The Sorcerer's Handbook-Chapter 34: Substitute Spirit

"Why don't you just kill yourself?"

When Varkas said that, he wasn't speaking out of confidence. Instead, it was a sign he was giving up.

Suicide was permitted in the Death Match. The instant someone took their own life, the duel ended, the chip restrictions reactivated, and Varkas would lose any chance to continue fighting. As long as Ashe's body remained intact, the medics could use their spirit to reach into the Virtual World, pull his soul from the fog, and return it to his body.

From the moment Ashe slipped past Varkas's Fissure Miracle, Varkas knew he had already lost. Everything that came after was nothing more than a desperate, luck-driven attempt to salvage the inevitable. Even if he won this duel, he still couldn't accomplish the mission he had been given, which was to eliminate Ashe Heath. Worse than failing the mission was having to witness Ashe's terrifying growth unfold right in front of him.

Nothing grated more than watching a genius rise with your own eyes. And if anything stung worse, it was being fated to become his stepping stone.

Even as a centenarian middle-aged elf, Varkas felt the sting of injustice. Why me? Of all the unlucky souls in the world, why did it have to be me?

His mind was already fraying, which was why he let the "speedrun answer" slip, hoping Ashe would end this nightmare quickly. 𝕗𝗿𝕖𝐞𝐰𝗲𝕓𝐧𝕠𝕧𝗲𝐥.𝚌𝐨𝚖

"Why would I kill myself? I haven't lost yet."

Varkas sneered. "You really think you can beat me? Oh, of course. A thousand years from now, the bards will be singing your glorious tale, 'Ashe Heath, who had never even learnt to use a sword properly, faced an ungrateful elf swordsman and miraculously defeated him. Thus began his lifetime of undefeated glory.'

"Ah, merciful Mr. Ashe, please honor me by mentioning my name in your autobiography, so I may live on in history as the clown who reeked for eternity. How does that sound?"

Blood had begun dripping toward Ashe's lashes. He struggled to lift his left hand and wiped the blood from his forehead to keep his vision clear. Even so, he still managed a smile. "Then tell me, Varkas, when are you writing your book? Besides, there's a reason I must beat you."

"And what reason is that?"

"I want to know whether Syrin Dorr sent you to kill me. Was my imprisonment part of a larger conspiracy?"

Varkas flicked his sword, scattering dried blood into the air.

"And what does that have to do with beating me?"

"Would you answer me if I didn't?"

"Maybe I would, maybe I wouldn't. And even if I did, how would you know I'm telling the truth?"

"That's the question I asked someone else earlier," Ashe exhaled slowly. "He wanted me to solve a doubt he had. I said, 'Can you tell if I lie?' He claimed he could."

"So you can?"

"No. But fighting to earn the answer feels closer to the truth than simply asking for it."

"It's been a long time since I've heard something that pure," Varkas said.

For the first time, he lost his usual refined demeanour, and a twisted expression surfaced. "But if you don't kill yourself now, you really may die."

"Then we'll see whose sword is faster."

"Killing you before you kill yourself? Interesting. I'll accept the challenge."

Ashe's muscles tensed as he tightened his grip on the hilt. "That's not what I meant... I don't plan to die here. If I can't step over a stepping stone like you, what right do I have to leave this prison?"

"You're too arrogant!"

The fractured ground split open again. Invisible sword energy burst upward, whipping dust and debris into a monstrous blade that erupted from the earth and lunged toward Ashe.

Ashe didn't blink. He slipped past the sword energy and the flying shards, dragging the fight out and forcing his body to absorb every scrap of swordsmanship experience it could.

The Swordwoman's technique was remarkable. At first, Ashe couldn't even follow Varkas's blade. Now, just by watching the movement in Varkas's shoulders, he could read the coming arc of each strike. He still wasn't skilled in wielding a sword, but he had already mastered the art of evading one.

He wasn't simply courting death. He truly believed he could defeat Varkas.

With the Swordwoman's shared swordsmanship experience bolstering him, the Miracle, Fissure no longer felt like an impenetrable haze. And with Varkas unable to unleash his full strength, Ashe could finally sense a faint flaw in the technique that he might exploit.

