Sorcerer’s Handbook

Chapter 93: Gerard Wessminster

“Well, well, if it isn’t tax bureau executive secretary Edmund! I told you that you would end up joining me here eventually. Brothers, this guy has a grudge against me. Don’t fight me for him. I’ll let you have the last 5 deathmatches, but the first 5 are mine to enjoy. No objections, right?”

“Tsk tsk, one big shot after another. So Archbishop Andrei’s Everlife Elixir club has been wiped out? The mayor is ruthless, leaving not even one alive, huh.”

“Caimon City has become Fernand Snow’s kingdom now.”

In the central hall, the death row inmates clustered around, greeting the newcomer cheerfully. In contrast to the gloating seniors, the rookies were much calmer, going up one by one to press their fingers on the copper register as instructed by the guards.

“Strange, I didn’t get such a grand welcome when I first arrived,” mused Ashe Heath, who was observing from the side.

“That’s because you’re special,” replied the necromancer Archibald Harvey, who had an uncanny habit of picking up Ashe’s threads of conversation as if they were old friends. “As one of the Four Pillars of Evil, you’re the first such cult leader in a hundred years. The prison didn’t dare let you near the other inmates before fully modifying your permissions.”

“Modifying permissions?”

“You saw that Sinners’ Registry right? We have to press our fingers on it when we enter. That transfers jurisdiction over our permissions to the prison. They can then fully control our various permissions, like attacking, arcane energy output, etc.”

“Huh?” Ashe was surprised. “Weren’t those permissions already restricted when we were arrested?”

“Yes, but previously the Inquisition controlled our administrative permissions. They have to be transferred to the prison upon incarceration.”

“Why go through all that trouble?”

“It’s necessary. Firstly, if the Inquisition still held our permissions, they could remotely lift our restrictions. If something happened here, it would be bad for the prison, not the Inquisition. So both sides want the transfer of jurisdiction.

“Secondly, the Inquisition’s processors are too far from the prison. Over time, the restrictions could degrade.”

Ashe was taken aback. “Restrictions can degrade over time?”

“All shackles will eventually face the day of rusting away,” Harvey philosophized. Then suddenly he walked out of the crowd and grabbed a lizardman by the collar. “Habren, where’s Nalbel?”

The lizardman’s scales paled at the sight of Harvey. “Archibald, how can you remember me? You shouldn’t be able to remember me!”

It took Ashe a moment to recall that Harvey’s full name was Archibald Harvey. He had only remembered the last name.

But what did the lizardman mean by “shouldn’t be able to remember”?

“I’m a necromancer. Adding a backdoor to a soul is easy for me… Memories only fade, they never vanish completely.” Harvey glared at the lizardman. “Where is Nalbel!? Why isn’t she here with you!?”

At first Ashe thought Harvey had a grudge against this Nalbel person – this was a prison for the condemned after all. Wouldn’t one normally hope for their enemies to end up here?

But the lizardman’s reply gave Ashe a whiff of melodrama. “Why do you want to remember her…? You’re only making things hard for yourself.”

“She betrayed you all? She escaped? Or is she-”

“Dead. When Andrei fell, we were hunted during our escape. A shot pierced her head. Nothing could be done.”

Harvey’s mouth twitched. “You promised me. The boss promised me too. You would…”

“The boss is dead too. I was the weakest, so I was caught first.” The lizardman said, “The Inquisition sent a whole enforcement squad… Fernand Snow deliberately leaked our escape plans and hunted us down. We were just insects to be crushed along the way.”

“Why do I care so much, why do I care so much!” Harvey’s face was livid, but his legs grew soft and he sank to his knees as his eyes reddened. “Impossible… It’s Nalbel, how could she just…”

No one pulled them apart, not even the guards intervened – the chips restricted them to at most grabbing each other’s collars. They couldn’t actually fight.

The drama was quickly forgotten, not even qualifying as gossip fodder. Ashe was curious about Harvey’s melodramatic past, but it was obvious that asking now would just get him challenged to a deathmatch. Seeing it was about time for lunch, he went to the cafeteria.

Some of the crew members and blood mad hunters were already eating on one side of the cafeteria. The inmates automatically sat on the other side – even the rowdiest knew better than to start anything here. They couldn’t make trouble and they couldn’t curse others out. Were they going to politely greet the blood mad hunters?

Today’s recommended menu was red bean paste flatbread, beastman cheese salad, and coconut tartlets. Ashe had just sat down when a scholarly looking young man took the seat across from him.

Ashe felt like he had seen this man during the registry. “New arrival?”

“Yes, hello. I’m Baraka.” The young man replied shyly.

“Hello, I’m Ashe.”

