The Sorcerer's Handbook

Chapter 130: Why So Serious?

At the Heresy Court of Caimon City.

Vice Captain Amy strode down the brightly lit, lavish corridor and shoved open the doors. "Director, give me the inspection warrant. I'll take control of the broadcast station right now."

Behind a long table carved from ebony, two transparent floor-to-ceiling windows let the Blood Moon pour its light onto a red leather chair. The woman seated there looked exhausted, her silver hair curly and tangled like a bird's nest. Her uniform was partially undone, and her heavy eye bags with clown-like dark circles had marred what might otherwise have been a refined face.

Hearing the door, she shut down her light screen. "Is it time to get off work already?"

Amy slammed her hand on the desk. "Off work? The escaped convict hasn't even been caught yet! I told the broadcast station to cut the trial livestream, and they refused. Director, sign the inspection warrant now. I'll lead a team over and shut them down."

The director replied indifferently, "Say whatever you want in here, but don't ruin the Heresy Court's reputation outside. Dealing with Gerard and his hundred complaint letters a month is headache enough."

"Director, the inspection warrant!"

"Inspecting the broadcast station requires cooperation from the Administrative Department. Have you contacted Deputy Mayor Guro?"

Amy's frustration boiled over. "I tried! Only the mayor's secretary answered. He said the deputy mayor was in an emergency meeting with other departments and couldn't respond!"

"That sounds perfectly normal. An escape like this would require every department to prepare contingency plans."

"He's doing it on purpose! He wants Fernandez to die during the trial, then take another step up and drop the deputy from his title!"

The director's tone remained light. "You're thinking too badly of him. Under the Blood Moon's glory, all the bad people are already in prison. The Heresy Court answers to the Administrative Department. Without their order, we can't inspect a broadcast station of the same rank."

"So we just sit here and watch the trial continue?"

"Why not?"

The director scratched her head. "It's not just the Administrative Department. The research institute and the church haven't said a word either. If none of them are in a hurry, why are you?"

"But—"

"Don't forget, the ones who truly control the tribunal aren't in prison. They're in the city, outside, right here."

The director spread her hands. "Why are you taking this so seriously?"

Faced with such flawless reasoning, Amy fell silent. Her large wolf tail drooped as she pouted and thumped the desk. "Tsk. Why are the priests so indifferent about this..."

The director complained, "You know you get stronger at night. My desk can't take this kind of abuse. And as for why, it's because this really isn't a big deal."

"Still not a big deal?"

"Amy, how old are you?"

"I'm from the twenties."

"Oh, just over forty, then. No wonder you're making such a fuss."

"So what if I'm young?"

The director gestured at her own dark circles. "When you get older, you'll understand. Things that seem serious now become trivial when you see them over centuries or millennia. They're just passing interludes. Compared to that, following the rules matters more.

"Moonshadow governs life, while Blood Saints guard death. That's our law. Beyond that, we do not interfere. The secular world manages itself."

The logic was airtight. Amy could only clench her fists in frustration. Her fluffy tail puffed up like a pipe cleaner as she replied, "Yes."

"Go back to work. Close the door. And can you tuck your tail away? Cleaning fur out of the carpet is a pain."

Amy shook her head vigorously. "No. Permanently fixing part of my Moonshadow traits is proof of my strength. Besides, everyone likes it."

The director covered her face and sighed. "The church and the institute really love sending troublemakers over. Do they think this is an adult daycare..."

As Amy closed the office door, laughter rang out from inside.

"Hah. This Ashe fellow is interesting. I should tell Gerard to spare his life."

Damn it. The director clearly wanted to watch the spectacle herself. That was why she refused to sign the inspection warrant. I almost fell for it.

Amy nearly stormed back to argue, but then she remembered a joke an old priest had told her about the Blood Saints. "When a Blood Saint becomes interested in something, the only way to stop them is to nail them into a coffin. Accelerated bat blood flow lowers their intelligence."

Reluctantly, Amy gave up. She held back her frustration, returned to her department, sat down, and opened the light screen.

She would simply watch and see what kind of chaos Ashe could stir up.

***

On the crimson stone pillar seat of Shattered Lake, Fernandez coughed violently. "Cough, cough!"

He spat up two mouthfuls of foul-smelling black blood, his abdomen throbbing with a sour, itchy ache. His clothes clung uncomfortably to his skin, and a wave of dizziness washed over him, making him feel, for a brief moment, as though he had been thrown back into his youth.

Fernandez had been born in the Blunt Skull Care Facility, where he had to steal moments for study between fights. The facility was located in the poorer districts of Caimon City, and most of the children raised there were beastfolk and ogres. The sharp-featured director did not take them in out of kindness; he chose them for a single practical reason: the subsidies for raising these races were higher.

Elite institutions like Emerald Garden operated under very different conditions. The Administrative Department refused to fund them, and the facilities themselves had to pay substantial sums to hospitals just to select infants. The reasoning was straightforward. Any adult raised in the care facility had ten percent of their income deducted for the first fifteen years of employment, as repayment to the institution.

Emerald Garden proudly called this the brightest and most righteous path, cultivating exceptional talent, then using the returns from those individuals to expand the facility, secure better infant sources, and continue producing society's elite.

Such dual first-rate institutions operated within this virtuous cycle, serving as models for the nation. But not every facility had access to high-quality infant sources, and as a result, another system arose—subsidy fraud.

Blunt Skull was precisely that kind of facility. It took in beastfolk and ogre infants that no other institution wanted, all under the pretense of maintaining species diversity. In return, the church provided generous subsidies. The director pocketed all of it and took a hands-off approach to raising the children. Beastfolk and ogres were hardy enough to survive on their own. Once they reached adulthood, he expelled them without hesitation, unconcerned with any future repayment from their labor.

Among infant sources, beastfolk and ogres ranked the lowest. They were difficult to educate, had lower average intelligence, resisted discipline, and were considered physically unattractive compared to standard races. Their living habits were also seen as sloppy.

Blunt Skull functioned almost like the wilderness. Children relieved themselves wherever they pleased and lived according to their own whims. When mealtime arrived, a few barrels of food were pushed in, sparking frantic scrambles that often escalated into interspecies brawls. Once battered and bruised, the children collapsed wherever they stood and slept, only for another chaotic day to begin in the same way.

The outside world did not intervene. The facility proudly marketed its methods as primitive upbringing, and it even received praise from some sectors of society. Scholars claimed it unleashed the natural instincts of beastfolk and ogres, labeling it respectful and tailored to their natures. These same scholars would turn around and criticize places like Emerald Garden for overemphasizing academic performance, which they argued suppressed children's instincts and stole their childhoods.

Fernandez, born in a supposedly civilized nation, had grown up precisely in this so-called primitive environment.