The Sorcerer's Handbook

Buzz!

A sports car crushed scattered patches of sunlight and shredded through the shade of treetops as it tore wildly down the highway. The engine howled like a caged beast, forming a jarring contrast to the graceful, silent floating cars gliding past.

”Are we really not going to attract attention like this?” Iger asked from the passenger seat, worry etched into his features. ”This feels like a homeless man going through withdrawal, suddenly appearing on a pristine university campus. Do we really have to take the main road?”

Annan shrugged behind the wheel. ”Taking side roads makes it easier to get spotted. No one takes those unless they have something to hide. Besides, driving on non-motor lanes already breaks traffic laws. The Duchess and the Red Hats would only need to check who’s ’playing in the mud’ with a car to find us.

”Driving this antique draws attention, but not in the way you think of. In an era where automated floating cars dominate the streets, a retro car that requires manual

driving naturally has its admirers. Nothing screams refined taste like nostalgia.”

Annan added with a faint smile. ”The Uzi Lamp-Extinguisher Dragon is a custom model my father modified. The dragon patterns on the exterior even light up at night. Anyone who sees it will just assume the passengers are all under twenty.”

Iger raised a brow. ”If your father modified it, why was it in your grandfather’s tomb?”

”Because Grandfather hated Father’s obsession with sports cars, and Father’s favorite thing was... well, to piss on his enemies’ corpses. Not literally, but you get what I mean.”

Ashe gritted his teeth from the back seat, ”Mind if I ask... instead of talking about style, can you think about passenger comfort for once? We’re getting crushed back here!”

At six in the morning, the group from the Funeral Agency had left the tomb right on schedule. This time, they weren’t on bicycles; the tomb had conveniently provided a Uzi Lamp-Extinguisher Dragon custom model sports car as their getaway vehicle.

As far as escape cars went, they couldn’t be too picky. Decades had passed, and the fact that it still ran at all deserved a moment of silence for the manufacturer, a company that had long since gone bankrupt during the rise of automated vehicles.

However, it seemed the ancestors of the Dolan family had far too much confidence in their dwindling bloodline. The car was a standard four-seater with no room for extra passengers.

There were six of them in total. The young lady, no matter how approachable she tried to be, was not about to squeeze in with the workers, so she claimed the driver’s seat. The passenger seat was decided by the roll of a die. Iger, who insisted he ”never cheated,” had wiped the floor with everyone else.

Lys should have sat with Aunt Perskin, but with her eyelids drooping, she insisted on clinging to Ashe while she slept. Left with no choice, Ashe held Lys in his arms and squeezed into the back seat alongside the necromancer and the young butler.

Too bad there was no scent of fried chive pockets in the air.[1] Otherwise, Ashe might’ve felt like he’d returned to those old mornings, rushing onto the subway at eight.

Iger spoke up, ”Just bear with it. Your butt is the biggest, yet you complain the most. The other two haven’t even said a word.”

”Pankey, can your suitcase fit a person? I suggest stuffing the loudest mouth inside. It might even purify the air...”

Compared to Ashe, who wouldn’t stop complaining, Harvey showed a much greater appreciation for life. ”Nice weather today.”

Pankey nodded. ”Mmhmm. A good day for a thorough cleaning.”

Harvey added, ”Can we stop around noon? I want Alice to come out and get some sunlight.”

After a brief silence, Annan spoke. ”There’s something I wanted to ask you last night, Mr. Harvey. I just wasn’t sure if I should.”

Despite being on the run, Harvey seemed to be in a good mood. ”Go ahead. As long as you’re not asking what I do in the shower.”

Setting everything aside, Ashe felt Harvey had a real talent for writing novels. How could he be so damn good at hooking people with a single line?

Annan said carefully, ”The... partner you controlled yesterday... That was the corpse I took you to buy, wasn’t it?”

”Yes. Alice is the gift you gave me.”

Annan’s expression turned extremely complicated. ”But I remember... the corpse I bought... was male.”

