Sorcerer’s Handbook
Chapter 33

“Valcas Uhl wagers 37 Contribution points.”

“VS”

“Ashe Heath wagers 2 Contribution points.”

It was already quite rare for a newcomer to participate in Deathmatches two days in a row upon arriving at the ‘Manure Pit’—the endearing nickname death row inmates gave to the prison—let alone facing a ‘Noble’ like Valcas. Naturally, it attracted the attention of countless individuals.

Many who were not part of the Deathmatch Society came to watch, packing the spectator stands to the brim, with even more people standing at the entrance.

“Both are using swords… A Swordsmanship Duel? It’s been a while since I’ve seen Swordcerers clash, and after every duel, the whole Arena is filled with the fragrant Bloody Scent…”

“Human, slay that Elf!” Sᴇaʀᴄh thᴇ ɴøᴠel Fɪre.nᴇt website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of nøvels early and in the highest quality.

“What kind of sword grip is that? He hasn’t learned swordsmanship, right? Could it be that he picked up a sword out of fear upon seeing the Noble with one?”

“If you can’t handle a sword, don’t use it! Why not a spear? It’s simple and easier to master.”

“An axe would be better, a single swing and no matter the weapon, everything turns to mush.”

“What are you blabbering about? The spear is clearly more suitable for beginners!”

“I’m not blabbering! The axe is the best weapon for a newbie!”

Ashe had one more reason to escape from prison: he would rather listen to others curse than to endure two grown men, who clearly had the voices of black whirlwinds, argue with the delicate phrasing of tsundere girls. It was as discordant as a Sichuan hot and sour soup with tofu brains.

“They are so noisy.”

“That’s the Manure Pit for you, buzzing with flies everywhere.”

Valcas glanced at the iron sword in his hand, flicking it with his finger to produce a clear, ringing sound.

“Maggots will never turn into butterflies. Even a real butterfly, in the Manure Pit, is just a larger fly.”

Ashe laughed, “It seems you have strong feelings about prison life. Interested in writing a book?”

Valcas’s fingers gently swept along the blade as he assumed a standard Swordsmanship stance.

“Ashe Heath, I apologize.”

The moment the barriers around the Arena rose, Valcas transformed into a swift shadow. His longsword seemed to stretch out to several meters, piercing the air in an instant!

Despite Ashe’s vigilant caution, he was still too late to block with his sword and could only dodge to the right, narrowly avoiding a vital strike. His shoulder was sliced, losing a small piece of flesh to Valcas’s blade!

The intense pain made Ashe involuntarily inhale sharply, but he had no time to rest, for Valcas was already upon him!

Clang! Clang! Clang!

Ashe didn’t run away. Instead, he did the opposite, charging into Valcas’s embrace to pull the battle into the most dangerous proximity!

His reasoning was not drowned out by the pain—Valcas was taller by ten centimeters, with longer arms and legs. His reach and attack distance were too great, leaving Ashe virtually no chance to counter at a mid-to-close range. The only way to turn Valcas’s advantage into a disadvantage was to close the distance between them so much that Valcas would not be able to swing his sword!

“Have you not learned any swordsmanship at all?”

Ashe suddenly felt a chill run through his body and caught a glimpse from the corner of his eye of Valcas twisting his wrist, shifting his grip from the standard sword hold to a reverse grip!

Clang!

Valcas’s sword blocked Ashe’s thrust, and the Elf, taking advantage of his height, elbowed Ashe directly in the forehead with a powerful strike!

Back! Back! Back!

The force of the elbow nearly knocked Ashe out, but the slow stirring of arcane energy in his mind emitted a cool sensation that quickly brought him back to consciousness, and he instinctively retreated, maintaining his battle instincts!

As Ashe’s vision cleared, he was met with a flash of cold light!

Boom!

Ashe rolled to his feet, not daring to let his back touch the ground. He looked at the wall, now shattered by Valcas’s sword, his face full of after-fear, followed by terror.

Their swords weren’t supposed to be sharp!

The Prison wasn’t crazy enough to give sharpened blades to Death row inmates to fight to the death!

Valcas having sliced off a piece of Ashe’s shoulder with an unsharpened blade was already outrageous. Ashe had assumed it was because Valcas’s sword moved fast enough that his flesh couldn’t react in time.

But that was a stone wall!

Made of stone!

Stop it, this isn’t Swordsmanship!

This has gone beyond the scope of Swordsmanship!

“Are you using a spirit?”

“How come you look a bit surprised?”

Valcas smiled.

“Isn’t it natural for a Sorcerer to use spirits in Battle?”

“But the Prison hasn’t lifted the arcane energy Restriction—”

“Some things cannot be locked away; even if you bind them, they will grow wings and fly. The spirits born from the knowledge I have mastered, even without the supply of arcane energy, are still my strength. They still turn every ordinary action of mine into a moment of Miracle.”

Ashe exhaled deeply, feeling the heaviness in his clothes from the blood that had soaked through from his shoulder wound. His strength seemed to be leaking away as the blood left his body, taking his vitality with it.

Unlike a bare-knuckle boxing match, a Swordsmanship Deathmatch with cold weapons didn’t have many fancy rounds of exchange—only the instant breath of life and death: the strong live, the weak die.

