The Sorcerer's Handbook

As Ashe stepped out of the game pod, his vision blurred. He wiped his eyes and only then realized he had been crying.

What a miserable day. He had actually been scolded to tears.

He might possess a legendary, high-level account, but he had zero experience commanding high-difficulty raids. In fact, he had never even cleared one. Hence, he decided to observe how others led their teams first. Then, with a fully maxed character, best-in-slot gear, and every achievement unlocked, he slipped into an Extreme raid group with ease.

In Epic, high-end content was divided into three tiers, namely Extreme, Fantasy, and Ultimate. Extreme was the ceiling for dedicated ordinary players. Fantasy required seasoned professionals with years of immersion. As for Ultimate, only true sorcerers possessed the qualifications to clear it.

Ashe figured that even if he couldn’t tackle Ultimate right away, an Extreme raid shouldn’t pose a problem. He had studied the guides, confirmed his role, and planned to clear the content within a day before leading his own team into a fresh Fantasy run.

What followed instead was a full day of exposure to the foul-mouthed culture of the Gospel Kingdom.

When it came to insults, the Gospel and Blood Moon Kingdoms each had distinct flavors. The Blood Moon people had no concept of family, so they targeted race, gender, and education, layering on precise and relentless discrimination. The Gospel Kingdom, however, was a society of intact families. Consequently, their insults centered on maternal relatives, escalating into curses that extended to every ancestor and descendant they could possibly trace.

Interestingly, because the Gospel held a near-religious status in society, it often became the subject of the vitriol itself. Ashe felt nothing, but Gospel natives could be driven to a breakdown by lines like, ”The Gospel has judged you as gutter-mud for life,” or ”The Gospel assigned you an ugly partner.”

In short, Ashe not only failed to clear the Extreme raid, but he also took a physical beating from the boss and a verbal one from his teammates.

The virtual games in the Gospel Kingdom were genuinely fun, but they were also brutally difficult. In a consciousness-diving game, players had to personally execute every tactical action. They had to dodge damage zones, whip their heads around to avoid gaze attacks, and stand in precise formations to share damage mechanics, all while maintaining their offensive output.

In the old era of screen-based games, these actions were merely moderate in difficulty. Everything could be handled with a mouse and keyboard. In the new era, however, the difficulty skyrocketed. Ashe found himself either focusing on dealing damage and ignoring the boss’s state or focusing on mechanics and losing track of his teammates.

Every second demanded total bodily coordination. If his foot caught on uneven ground and he stumbled, it triggered a total wipe. To make matters worse, the first-person perspective limited his field of vision. He couldn’t gather complete information and frequently collided with teammates, knocking both sides flat. By that afternoon, Ashe had perfected the role of the clumsy, half-blind liability.

Yet, amidst this near self-torture, Ashe noticed something. The enemies in these raids felt strikingly similar to Knowledge Creatures from the Virtual World.

More precisely, their skills, traits, and combat styles were mirror images. For instance, the Sovereign Blade-Carp he fought that afternoon was clearly an enhanced version of a Fish-Slaying Dragon. Ashe’s group could already handle a Fish-Slaying Dragon, but after experiencing the Extreme version in-game, he realized their strategy in the Virtual World could be significantly optimized.

Beyond that, while Knowledge Creatures varied endlessly, the team strategies developed in Epic applied to almost every situation, including spreading out, stacking up, turning away, taunting, and baiting. Compared to the refined, systematic teamwork in the game, Ashe’s three-person group in the Virtual World resembled a primitive hunting party. Their coordination relied entirely on vibes, and their communication rarely went beyond ”I’ll handle it” or ”Don’t move.”

Ashe realized that high-difficulty raids could drastically improve his command abilities. But a question remained. Why did everyone else play such punishing content? They couldn’t even form teams in the Virtual World.

Then it clicked.

It was precisely because they were forced to be solo in the Virtual World. After being beaten senseless by Knowledge Creatures alone, they came back to the real world to reclaim their pride. You step on my head there, so I’ll bring seven brothers here to stomp on your grave!

The reason enemy designs drew from the Virtual World was partly convenience, but also because such enemies required no buildup to ignite a sorcerer’s rage. The principle was much like the fly patterns etched into urinals; they existed solely to provide a convenient outlet for a man’s instinctive frustrations.

Of course, Epic wasn’t a formal educational tool. A player’s real combat strength was far below their in-game avatar, and while raid strategies relied on coordination, the Virtual World forced everyone to fight alone. In the end, only someone like Ashe, capable of bending the rules and forming a team, could gain meaningful, cheat-level experience from these raids.

Still, the game had cost him a fair few tears. He had only been a bit unskilled, causing a dozen or so wipes and failing to clear even the first phase of the Sovereign Blade-Carp all afternoon. Did they really have to be that vicious?

Checking the time, Ashe prepared to meet Annan.

He was now juggling the Virtual World, reality, and the game all at once. His soul remained damaged, so the Virtual World was on hold until the Blazing Soul Essence Tonic healed him. His journey as a raid commander had just begun, and in the real world, he still had to satisfy Lady Annan’s demands, whatever task she had for him this time.

Ashe felt as if he had prematurely entered the life of a burnt-out middle-aged office worker. His personal life was a mess, tangled up with a complicated lover. He faced exploitation from a younger superior, and even his entertainment offered no real relief. Still...

Has Annan said where we should meet?

Ashe opened the Book of Gospel. ”Where is Annan?”

