The Sorcerer's Handbook-Chapter 67: Do Not Respond! Do Not Respond!

In the Shattered Lake Prison of the Blood Moon Kingdom.

If it hurts enough, grip with both hands,

Cut it open, let yesterday's curse expand.

Through endless night and day it flows,

Leaving behind only scars that show.

Iger woke up on his velvet bed. He yawned on his way to the bathroom to remove his nightclothes and sleep cap. He tested the water with his toes before sinking into the bathtub filled with precisely timed warm water, enjoying a leisurely morning soak.

He had paid one Contribution Point for every three days just to stay in the high-class cell, so he could have constant access to baths. Five months here cost fifty points, equivalent to all the starting points of a death-row inmate. This made him tight on Contribution Points.

Nevertheless, Iger considered it worth every point. Bathing wasn't merely a personal indulgence. It seemed his Contract spirit enjoyed it as much as he did.

Once, while dozing in the tub from exhaustion, he had glimpsed his Contract spirit riding a tiny yellow duck and playing in the water. The spirit vanished the moment he opened his eyes, as if it had never been there, yet he was certain of what he had seen. That was all the proof he needed that his Contract spirit loved baths.

Outside the prison, this would have been nothing more than an amusing anecdote, with no practical significance. While spirits were undoubtedly intelligent and had their own preferences, most sorcerers rarely paid attention to them. As long as the sorcerer channeled their mana, the spirit would have no choice but to obey, regardless of how unwilling they were.

Inside the Shattered Lake Prison, however, this knowledge had become Iger's secret weapon. In an environment where no one could channel their mana, death row inmates relied on resonating with their spirits to cast spells. Whether a spirit "cooperated" could mean the difference between life and death.

To date, Iger was still uncertain whether his near-perfect control over the Contract spirit inside the prison was connected to his habit of indulging it with frequent baths. But as the saying goes, "Better to try and fail than not to try at all." The prison was no place for careful research, and as long as he had spare Contribution Points, he wasn't about to give up his slightly "luxurious" lifestyle.

After a short nap in the bathtub, Iger dried himself off and went to brush his teeth. He emptied his mind as much as possible, letting himself drift into a vacant, almost dazed state, and brushed mechanically in front of the mirror. He brushed so vigorously that the toothpaste foam splattered across the glass.

Soon, the foam running down the mirror began to form words. This was the sign that Iger had successfully activated another one of his spirits, Revelation.

Revelation was a spoils-of-war find from his time in the Virtual World. It was highly versatile. By activating it, he could survey his surroundings and detect subtle hints or warnings.

After entering prison, Iger had experimented extensively to discover the proper way to trigger Revelation. While brushing his teeth, he had to partially clear his mind. He had to maintain a subtle, almost subconscious intention, like thinking "I want guidance," to activate the spirit.

Striking the right balance was tricky, and he didn't succeed every day. Today, however, luck happened to be on his side.

Still, he considered this little ritual a minor entertainment in his prison routine. Most of Revelation's advice was trivial, like "don't eat the lard at lunch," "remember tissues," or "don't wear underwear." They were useful, but barely impactful. Ignoring it wouldn't cause harm.

This made sense. Iger had never studied the Prophecy Class. Getting Revelation to this level of usefulness was already impressive. However, a serious warning from Revelation indicated a critical crossroads in fate, with countless unknown outcomes converging so tightly that the spirit had no choice but to react.

And now, in Iger's gradually panicked gaze, the toothpaste foam spelled a stark warning. "Do not respond! Do not respond!"

It was the first time he had seen punctuation in Revelation's hints, and of all things, it was an exclamation mark.

Revelation's guidance wasn't infallible. Concepts such as right or wrong, and benefit or harm, were human constructs. They were highly subjective and varied from person to person. The same action could be judged differently across regions, races, or even individuals. Sleeping in, for instance, might be considered wrong by some, yet a pleasure for others. Even matters of life and death were open to interpretation. Some believed in "die early, ascend early," others chose endurance, while many wavered between the desire to live and the desire to die.

If humans themselves could not agree on morality, spirits were even less likely to do so. Revelation's advice tended to be myopic, evaluating events based purely on Iger's current state. Any unexpected occurrence that might alter him was flagged as harmful.

For example, the day it advised against wearing underwear, a guard approached Iger for help wooing a girl. Handsome and slightly enchanting due to his Veela bloodline, he was often assumed to be a notorious playboy at first glance.

The guard was delicate-looking, with long hair and an ambiguous, almost intoxicating presence. Iger's sexual orientation was mostly conventional, but his Veela bloodline and indulgent tendencies made it difficult for him to restrain himself. The interaction ended with Iger's body reacting involuntarily, frightening the guard and causing him to miss the chance to establish a friendly connection.

He could not help but wonder whether following Revelation's warning would cause him to miss yet another chance to build a meaningful relationship with a guard.

Iger made his decision quickly. It was better to heed the spirit's advice than suffer a loss afterward.

After all, life was not bad. Aside from lacking the freedom to curse, he ate well, slept well, kept a regular schedule, and even enjoyed the prison's recreational facilities.

Moreover, he had been incarcerated for over a year. Shattered Lake Prison was a peculiar place. At first, he had hated it. Then he grew used to it. Eventually, he found he could no longer live without it. He had grown accustomed to this life and no longer felt any urge to change it.

