Sorcerer’s Handbook

Chapter 323: The Con Artists Psychological Therapy

At 6:00 AM Gospel time, in the Senhaeser District of the city on the second level in Vamora, Igor opened his eyes from inside the wardrobe.

He pushed the wardrobe door open and emerged. On the bed was a human-shaped lump, which he had fashioned using pillows, blankets, clothes, and a bit of imagination to create an “Igor dummy.”

Though it wasn’t a spirit or a miracle, this little trick had saved his life many times. If he left a “Good Night” note on the bed, it would make any midnight intruder think that the con artist had foreseen their arrival and had already escaped through some unknown means. Cursing under their breath, they would then rush to track Igor’s escape route, while the real Igor, hiding elsewhere, could seize the opportunity to flee.

After all, Igor was just a con artist, not omniscient. How could he foresee every danger? But this didn’t stop him from playing the role of someone who always had a plan, making multiple preparations in daily interactions to plant seeds of doubt in others’ minds.

What truly makes a deception real isn’t the con artist’s words but your own imagination.

It’s human nature to explain the world. When you’re lacking information, you’ll subconsciously use your imagination to fill in the gaps, which is why conspiracy theories thrive and rumors spread faster than the truth.

People always believe what they want to believe.

Even though the world itself is objective, everyone’s world is subjective. In the past, mental sorcerers could even establish religions, becoming the “gods” in the subjective worlds of countless followers.

Although Igor had little interest in this upper-tier awakening profession of con artist, making himself a “strategic mastermind who can always foresee your next move” in the eyes of certain people was as easy as putting on makeup for him.

On his first night in this unfamiliar city, Igor began his preparations. When others discovered the “Igor dummy” on the bed, they would think the real Igor had already left, never suspecting that this was a nightly trap. The weak, immobile, and oblivious con artist was hiding right next to them in the wardrobe.

This is the con artist’s way of psychological deception.

Even when giving his all, he had to make it look effortless.

Carefully prepared gifts should be given nonchalantly.

In this world, whoever gets planted with the seed first loses.

As usual, Igor had to take a bath after waking up every day. Fortunately, the suite had a bathtub, and it was even a steam massage tub.

In fact, the quality of this suite was much better than the employee dormitory provided by Annan. It seemed that Miss Annan was indeed a rich second-generation entrepreneur who would have to fall back on inheriting billions if she failed—such plots were quite common in Gospel TV dramas. Igor believed the root cause was that the luxury economy and consumerism in the Gospel Kingdom were not developed enough, so parents could still save money.

In their Blood Moon Kingdom, even capitalists could live paycheck to paycheck. Any life extension package from the Institute could bankrupt the richest person on the spot. The Gospel Kingdom simply didn’t have enough freedom.

After initially washing his body, Igor tested the water temperature in the tub with his toes. He dipped his lower legs, bent his knees to maintain balance, and let the water level rise past his chest, intimately grazing his collarbone.

Warm currents seeped through his pores into his cells, quickly relaxing the stiff body that had spent the night in the wardrobe. The tension in his soul, having just returned from the Virtual Realm, also began to ease. The lazy mist massaged the con artist’s aching mind.

In the Blood Moon Kingdom, most people had psychological issues, and Igor was no exception. People as smart as him were the ones who felt the immense, heavy gravity of reality the most, their souls heavy with anxiety every moment.

Igor knew he was ill, but he couldn’t save himself. The better someone was at swimming, the more likely they were to drown in the deep sea.

Over time, perhaps one day he would suddenly understand “the meaning of life.” On a drizzly, overcast day, he would wear his finest clothes, find everyone who knew him, and deceive them one last time—erase their memories of him. When no one in the world remembered him, Igor Bukin would disappear completely from people’s sight, leaving only a shadow of himself in the Virtual Realm.

However, the Igor who was once destined to face destruction alone developed a habit of taking baths to clear his mind after entering prison. The tense strings of his mind were thus given a chance to rest, and his psychological issues were cured.

It was Shattered Lake Prison that saved him. For Blood Moon people, the only way out was indeed going to prison.

It’s worth mentioning that before bathing with Ashe, Harvey, and others a few days ago, Igor would always take a bath first. After all, relaxing with two artiodactyls wasn’t very effective.

Knock, knock! Knock, knock! Knock, knock!

Just as Igor was about to slip into a state of mindlessness, someone knocked on the door.

This familiar triple knock—though the person hadn’t even taken off their pants yet, the con artist already knew what kind of nonsense they would spout.

Igor decided to remain silent, hoping the person would give up and leave. However, after a few seconds, he heard the precise sound of gears turning and the clinking of alloy parts disengaging—the door opened.

Slam!

The bathroom’s glass door was pushed open, and the steam eagerly wrapped around the visitor.

“You scared me. I thought you had escaped through the toilet.”

Igor let out a long sigh. “First of all, this isn’t our home. Second, how did you get in here?”

“I told the maid here that no one answered the door, and you might have died in the Virtual Realm, with a part of your soul’s head bitten off by a Blade Fish Dragon, turning you into a vegetative state. So she let me in to check if you had peed yourself.”