After being here so long, Ashe had developed wariness. The shyer the outer appearance, the more wicked the insides tended to be. This meek young man was likely a ruthless renegade. “What brought you here to eat?”

“Because… it’s lunchtime now?”

“Shouldn’t you newbies be restricted to your cells on the first day, waiting for meals to be delivered?”

“No, after being shown our cells we could move freely. No restrictions.”

Ashe understood now. Solitary confinement on the first day was special treatment for cult leader big shots.

“Were you also imprisoned for political struggles? To achieve political prisoner status so young, you have promising talent!”

“No no no, I’m actually… a writer.”

When speaking of his profession, Baraka became even more bashful.

“…They’re that strict out there, that writing books gets the death penalty now? Politics? Obscenity?”

“Actually, I haven’t written yet.”

“Huh?”

“After finishing my last novel a few months ago, I came up with an amazing idea for my next book. I discussed it with my editor, but he said if I insisted on writing it, he would have no choice but to report me to the Inquisition. He suggested I come here and write it in prison instead of getting the publishing house in trouble.”

Ashe blinked. “So you came?”

Baraka nodded. “After hearing my idea, the Inquisition sent a mnemosurgeon to examine my memories. I was convicted in tribunal of ‘public endangerment’ and sentenced to redemption through the Blood Moon Tribunal to purify my thoughts.”

“Couldn’t you just not write it?”

“The mnemosurgeon found that I had no repentance at all. My memories were full of details about the new book. They believed that as long as I lived, I would find ways to write it out. And that is indeed the case – I’m not a creator, merely a scribe. I can’t allow such an amazing story to rot away in my mind.”

Ashe gave him a thumbs up. “Go for it, I’ll support you! Does it have romantic content?”

“No.”

“Then I’ll support you in spirit. I don’t actually have much interest in books.”

During their chat, Ashe finally saw Igor enter the cafeteria. He quickly returned his tray, dumped his uneaten food into the waste barrel, and hurried over to sling his arm around Igor’s shoulder. “Had your meal? The blood mad hunters are almost done, the signal will come soon. Why aren’t Ronat and Langna here yet-”

“They’re not coming.”

“Hm?”

“I told them the plan is cancelled.”

Ashe didn’t show any surprise or agitation. There was no confusion in his eyes either, only calm as he looked at Igor. He didn’t say a word.

“Ashe, you know the effects of our contract. I cannot go against your wishes unless absolutely necessary.” Igor said, “Moreover, I don’t truly resist deep down – if I did, I could not have conceived a plan I’ve been preparing for years.

“To me, this plan is also a long-awaited stage, the final touch you contributed. To be honest, even without your wish, I likely would have gone along to help you scheme, unable to restrain myself.”

“Believe me, I want to leave this suffocating cesspool as much as you do.”

Igor gripped Ashe’s shoulder. “But it really won’t work today. The plan must be cancelled.”

“Why?”

“Because every important step of the plan has become impossible now. Too many special events happened this week that I didn’t account for in my calculations. Reality deviated too far from what I envisioned.”

A commotion came from the entrance as the first batch of blood mad hunters finished their meals and started leaving while the second batch entered the cafeteria.

Ashe glanced at them and sighed. “The signal came.”

Igor gently shook his head. “That’s a danger signal… You’ll see very soon – the first unstable element that ruins the plan.”

Suddenly, all the blood mad hunters stood up and bowed their heads towards the newcomer. “Captain!”

“Greetings, everyone.”

The white-haired blood mad hunter in a black sleeveless shirt glanced at the inmates and smirked. “Scum, good afternoon.”

One aggravated inmate lifted his head. “I’ll file a complaint with the Inqui-”

“It’s so rare I get to insult so many scum at once. I’ll gladly accept the punishment, it’s just a month’s pay deducted per offense right? Well, that’s two months’ pay gone now.”

The blood mad hunter snapped his fingers and sneered. “But I like the number three, so let’s add one more – scum, how does it feel to only be able to take my insults but not retort? Frustrating isn’t it, being angry yet unable to do anything? I just love seeing scum make those aggrieved, powerless expressions!”

Another sullen inmate said, “I’ll remember you. You had better-”

“You should remember me, because many of you are here because I caught you!”

His eyes flashed red as he casually glanced around the cafeteria. His gaze was like sharp swords, chilling everyone it landed on. Ashe recalled their previous encounter even more vividly –

That feeling of a sword impaling his chest. It spread through his body once more.

“I am Inquisition blood mad hunter Gerard Wessminster, Hunter ID 307791.” Gerard grinned mockingly. “When you see the Blood Moon Sovereign, remember to send him my regards.”