The moment those words fell, Ashe ignored the cramped space and immediately squeezed toward Pankey, trying to draw a clear boundary between himself and Harvey.

Harvey nodded. ”It was male at first. But after listening to Ashe’s suggestion, I made some adjustments. As a necromancer, knowing a bit of biological modification is perfectly reasonable. And thus, Alice was born.”

Ashe froze. ”What suggestion did I give you?”

”Functionality and sexual function,” Harvey stated plainly.

”I realized that I used to focus too much on a partner’s raw utility while overlooking the psychological potential of a corpse’s physical traits.

”For example, standard corpses tend to look grotesque with their pale skin, decaying flesh, and bloated frames. On a sensory level, that creates a certain intimidation and pressure, but that kind of deterrence only works on ordinary people. No proper sorcerer would be truly rattled by it.”

He glanced sideways at Ashe. ”Take you, for instance. Are you afraid of corpses?”

Ashe’s voice jumped an octave. ”Of course not! I’m not even afraid of the living, why would I fear the dead?”

Annan, Pankey, and Iger made a silent, mental note. Ashe is afraid of terrifying corpses.

Harvey went on, ”But after listening to what you said, Ashe, I felt deeply inspired and decided to take a different path. I’ll dress the corpses in a way that stimulates desire. The allure of the corpse will stand in sharp contrast to its actual combat strength, and then...”

Ashe caught on. ”It’ll stir even deeper fear in the enemy?”

Harvey’s voice rose. ”No!”

Sunlight caught his pupils, making it impossible to tell whether the glow came from fanaticism or brilliance. ”They’ll be captivated by this beauty. They’ll realize that necromancy is the one sorcery class capable of bringing happiness to everyone. Then they’ll become loyal followers of Haagen Dazz[2]—”

Ashe blinked. ”Who’s Haagen Dazz?”

”There is a legend passed down among necromancers about a great being said to grant souls to the dead,” Harvey looked at Ashe. ”Interested in learning about the benevolent and malevolent Haagen Dazz? We necromancers aren’t a religion, but we’re certainly more exciting than one.”

Iger explained calmly, ”Long-established sorcery classes tend to invent these kinds of great beings. They usually stem from the embellished tales of a legendary sorcerer or the faded glory of a lost deity. For example, in the Mind Class, we have Madara[3], the supposed aggregation of all sentient consciousness. They say he can make the world dance to his will with the vertical eye on his forehead[4]. Still, most Mind Class sorcerers wouldn’t stoop to worshiping a mere cultural symbol.”

The necromancer paid no mind to the Fraudster’s jab. During the prison break, arguments like these were common; everyone had clashed with Iger at some point. After all, the only people who ever received his warm, attentive care were his customers. If Iger was burning ice, then Harvey was freezing fire. He didn’t enjoy hurting others, yet he was perfectly willing to turn them into flames just like himself.

Ashe asked, ”So, what you’re saying is that you want to use a beautiful girl to spark interest in necromancy?”

”Exactly. Isn’t that what you taught me?”

That wasn’t quite what Ashe had meant at the time, but Harvey’s logic, that beautiful girls attracted attention, aligned suspiciously well with mobile game marketing strategies.

”But why turn a man into a beautiful girl?” Annan asked, voicing a politically correct objection. ”Wouldn’t a handsome boy work just as well?”

”I personally believe a woman portrayed by a man has more charm.”

”Why?”

”Because I have a living example right beside me.”

Everyone turned to look at Iger in the passenger seat. The fraudster hadn’t expected the topic to swing his way, but he remained completely unfazed. ”At least you’ve got some taste.”

When the target refused to see it as an insult, the insult lost all its meaning.

1. Fried chive pockets are a common street breakfast in parts of China, especially in the north, often eaten on the go before rushing to work or school. ☜

2. How the heck did the author go from necromancy to an ice-cream brand?? ☜

3. Oh, so now we have one of the strongest freaking ninjas in the world?? ☜

4. What’s this? Infinite Tsukuyomi? ☜