It was like tackling the final, dreaded problem on a college entrance exam. Then, suddenly, catching sight of a miraculous auxiliary line. He felt he might finally have the chance to solve it.

With a little more time, he felt he could even pinpoint the flaw in Fissure, slip through the gap, and counterattack.

Just a little more...

Boom!

Ashe took another hit to the thigh from Fissure. He grunted as the mana in his mind surged again, flooding him with a chilling rush. He forced his thoughts to smother the stabbing pain in his thigh and barely avoided the rest of the attacks.

He caught a glimpse of his thigh out of the corner of his eye and immediately forced himself to look away.

"You’re improving fast," Varkas said, a touch of regret slipping into his voice. "But unfortunately... you're exhausted. You've been bleeding since the match began. After a fight this fierce, you've lost so much that your brain is starving for oxygen, and your stamina has crashed. That's why you're slowing down.

"Even if you can suppress the pain and keep moving, your body can't follow. I carved a chunk out of your thigh, and with the blood you've already lost, it's a miracle your body hasn't gone into shock yet.

"Do you know why I'm telling you this? The longer the fight drags on, the weaker you become. Your sword can't outpace mine anymore. Before you even think of killing yourself, my blade will cut you down.

"Thank you, Ashe. I'm sorry, Ashe."

Varkas lunged forward and swung his sword downward. Fissure!

A violent blast of sword energy tore the ground open once again.

Ashe sighed inwardly. So this is my limit... Is this all I can do?

Long before Iger had warned him about Varkas, he'd understood how dangerous this duel would be. People didn't pick fights with rookie fighters without a reason. A stranger wouldn't cause trouble out of nowhere unless there was a clash in interests.

So why had Ashe accepted? He could have refused long before stepping into the arena. Nobody could insult him or force him into a duel. The choice had always been his. But he never backed down.

Firstly, he needed an opponent to help him absorb the Swordwoman's shared experience. The Death Match Club, a place dangerous yet protected, was the perfect place to take a beating and gain the experience he sought.

Secondly, avoiding the duel wouldn't avoid the trouble behind it. That would only delay the inevitable.

Most importantly, as he had said himself, he was trying to escape this prison. If he couldn't overcome a stepping stone like Varkas, how could he possibly break free? He might as well give up now. Life didn't hand out many miracles, and if there were any, Ashe knew they wouldn't be his.

Just as Ashe prepared to slit his own throat with the sword, he heard a familiar voice from the spectator seats.

"If it hurts, imagine you're someone else. Then it won't hurt as much."

It was the Swordswoman.

In that instant, Ashe felt as though ice were melting in his mind. His mana surged frantically within him, but it remained trapped by an invisible cage, unable to come in contact with the real world.

Mana could be trapped, but knowledge could not. Even with its limbs bound, it could still grow wings and take flight.

The long-dormant Substitute spirit suddenly flailed wildly in Ashe's consciousness.

Ashe made his choice. He neither dodged nor retreated. Instead, he swung his sword straight at Varkas.

Varkas watched "Ashe" vanish beneath the sword energy and felt a pang of melancholy. "It's over."

In all his century-long experience as a swordsman, he had never seen such raw potential. In another time, another place, or another life... even if Ashe had become his stepping stone, Varkas might have accepted it. Nothing was more exasperating than witnessing a genius rise before your eyes, and nothing more exhilarating than seeing it up close.

Pop!

Varkas heard a noise that sounded like bursting foam and immediately sensed that something was wrong. He looked closer and saw "Ashe" dissolved under the sword energy without leaving a drop of blood behind.

A Substitute!

Varkas tilted his head, and in the corner of his vision, he saw it. Dust and debris kicked up by Fissure had hidden a severely wounded figure charging toward him.

"It's over!"

Varkas's sword fell from his hand just as Ashe's blade drove cleanly through his throat.

It was a dull sword, yet it pierced him all the same.

Ring, ring, ring!

[The Winner has been decided! Ashe Heath]