But for some reason, he felt refreshed, and the arcane energy in his mind even seemed more active, making his shoulder pain fade away.

“If I were hit in a vital spot by such an attack, I wouldn’t be able to recover, right?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never gone all out against anyone in a Deathmatch.”

“Am I the first?”

“And the last.”

Boom!

With a light flick, the ground as hard as refined steel began to crack and burst open, like a giant serpent rushing underground towards Ashe!

“The Elven Swordsmanship Miracle, Earth-Shattering!?”

“He actually used a Miracle!”

“How is that possible!”

A tumult of voices rose from the spectator stands, the Death row inmates almost pressing their faces against the invisible barrier, eager to catch every detail of Valcas’s technique.

Igor was no exception; having seen Valcas’s Deathmatches before, he had anticipated Valcas’s use of spirits.

Using spirits and casting Miracles are two entirely different concepts!

Each Miracle requires the combined cooperation of several Composite Spirits to be cast. However, having multiple Composite Spirits doesn’t necessarily mean one can cast Miracles. It’s like how ordinary people and stunningly attractive individuals all have a mouth, a nose, and two eyes, but when combined, the results differ—one has the face of an Angel, while the other also has an Angel’s face—just that they landed face-first at birth.

The difficulty of casting a Miracle is so high that ‘Casting a Miracle’ is a part of the Miracle itself.

One must remember that becoming a Sorcerer is a feat for those with extraordinary talent; otherwise, it’s impossible to advance a skill to the realm of ‘Art’ and summon spirits.

Yet, among these chosen few, most only aspire to master one or two Miracles in their lifetime, and that’s considered the average level for a Sorcerer. Those below average may not even master a single Miracle.

Miracles are so rare that their benefits are directly proportional to their difficulty. Compared to the straightforward effects of spirits, the power of Miracles is more complex, grand, and challenging to decipher, sometimes even producing incredible effects that cross Faction divides.

For example, a Miracle from a Swordcerer might have healing effects, a Water Art Sorcerer’s Miracle could evaporate an enemy, and a Gun Technique Sorcerer’s Miracle might make an enemy willingly catch Shot Bullets…

There’s a popular saying among Sorcerers—’Spirits are merely an extension of our skills; Miracles are the true wonders!’

Igor has also mastered a Miracle and fully grasped the necessary spirits to cast it, theoretically qualifying him to Cast Miracles.

But he has never been able to cast a Miracle in the Prison.

Not even once!

If stirring spirits in Prison is like using your feet to pick your nose—tricky but doable with practice;

Then casting a Miracle in Prison is like using your feet to apply makeup! And it has to look great, or else it wouldn’t count as a Miracle!

Ashe is done for.

Igor watched the earth-shattering phenomena in the Arena of the Deathmatch, feeling pity for Ashe.

Valcas was obviously out to kill, and under the overwhelming force of a Miracle, Ashe’s intact corpse was out of the question. It was even doubtful whether they could find all of his remains in the rubble. The Medics in the Prison’s Treatment Room wouldn’t be able to handle such severe injuries. Ultimately, Ashe’s body would inevitably be left for the Ogres to deal with.

This is the grim reality of the Blood Moon Kingdom, where beneath the tablecloth of ‘Racial equality,’ ‘Supremacy of Law,’ and ‘Harmonious Coexistence,’ carnivores still abide by the most brutal law of survival of the fittest.

Once interests are touched, even hiding in Shattered Lake Prison won’t save one from being crushed under the fingers of those above.

What a shame for a man who was quite interesting…

As the Arena reverberated with the sounds of the earth-shattering Miracle for a while, someone finally became restless.

“How is he not dead yet?”

“Even if the Miracle’s power is reduced to less than ten percent, it should still be enough to kill a weakling who can’t even hold a sword properly, right?”

Yeah, how is Ashe still alive?

The Death row inmates, whose attention had been completely captivated by the Miracle, now started to observe Ashe more closely.

The Deathmatch Arena was in ruins, and in the face of Valcas’s seemingly effortless Earth-shattering Miracles, Ashe dodged like a frantic hamster, embarrassingly covered in dirt and grime, narrowly avoiding being crushed into a pulp by the Earth-Shattering forces time and time again.

But he evaded them! Every single time!

Even though his movements seemed clumsy, to the Death row inmates watching, they were becoming more efficient, with not a single ounce of wasted energy!

Even Ashe’s swordplay was getting steadier, even managing to block Valcas’s strikes!

It was just like, just like…

“It’s like the Battle with the Beautiful Beast yesterday.”

Someone murmured under their breath.

As the first victim, Igor felt this deeply. He had watched in the Battle as Ashe grew stronger step by step, his skills improving from a greenhouse flower that couldn’t even roll properly to a creature full of combat instincts in just a few minutes.

And now, a second victim had emerged.

This creature, Ashe, had actually learned Swordsmanship in the midst of Battle!?

This is a Prison, not some damn talent cultivation center!

But there were also many who recalled Ashe’s crimes and began to connect his genius performance at this moment to his past.

“Four Pillars…”

In the dim spectator stands, Langna hooked her boyfriend’s neck, her eyes fixed intently on the two people in the Deathmatch Arena, with a strange light flickering in her pupils.

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