The realization was almost laughable. During last night's Blood Moon Tribunal livestream, he had watched a death-row inmate curse and felt a sudden pang of disgust. It was not the foul language itself that bothered him, but a subconscious sense that swearing was wrong.

The Fraudster Iger, once a master at exploiting legal loopholes, was slowly becoming an advocate of the law. Once a person grew accustomed to chains, they began to accept them and even romanticize their meaning. That was the power of Shattered Lake Prison, along with the chip embedded at the back of every inmate's neck.

Iger left his cell and headed briskly toward the dining hall, resolved to remain silent outside. He would ignore anyone who tried to speak to him, eat breakfast, and return straight to his room.

He had considered spending Contribution Points to order meals and stay hidden in his cell all day. However, after his defeat at Ashe's hands, his points were running low. Frivolous expenses like meal orders had to be cut.

He thought, Eating in silence should be easy. There is no way I can fail at that.

With that, he found a quiet corner and sat down with his tray.

The next second, someone dropped into the seat across from him. "Good morning, my friend Iger! Hey, your lobster balls look amazing. Can I have one?"

Iger's lips twitched as he silently watched Ashe reach toward his plate with a pair of unusually long chopsticks.

Ashe fumbled. The lobster ball flew off the plate and landed on the table. He tried again and missed. On the third attempt, he succeeded. He picked up the ball that had fallen onto the table, placed it back onto Iger's plate, and then took a clean one for himself. "You don't mind, right?"

Iger's lips twitched again, but he said nothing. He simply quickened his pace of eating.

Midway through the meal, Ashe theatrically knocked over Iger's cup. Milk spilled across the table and splashed onto his clothes.

"Oh, sorry," Ashe said, reaching toward him. "Let me help you clean that up."

Iger ignored him and strode into the restroom to wash the milk away. After cleaning himself, he paused. Since he was already there, he decided to use the toilet as well.

Ashe appeared beside him again. "Wow, what a coincidence. Iger, you're here too?"

Iger remained silent and quickened his pace, just as before.

"Oh, I forgot to wipe my mouth earlier. Can you help me? I'll grab a tissue."

Iger nearly lost his composure. Remembering the warning on the mirror, he clenched his teeth and swallowed his words.

"I don't have a towel after washing my hands. Can I use your shirt instead?

"Are you done with breakfast already? Let's go to the Death Match Club. Can you introduce me to some strong members?

"Did you watch last night's Blood Moon Tribunal? I want to ask you a few questions. You can ask me in return.

"Don't leave yet. Wait for me."

Iger treated every word as meaningless noise. Without acknowledging Ashe even once, he hurried back to his cell.

Ashe was baffled by how hurried Iger seemed. I've exposed myself this many times already. Why isn't he taking the bait?

Iger Perskin, feared throughout the prison as the "Fraudster" and the "Beautiful Beast," was notorious for preying on the weak while avoiding the strong. Yet today, he was acting like a docile kitten. Ashe thought. This is it. I'm out of options. Time for the trump card.

Ding.

The sound of a coin hitting the floor instantly triggered Iger's reflexes. Almost without thinking, he glanced down.

A clear and pleasant voice followed. "Could you pick up the Golden Coin for me?"

"No problem."

The words slipped out before Iger could stop himself. In the same motion, he took out a copper coin painted gold, swapped it seamlessly, and straightened up.

It was only then that he realized what he had done. Maintaining his composure, Iger met Ashe's gaze. "I don't know why you insist on speaking to me, but since you asked, my Contract spirit is now active. Your request has been fulfilled. In return, you will fulfill mine."

Inside Shattered Lake Prison, no one dared request favors from Iger, nor refuse them once entangled. Under the influence of his Contract spirit, the other party was bound to comply, while Iger himself bore no obligation to do the same. The most exquisite contracts were those formed without defining repayment. Such requests were no different from handing Iger a blank check.

Earlier, he had expended tremendous effort restraining himself from responding to Ashe. He knew that once he did, he would gain unlimited leverage. He could demand anything, even force Ashe to lose his next Death Match.

Iger had already sensed that Ashe was plotting something, but he felt no fear. From his perspective, no matter what scheme Ashe had prepared, he still held the advantage. He would always get to make a wish. There was nothing to be afraid of.

To intimidate Ashe, Iger summoned his Contract spirit.

A two-winged thug gripping a heavy chain materialized in his hand. The chain shot forward and coiled around Ashe's neck, tightening just enough to suggest imminent strangulation.

Iger narrowed his eyes. "I suggest you behave, Ashe Heath. I can make any wish right now, and you will be forced to fulfill it."

"Any wish?" Ashe asked.

"Of course," Iger said smugly. "I could even make you poop while standing on your hands. Congratulations, Ashe. You are officially my compliant friend."

"That's wonderful," Ashe replied calmly.

He raised his palm and summoned a One-Winged spirit shaped like a scale. The moment it appeared, a segment of the Contract chain dropped onto the left side of the scale. To counterbalance it, an identical chain extended and wrapped around Iger's neck.

The Contract spirit bound Ashe, while the Libra spirit bound Iger.

Ashe murmured, "Balance exists in all things."

Watching Iger's face twist in frustration, Ashe broke into a grin. "Helping each other out is what good friends do, isn't it?"