Sorcerer’s Handbook

A dark red trench coat.

A pitch-black Mask.

An indistinct face.

There was no doubt that this was Ashe Heath. However, over sixty years of life experience constantly warned Banjeet, and even his spirits trembled in fear deep within his soul. Important spirits like “Iceheart,” “Bonechill,” and “Frostbite” were going berserk, attacking his other spirits frantically.

In that critical moment, Banjeet suddenly understood why Helephes and Roger had died so easily—they had no power to resist at all!

A spirit riot was happening!

The only spirits Banjeet could still control were the original spirits he had summoned himself. All the other spirits, those acquired from the Virtual Realm or purchased in reality, lost control. The ones merely shivering and refusing to work were troublesome but tolerable. The real problem was the newer spirits, those not bound to him for long, which had outright rebelled, attacking Banjeet’s original spirits. Banjeet was over sixty years old; his spirit system had rarely been updated, and even the most recent rebellious spirits had been with him for at least three years.

For younger sorcerers like Helephes and Roger, who were still in their prime, their spirits underwent minor updates almost every year and major updates every three years. The ratio of original to external spirits might even be as high as 1:10 or more. Once a spirit riot occurred, their original spirits could be beaten to death by the external spirits!

If an original spirit was killed and all external spirits rioted, they would have no spirits to use. Unless they were physical sorcerers, they would be no different from non-sorcerers!

Using only original spirits could prevent a spirit riot, but that was impossible. During the foundational period of a silver sorcerer, the proportion of original spirits might be higher. However, by the time one reached the golden sorcerer stage, to build a functioning battle system or production system, the sorcerer inevitably needed to use one or two original spirits as the mainstay to construct their system. It’s like comparing a family workshop to a factory: the latter has more management risks, but the increase in productivity vastly outweighs the risks.

Moreover, in fifty years of being a sorcerer, Banjeet had never encountered a spirit riot before, nor had he even heard of it. It made sense though—any sorcerer who encountered a spirit riot likely hadn’t survived to tell the tale.

Was it the spirits, a Miracle, or…?

Am I going to die?

Banjeet found himself surprisingly calm, but when he lifted his head, he saw neither “Ashe” nor a mirror.

What he saw was a rainy night.

A large, outdated truck was parked outside a nostalgic café, the air filled with the acrid smell of tires and asphalt from the harsh braking. A woman in a purple trench coat lay on the ground, her lower body tangled in the truck’s tires.

Banjeet’s mind went blank in an instant. The screech of headlights, the screams of passersby, and the pitiful howls of raindrops shattering on the pavement—all of it was muted from his ears, the world silenced without an echo. He knelt by the woman’s side, opening a blue umbrella, but the rain still fell on her face.

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“The rain is too heavy; the umbrella is useless,” the woman managed to smile. “Don’t cry, Little Banjeet. Though I must say, you look pretty even when you cry… it’s no wonder you’re… cough… number one.”

“Healers will be here soon,” Banjeet’s voice cracked, his vision blurred, and the anguish spread from his limbs to his heart. The mature and composed butler suddenly vanished, leaving only a frail boy behind. “And aren’t you a sorcerer? A Miracle! Use a Miracle! You said, after the Weaving Festival, we would be family. You’re lying! You promised by the Name of Dolan!”

“When I promised by the Name of Dolan, it meant I was committing to deceiving you,” the woman chuckled. “Banjeet, you are already my family, so I want to ask you for a favor…”

“No! I won’t do it! I don’t want to!”

“Lex is only three, and I have no other relatives. I can only ask you to take care of him. That little rascal likes to cling to you, probably sees you as a future wife…”

“Why should I take care of your kid? You do it yourself! Once you’re dead, I’ll feed him to the dogs!”

“That doesn’t matter. Dolan should have perished long ago; it’s a wonder we made it this far,” the woman’s voice grew fainter. “I’m sorry, Banjeet. I really… wanted to give you a home…”

“At least… I don’t want you… to be alone in the rain…”

The air died, the night rain died, and the young Banjeet died as well.

When the rain ceased, Banjeet lifted his head and realized he had arrived on the outskirts of Azura. At that time, Azura had not yet built the city on the second level, and the outskirts were still waiting for development. A young man, donned in a purple helmet, mounted his motorcycle and said, “This is as far as I can take you.” ŗ

“What exactly are you planning to do?” Banjeet asked. “Why can’t you tell me?”

“Rebellion phase, old man. You wouldn’t understand.”

“You’re already in your twenties; isn’t it a bit late for a rebellion phase?” Banjeet sighed. “Now that you’re spreading your wings, you call me an old man. You were so adorable as a child, always following me around. Every time I turned, there you were. Back then, you called me—”

“That was over a decade ago!” the young man interrupted, agitated. “Can’t you look to the future like young people do, instead of clinging to the past!”

