The Sorcerer's Handbook

Chapter 132: Rules of the Game of Thrones

"Legally illegal acts?"

The patrons in the Institute's bar looked completely baffled. One of them muttered, "Aren't those opposites? Like a coin showing both heads and tails, or a person being both male and female?"

An androgynous-looking human slammed a hand on the table and stood. "Are you mocking me? How dare you belittle intersex people in public! Intersex is part of the new mainstream culture. We enjoy the best of being a man while experiencing the wonders of being a woman. That's perfection. How can someone still cling to such backward thinking in this age?"

The first patron hurriedly apologized. "I'm sorry, that was a slip of the tongue. I truly didn't mean to offend you."

Lawrence scratched at the fish scales along his face and glanced at Boss Snake beside him. "Boss Snake, do you know what he means by legally illegal acts?"

"Hiss... I can more or less guess," Boss Snake replied.

Lawrence perked up. "Oh? Tell me about it."

Boss Snake only smiled, then suddenly asked, "Hiss... Lawrence, are you getting used to life at the Institute? How's the lab work going?"

Lawrence replied casually, "Pretty good. Research is progressing smoothly. We've had plenty of materials lately. Necromancy advances much faster when you have abundant resources. But wait, Boss Snake, don't change the subject. What exactly are legally illegal acts?"

"Hiss... look at the screen. Someone's about to speak."

Lawrence turned toward the light screen, a faint unease stirring in his chest. He sensed Boss Snake was deliberately avoiding the topic, and that familiar reluctance tugged at him.

It reminded him of his secondary school days, when human classmates would ask why he worked part-time after school instead of returning to the orphanage to study or relax. He had never wanted to answer, knowing that humans could never truly understand his situation.

They simply came from different backgrounds and grew up in different environments. No amount of explanation could bridge that gap.

Here, however, things were different. Everyone around him had discarded the limitations of their lesser-born identities and risen to something nobler.

Wait... is Boss Snake a Blood Saint?

Lawrence realized he had never actually seen Boss Snake's blood-red pupils. His eyes had always been half-lidded, concealing them.

At that precise moment, the voice from the light screen cut off Lawrence's train of thought, pulling him back to the unfolding scene.

***

Edmond Menken continued, "1659 Municipal Civil Service Examination. Recruitment for officers of the Westwave District Market Supervision Administration."

Enduring the searing pain across his skin, he ground out through clenched teeth, "Fernandez wanted his classmate to secure this position. But his classmate could not pass such a competitive exam, so Fernandez devised a solution.

"First, he found a scholar who not only met every requirement but exceeded them. Fernandez instructed this scholar to sit for the exam and obtain the position, while his classmate also took the test. Naturally, the classmate failed.

"After just one month, the scholar voluntarily resigned. And just like that, Fernandez's classmate assumed the post in the Supervision Administration."

Menken went on, "Of course, this was back when Fernandez was still a councilor. After he became the mayor's secretary, there was no need for such elaborate schemes. He could simply tailor job requirements to fit his chosen candidate. If the candidate were human, male, and thirty years old, he would add a series of restrictions, and the position would fall neatly into their hands. The process would be entirely legal and compliant.

"The Administration Department's exam is mandatory for entry, but the specific screening criteria are controlled by each department. Form alliances with the right department heads, and you can wield enormous influence."

Menken glanced at Fernandez. "Half the members of the Forest Gallery entered the civil administration this way. Many officers yielded to Fernandez's threats or inducements, becoming his accomplices."

After a moment, Menken added, "For those unfamiliar, the Forest Gallery is an art gallery Fernandez founded. It houses works he deems masterpieces. Members of his faction usually gather there, which is why the faction itself is also called the Forest Gallery."

Fernandez responded coldly, "And aren't the members of your Everlasting Wine Club doing the same, occupying one eighth of the Civil Affairs Office?"

One eighth might not sound significant, but spread across different departments and with several in leadership roles, it formed a formidable intelligence network and political force. Andrei was considered a strong contender for mayor precisely because the Everlasting Wine Club could rival the Forest Gallery.

Boom!

The stone pillar beneath Fernandez suddenly writhed. Moonlight twisted like living serpents, forming ferocious chains that coiled upward and wrapped around him.

Fernandez didn't need to open the light screen to know what it meant. The citizens had begun voting for him.

His thoughts raced, yet his expression remained calm. "There's no need to pretend I invented this tradition. Long ago, it became an unspoken, unbreakable rule. Everyone lives by it.

"If you don't join a faction, you'll never receive a favorable first appointment. Promotion requires not only your department head's recommendation but also the favor of higher leadership. The only path to advancement is to push from below while being pulled from above. Refuse to join a faction, and even if you somehow become a civil officer, all that awaits you is a lifetime of menial assignments.

"All councilors and politicians here are both beneficiaries and enablers of factions. Beyond the Everlasting Wine Club and the Forest Gallery, the Administrative Department is filled with countless smaller factions. They form interlocking webs. To climb, you must climb onto a web. That is the rule of the political game.

"All of this is nothing more than ordinary, everyday indulgences of power."

***

In a bar in one of the city's poorer neighborhoods, a middle-aged beastman suddenly covered his face and broke into tears, his snot dripping straight into his glass. The scene was unsightly. He remembered the civil service exam thirteen years ago. He had ranked second in the interview. First place had gone to an elven scholar whose qualifications outshone his in every way.

***

In a small apartment of the Caimon City Food and Nutrition Bureau, a man in his forties slumped into a soft chair, clutching a bucket of potato chips. He adjusted his glasses and stared at the light screen, recalling the ambition and confidence he had felt upon graduating from university. What followed were more than twenty years of stagnation and obscurity, leaving him quietly despondent.