[Your Excellency, according to the rules, the Gospel cannot directly disclose an individual’s location. However, you may inquire as to the location of a target’s belongings.]

Ashe pivoted. ”Where are Annan’s clothes?”

[Where are Annan’s clothes?]

Cost: 1 Gospel Point

Response: In the wardrobe of Room 2803, 28th Floor... Your Excellency, perhaps you should ask about a more personal item.

Ashe tried again. ”Where is the underwear Annan is wearing right now?”

[Where is the underwear Annan is wearing right now?]

Cost: 1 Gospel Point

Response: The target you specified does not exist... Your Excellency, the Gospel has an immature suggestion. Could you perhaps ask about a personal item you have actually seen?

Does not exist?

Ashe snapped. ”You’re a total scam! I’ve gained zero information, yet you’ve already charged me two points!”

[Deepest apologies, Your Excellency. The Gospel will strive to improve.]

In the end, Ashe asked for the location of Annan’s amethyst earrings. This time, the Book finally cooperated. They were located in Suite 24 on the southern end of the restaurant level. The Book even thoughtfully provided the shortest route.

Having gotten his answer, went down to the restaurant level. Just as he turned toward Suite 24, he spotted Iger slipping into the shadows of the corridor. After a brief hesitation, Ashe melded into the darkness beside him. Iger glanced his way but remained silent.

Soon, the door to Suite 24 clicked open, and a maid stepped out.

While cleaning robots were available in Vanmura, the city relied heavily on human staff, in sharp contrast to the hyper-automated Azura. The decline of service staff elsewhere wasn’t just about cost, but about dignity. Professions like chefs, stylists, or coaches offered a sense of personal value. Clearing tables and washing dishes, however, was grueling physical labor done purely for survival.

True progress should free people from the struggle for survival, allowing them to pursue a meaningful life. Jobs devoid of that value were destined to vanish. Replacing a maid with an automated system and delivery robots would have been a simple way to cut costs, yet the Senheisers still offered these positions to its people, and they, in turn, took them without complaint.

Between the Senheisers’ need to provide roles for its people and a populace whose long exposure to the Beauty Mist had left them content and devoid of ambition, a family ecosystem had formed which felt simultaneously futuristic and archaic.

As the maid passed their hiding spot, Iger suddenly lunged, pulling her into an empty room. Ashe, shocked by the bluntness of the move, followed and shut the door behind them.

Ashe wondered. Shouldn’t a fraudster use mental suggestion or a hypnotic gaze?Why resort to brute force? If that’s all it takes, even I could do it.

He quickly realized he was wrong. The maid panicked for a second, but the moment she saw the fraudster’s face, a visage so flawless it could charm a Moonshadow, her face flushed. She lowered her head, asking softly, ”What... what do you need?”

Ashe waved a hand in front of her. Why ”you” and not ”you two”? Am I invisible?

The maid looked to be in her early twenties, likely of mixed elven heritage given her slightly pointed ears. She had delicate features and a pert backside. Seeing the undisguised longing in her eyes as she looked at Iger, Ashe realized he had made a mistake. The sight of the mindless, adoring crowds on the street had skewed his perception. He had subconsciously begun treating the people of Vanmura as neutral NPCs.

In reality, aside from their constant cheer and boundless energy, they were human. They admired beauty, and when their teammates dragged them down in games, they likely cursed just as loudly as anyone else. The cultural divide had simply blinded Ashe to their humanity.

”You know who we are, don’t you?” Iger asked, his voice silky.

The maid nodded. ”The leader told us about you. You are Miss Annan’s servants... and guests of the Senheisers.”

Iger countered, ”Not quite. We are not guests. We are members of the family.”

Both the maid and Ashe froze. Ashe kept his shock hidden behind his black mask and cloak.

The maid shook her head. ”Impossible. I know every face in the Senheisers.”

Iger whispered, ”The leader sent us to infiltrate Annan’s inner circle and steal the Dolan family secrets. Annan is cautious. She would never trust a Senheiser local. But the leader doesn’t trust outsiders either. To solve this, she had us undergo a demon-extraction ritual, temporarily severing our ties to the clan and Vanmura. After layers of disguise, we finally won Annan’s trust.”

The maid remained skeptical. ”You are the leader’s confidants? But... she doesn’t trust men.”

Iger let out a long, weary sigh. ”You’re right. She doesn’t. That is why... I used to be her close confidante.”

The air in the room went still. A complex mix of pity and awe flickered in the maid’s eyes. ”Then you...”

Iger tucked a strand of hair behind his ear, his expression turning sorrowful and haunting. ”For the future of Senheiser, such a sacrifice is nothing. It’s just... it has been so long since anyone has truly cared for me.”

The sheer emotional weight of the fraudster’s performance was overwhelming. The maid was sold. She turned her gaze to Ashe, her suspicion returning. ”And you?”

Ashe glanced at Iger. Iger offered a subtle, encouraging blink.

Ashe had no clue where Iger was taking this, but he had to play his part. ”I, too, am someone the leader can trust.”

The maid frowned suspiciously. ”But the leader doesn’t trust men. Were you also... her close confidante?”

Ashe realized immediately that he couldn’t recycle Iger’s excuse. Iger could pull it off with his ethereal looks and seasoned acting, but Ashe possessed neither. He needed an identity that suited him.

”In theory,” Ashe said, his voice grave, ”Annan can be considered my daughter.”