not deceive me...

”If I had health so strong that time itself could not wear me down...

”If I had joy so enduring that suffering could never catch up...”

The doll-like girl leaned close, whispering into the veela’s ear. ”Then... would you gain eternal peace?”

Freya’s expression was blank, her eyes hollow as she murmured, ”If I had power, wisdom, health, joy... then I could gain eternal peace...”

”Yes... peace,” Serena coaxed, her voice soft and soothing. ”No worries, no troubles. The sun will turn for you, the world will revolve around you. The Four Pillars will become your foundation, shaping a world that belongs only to you...”

”Pillars...”

Serena’s eyes gleamed brighter. Her voice dropped to a near whisper. ”So... come into my embrace. I’ll take you to meet the Four Pillars...”

”But I already have my pillars,” Freya said.

Serena froze. ”Ah?”

”And I don’t need peace.”

Freya still looked dazed, but a spark slowly returned to her eyes. ”It’s this unease... this restlessness... that makes me look forward to our next meeting... Huh? What’s happening to me?”

Serena immediately softened her expression. ”Big Sister Freya, you must have been very tired lately. You almost fell asleep just now. Would you like to rest here for a while?”

Freya rubbed her temples. ”No... I actually fell asleep? I’ll recover once I return to the Virtual World. I’ll head back first.”

”Mmhmm. Goodbye!”

Serena watched as Freya left the hospital room. The moment the door closed, her expression darkened.

This was her third failed attempt to convert Freya. Since taking up the title of Everlasting Doom, she had never suffered such humiliation.

In the past, she would have ordered other disciples to kill Freya and simply tried again. But here, the doll-like girl had no puppets to command.

As for her so-called guardian—the Three-Winged Sacred Realm sorcerer, Gerard—even at her peak, Serena could hardly influence him.

And then there was the attending healer, Syflin, who posed yet another problem. She, too, belonged to the Blood Saint lineage.

After a brief interaction, Serena realized that these Blood Saints had no conventional souls. Or rather, their essence was dispersed into their blood. This flaw limited their ability to absorb mana in the Virtual World, yet it came with unique advantages. Beyond granting a longer soul lifespan, Blood Saints without a normal soul were exceptionally resistant to mental enchantments.

If a normal person’s body were like a water tank and the soul the water within, then a Mind Class Miracle was like pouring dye into the water. In contrast, a Blood Saint’s body was like clay with the soul’s water already absorbed. Splashing dye on it could only stain the surface, while the core essence remained untouched.

Forget the Four Pillars Deities. Even the Blood Moon Lord would be hard-pressed to find a single true believer among the Blood Saints. They revered the deities but never followed blindly. This wasn’t rebellion; it was the nature of their flawed souls. Defective souls could not cultivate true, radiant faith.

Ordinarily, nurses cared for patients, but Syflin treated Serena’s case with unusual attention. The nurse she sent was also a Blood Saint, which made Serena want to gag. Help, I’m surrounded by Blood Saints!

Serena’s only potential ally was Freya, the college girl who occasionally checked on her. But Freya was a fortress. Specializing in Mind Class, she was naturally resistant to mental enchantments. More importantly, her psychological state was remarkably stable; it was almost uncanny.

Among everyone Serena had encountered—the passing patients, nurses, Freya’s friends, even Gerard—none were mentally sound. Only the veela and Syflin remained untainted, appearing astonishingly normal.

Serena had tried three times to breach Freya’s mental defenses, but failed each time. It was clear that Freya had fully accepted her life. She neither blamed heaven nor chased the unattainable; she had detailed plans and steadfast hopes for the future. A person like this didn’t need the Four Pillars. She could sustain her own world. Thinking this, Serena felt a twinge of discouragement.

After investigating the Blood Moon Kingdom, Serena had assumed preaching here would be easy. The society was absurdly strange, practically a breeding ground for psychological patients, depression, and antisocial maniacs. She almost wondered if the Blood Moon Lord was some incarnation of the Lord of Wind, Rain, and Snow.

The kingdom exalted human rights and cherished freedom, yet lacked widely accessible prophetic tools like the Book of Gospel. The streets teemed with naive people, ready to be molded into Pillars’ devotees. If the Blood Moon Kingdom was a self-service buffet, the Gospel Kingdom was a straight-up dine-and-dash. Serena would have to dodge Red Hats while rapidly expanding her followers.

Her impression of the Watcher of Doomsday only worsened. She learned that the local Four Pillars Cult had recently collapsed. After Ashe escaped prison, he left for another kingdom. This was the same man who had competed with her for the favor of the Four Pillars Deities.

She could not fathom how the Watcher of Doomsday could fail in such an advantageous environment. Had she been preaching here, the Blood Moon Lord would already be cast as a stand-in for the Four Pillars Deities, subverting the kingdom at its root. Serena still could not understand why the Four Pillars favored the worthless Watcher of Doomsday. Surely they weren’t keeping him for amusement?

Nevertheless, he no longer concerned her.

Serena tilted her head, and a light screen appeared before her eyes. A few days ago, she had been implanted with a Blood Moon Kingdom specialty, the Miracle Chip.

She paid no mind to the shackle at the back of her neck. She had endured far worse. Destined to be entwined in eternal doom, she would remain ever-present.

Squinting, she whispered, ”It’s 10 o’clock... With the two-hour difference between the Blood Moon and Gospel Kingdom, the Woven Festival has already begun over there. In other words, Ashe Heath... your journey toward everlasting doom has begun.”