The Sorcerer's Handbook

”Coming to prison feels as comfortable as coming home,” Ashe said, patting the iron bars with a sigh. ”Though the environment here is way worse than Shattered Lake.”

Iger countered, ”This is just a holding cell, of course, it’s not great. I’ve seen documentaries. The prisons in Gospel are even more luxurious than those in Blood Moon, and they don’t even have Tribunals. You have plenty to look forward to.”

”That’s good enough for me. As long as the prison meals include Lala Fat, I’m satisfied.”

Listening to their aimless chatter, Annan raised an eyebrow. ”You all don’t seem the least bit worried about your situation.”

Ashe spread his hands. ”Well, who would worry when it turns out the Young Lady has a Sacred Realm sorcerer for a mother?”

Iger added, ”Exactly. Based on my understanding of parents, even if your mother wouldn’t give her life for you, she would at least fulfill a few simple requests. Sheltering us falls well within a parent’s basic responsibilities.”

Lys spoke up out of the blue, ”That’s hard to say.”

Everyone turned toward her. She sat with her head lowered, staring into a small mirror while her legs swung idly. ”Not all parents love their children...”

The group’s gaze shifted to Ashe, their eyes now carrying a hint of reproach.

Ashe bared his teeth in response. This was his first time being a father, and Lys hadn’t faced any life-or-death danger these past few days. To him, that already proved he’d done his best. He would never forget the few days his own father had taken care of him when he was young; it had been more thrilling than a roller coaster. There was even a photo in the family album of him playing on the parallel bars. Ignoring the fact that he hadn’t been taller than a fire hose at the time, there wasn’t anything particularly wrong with it.

Annan spoke in a tone that sounded almost clinical. ”If you were to classify the world’s parents, ninety-nine percent have feelings for their children, while the remaining one percent don’t. Quinna belongs to a third category. She wishes her child had no feelings at all and would just act as her puppet. If you expect her to shelter you for my sake, you might as well expect Pankeye to arouse her desire.”

Everyone turned to the youthful butler. In return, Pankey sighed. ”Miss, I know seeing Lady Quinna put you in a bad mood, but insulting me is one thing. You shouldn’t insult your mother.”

”I’m not insulting her,” Annan said. ”Isn’t my father basically the same type of man as you, anyway?”

Pankey replied, ”Then you shouldn’t insult me, either.”

Ashe asked curiously, ”Your mother is an elf, but you’re human?”

Annan said calmly, ”Did you forget? Since the reproductive barriers were broken, children of mixed races are born as one or the other at random. The Dolan human genes simply won out over the Senheiser elf bloodline. Quinna would love nothing more than to stretch my ears just to prove the Senheiser lineage is superior.”

”You and your mother don’t get along?” Iger asked.

Annan sneered. ”Our relationship isn’t even a matter of good or bad. We haven’t even reached that stage. It just lingers somewhere between existent and nonexistent. I don’t want to recount my insignificant childhood, nor feed your sympathy with blood and tears. Just know this. That woman has no concept of family. The only thing she cares about is the Senheiser name. I’d rather rely on my aunt than have anything to do with her. In fact, that was our first meeting in nearly ten years... and as you saw, Quinna was quite ’warm’ toward me.”

She pointed at her swollen face. The spell restraints suppressed her power, leaving her unable to heal the injury her mother’s high-heeled boot had just inflicted.

Ashe and Iger exchanged a glance, the same thought reflected in both their eyes.

Annan sniffed lightly. ”I can smell you two badmouthing me from here.”

Ashe shot back, ”Did you modify your nose like Harvey did? He’s sensitive to corpses. Can you not tolerate people’s inner thoughts?”

The Purple Moth sneered. ”You’re probably thinking that Quinna actually cares about me, aren’t you? That she’s just bad at expressing her feelings, and that this is all just one big misunderstanding... right?”

Iger and Ashe blinked, caught off guard by her accuracy.

”I stopped comforting myself with those boring fantasies when I was six. Back then, I even imagined I might be some reincarnated god, that Quinna treated me that way to sharpen me, to nurture my hatred. I thought that in the end, she would become a sacrifice, guiding me to kill her with my own hands so I could transcend mortal limits and ascend the Gospel ladder... I have to admit that kind of power fantasy brought my younger self a bit of comfort.”

She closed her eyes, her voice growing cold. ”I suggest you don’t place any expectations on that woman. Consider that a piece of advice born from experience.”

No one had the right to comment on such a personal matter. Only Iger wore a look of ”as expected.” As a Blood Moon adherent who disdained the family system, he found Annan’s fractured relationship with her mother perfectly logical.

”Cough! Cough!”

Harvey had been lying motionless on the iron cot when he suddenly bolted upright, coughing violently. He clutched his head, his expression a strange blur of exhilaration and exhaustion.

He picked at a hangnail and asked, ”Don’t you feel it?”

”Feel what?”

The necromancer tapped his temple. ”My dopamine secretion is out of control... the receptors in my brain are being constantly overstimulated. If this continues, my threshold will rise to a dangerously high level. Even when I smoke or eat candy, I have to be careful; once that threshold spikes, it never comes back down.”

Harvey held up his hand. ”Look, I can tear at my hangnails and feel nothing. In fact, it actually feels good. Pain has been completely converted into pleasure. Purple Moth, you don’t feel the pain in your face anymore, either, do you? It just feels... cool. Has this city gone mad?”

Even the necromancer found the city absurd.

Yet Ashe and the others felt nothing unusual. If anything, the strange part was how relaxed they remained despite being thrown into a holding cell. Ashe found it difficult to feel any real fear. He couldn’t tell if it was inner confidence or if the mist was simply too comforting.

Annan said, ”I didn’t expect the first one to notice the problem would be a nicotine addict. But it makes sense. Someone like you, used to numbing yourself with pheromones, would be more sensitive to hormonal shifts than an ordinary person. If this is like boiling a frog in warm water, then you, Mr. Harvey, have been scalded before. You’re more sensitive to the temperature.”

She looked toward the window. ”But as I mentioned, Vanmura is exactly this kind of city. The Beauty Mist blankets every corner, keeping everyone in a constant state of cheerfulness. That is the city’s very foundation.”

Pankey explained, ”Azura is a new city, developed only in the last two centuries. It utilizes the latest technological achievements of the Gospel Kingdom; it is arguably the most advanced city in the empire. Other first-tier cities may lag behind technologically, but they retain cultural foundations built over millennia.”

The necromancer laughed. ”Foundation? Do you have any idea what happens when a threshold keeps rising? Endless pleasure only leads to a brutal end.”

”What happens?” Lys asked curiously.

Harvey explained, ”Imagine a person is a machine, and happiness is the start button. A normal person might press it four to five times a day. Those small moments keep the machine running. But in this city, the mist is hammering that button over and over. It increases efficiency for a while, but machines wear down and buttons rust. When the threshold rises, it means the button has rusted, and it becomes harder to press. And when the threshold rises to a certain point—”

Iger interrupted, ”The button won’t press at all, and the machine stops completely.”

Harvey frowned. ”From what I can feel, the people in this city should mentally break down within a year, rusting into non-functional toys. Yet the people outside still seem to live and work normally...”

Annan responded, ”Your reasoning is mostly correct. But sorcerers are, by nature, miracle-makers who defy common sense. The button may rust, but you can always apply lubricant.”

Ashe asked, ”What kind of lubricant?”

The young lady touched her swollen face, her voice dripping with disdain. ”Fighting poison with poison. A pleasure even more extreme than the Beauty Mist or any drug, love and family.”