Thunder rumbled in the distance, and the sky was thick with clouds. Banjeet remarked, “It’s going to rain. How about—”

“Then I better hit the road,” the young man replied. “By the way, I want to ask you a favor.”

“Hmm?”

“Don’t go taking care of Annan. She’ll do fine in Vamora. I’ve deposited money into your account and transferred some Gospel points to you. You’re not getting any younger, old man. Find a place to settle down, or maybe publish your novels. They might not have literary value, but they could surprisingly sell well…”

“Wait a minute.” Banjeet placed his hand on the young man’s shoulder and pointed his gun directly at his waist. “What are you really planning to do? Go back, or I’ll freeze you and take you back myself.”

“I bet there’s no bullet in your gun.”

Banjeet was stunned, instantly noticing the unusual weight of his gun. By now, the rain was pouring heavily, and through the sound of raindrops, the young man’s voice said, “You shouldn’t have let me play with your gun since childhood. Removing the bullets was all too easy.”

“Lex, even if you don’t care about yourself, think about Annan—”

“It’s for Annan that I’m doing this. If I don’t, she’d eventually walk this same path. By the Name of Dolan, I will end our family’s fate.”

“What about me? Lex, what about me?!” Banjeet gripped his shoulder tightly, his voice filled with desperation. “How many times do the Dolan family intend to hurt me?! I’ve already lost Wenna…”

“That’s why, while I could write letters to others, I had to tell you in person,” the young man said. “I’m sorry, Mom.”

“Don’t ever look back. I’m gone.”

Many days later, on a bright afternoon, Banjeet finally received the news of Lex’s death. The location was Nabistin, and the cause was a traffic accident.

The sunlight died, the tears died, and the middle-aged Banjeet died too.

Just as Banjeet was about to drown in the Family Dream of the Six Heraldry, a little girl nervously approached him. “Uncle Banjeet, I found a way to escape Vamora!”

“Miss, Senhaeser is a safe place, there’s no need for you to leave.”

“No, I am a descendant of the Dolan family. I must restore the glory of our ancestor, Danzel!”

“Miss, your last name is Senhaeser now.”

“That’s precisely why I must leave. Vamora only breeds incompetence; I need to see the world outside!” The little girl spoke with determination. “And Qenna keeps bullying me. By the Name of Dolan, I will get my revenge in the future!”

Banjeet couldn’t help but laugh, but as he looked at Annan, it was as though he was transported back to his own youth and middle age.

How could he possibly refuse an invitation from the Dolan family?

“Although I don’t fully understand why, our family is cursed by the Gospel,” Annan said. “Maybe because of this connection, I was able to log into our ancestors’ accounts and read the future with Empress-level access. From logging in so many times, I’ve seen that I’ll come to an end at 28… I don’t even know what kind of future the Gospel has prepared for me.”

“So that’s it…” Banjeet muttered.

“That’s why I must obtain the Divine Sovereign’s Wish; it’s the only way to break the chains of our bloodline. Just like Grandma helped you win first place at the Weaving Festival, I need to find others from exotic lands to deceive the Weaving Festival. The best time to find them is a few days before the festival, so their records are clean enough…”

“Hmm? The client behind this is the Four Pillars Cult? They’re looking for people from exotic lands too? Cleos asked me just a few days ago if I had any intelligence on the Four Pillars Cult… Four Pillars Cult, Red Hat, exotic land… I suddenly have a brilliant idea.”

“Banjeet, are you ready to cause some chaos with me?” Annan asked with a mischievous grin.

“Of course,” Banjeet replied, glancing out the window at the drizzling rain. “Until I melt into this rain.”

Banjeet opened his eyes to find himself in a strange palace. Before him lay Annan, collapsed in a pool of blood. The Purple Moth was stained a vivid crimson.

He looked up and saw the Empress behind the veil. Memories of the air, night rain, sunlight, and tears all seemed to rush back to him.

He understood completely.

“I am a block of ice, frozen with my love for Dolan.”

“For this last journey, how could I bear to let her walk it alone?”

“I indeed rank second on the Assassination Ranking,” Banjeet said, pulling out his dual ice-curse pistols. “This is my future.”

Just as he charged forward, a man in a dark red trench coat emerged from behind the veil. He parried all the bullets with his long sword and then thrust the sword, forming an ice spike that pierced straight through. Banjeet suddenly recalled his own death—

Those who assassinate the Empress will be pierced through by the coldest ice spike!

“Dad!”

When Lise’s sweet voice echoed from outside, ‘Ashe’ cast a deep, meaningful look at Banjeet, and all visions of the future faded like smoke.

Ashe walked in carrying takeout bags with Lise. “Dinner time, dinner time!”

The faucet was still running, and the mirror reflected no man in a dark red trench coat—only Ashe and Lise passing through the doorway. Lise followed Ashe like a little shadow, and it all seemed like nothing more than a hallucination to Banjeet moments ago.