Ashe sat on a small stool. “Such feudal corruption, having maids and all. This family system is indeed the cancer of civilization, but I must say, the maid outfits are pretty cute.”

“Aren’t we under house arrest and not allowed to leave our rooms?”

“I don’t know. I woke up and tried the door, found the restrictions lifted. Maybe Miss Annan sweet-talked her mother while we weren’t here last night?”

“Let’s skip the minor details,” Igor said, staring at Ashe. “Haven’t you noticed that I’m taking a bath?”

Ashe blinked and then came to a sudden realization. He got up to close the glass door, then sat back on the stool. “Sorry, forgot to close the door.”

“You also forgot to shut yourself out.” Igor splashed water on his face, giving up entirely on entering a mindless state and returning to business mode. “Go ahead, what do you want from me?”

“Can’t I just come to chat with you? Do I have to need something to come see you?”

“Of course not. You’re the kind of person who would bother me even while I’m bathing.” The con artist smirked. “If we put it in terms of borrowing money, at least others wait until they’ve borrowed before getting cocky. You, on the other hand, are already cocky before even borrowing a dime.”

“I do have something I need your advice on,” Ashe said, scratching his head. “After all, you seem quite experienced.”

“You’re coming to consult a con artist?” Igor raised an eyebrow. “A disciple seeking comfort from a priest would make more sense.”

“When you’re responsible for other people’s lives, and every move you make could cause those who trust you to die, do you feel afraid?”

“…If this psychological pressure comes from our trust in you during the prison break, your nerves must be long enough to wrap around the Time Continent.”

“No, during the prison break, I never felt responsible for you all.” Ashe shook his head. “Because you never trusted me, and I never trusted you. We trusted our own judgments and were responsible for ourselves.”

“What I’m saying is, when others unconditionally trust you and are willing to stake their lives as chips on you, do you feel anything special when you place your bet?”

The con artist squinted his eyes. “If they choose to trust me, it means they’ve made their own judgment. I don’t need to—”

“Do you really not need to?” Ashe interrupted, his gaze cutting through the steam as he sought the truth in the con artist’s eyes. “If I were to place my life in your hands, could you bet without any hesitation?”

The steam rose slowly, cloaking the silence.

“I understand now.” Igor splashed his face with water. “You’re not here for advice; you’re here for comfort.”

Bullseye.

When facing off against Danzel, Ashe could make rational judgments, bravely face death, and be a hero who would rather die than surrender. But after leaving the Virtual Realm and returning to the cold reality, Ashe realized what he had done—he had placed the lives of both the Witch and the Sword Princess on the gambling table.

Not to mention that he never considered them his possessions; long ago, the sword Princess had said that even if Ashe died, she could continue living in her own world. The operators didn’t exist dependent on Ashe; they had their own joys and sorrows, their own parents and friends, and their own lives.

Similarly, if an operator died, it would probably be a true death. Their avatar would fade to grey entirely, leaving only a name in the handbook.

Whether during the prison break or escaping Blood Moon, when it came time to bet his own life, Ashe had never felt any psychological pressure.

But this time, after betting on the Witch and the sword Princess as well, he suddenly felt scared.

He was afraid they would die, and even more afraid that he would survive while others died.

They were still a long way from the three wings Sanctuary, but during this period, every round at the Spider Tower, they had to enter the Virtual Realm and engage in a life-and-death race with the heroic soul legion.

Though they had a vehicle, though they could escape, they might manage it once, twice, three times, ten times—but could they escape a hundred times?

If they failed once, if they made one mistake, if fate tripped them up even slightly…

Ashe closed his eyes, as if he could see the scene of them being torn apart.

Moreover, this was no longer a problem that could be solved by Ashe’s death alone.

Even if Ashe died first, the pacts with the sword Princess and the Witch would still remain. Unless they reached higher levels of the Virtual Realm, they would still be running for their lives in it—instead of settling for less, the Empress’s heroic soul seemed more like the type to pursue to the very end.

Though the Witch and the sword Princess had no objections, and Ashe’s response at the time was indeed the most correct one.

But, but…

He was scared.

Suddenly, Ashe remembered his penultimate question and couldn’t help but smile wryly.

Sacrificing the world and billions of lives, bearing a thousand-year-old wish to save the world… He couldn’t even bring himself to say, “Entrust your lives to me,” with a clear conscience now.

The rapidly expanding psychological burden soon left him gasping for air. In the past, Ashe would have chosen to bear this pain of trust alone, pretending nothing was wrong. After all, that’s what he had been taught since childhood—to complain would only worry others, and no one wants to swallow your tears.

It was Freya who changed him. That brief cohabitation showed Ashe how an ordinary person could survive in such a cruel society like the Blood Moon Kingdom. The most important lesson he learned was: if you’re sick, you need to get treatment.

Seeking a psychologist wasn’t shameful; perhaps this was the Blood Moon Kingdom’s greatest contribution to civilization.

Though there were no psychologists around, seeking out the Con Artist was almost the same. After all, there was no fundamental difference between comfort and deception.

“Don’t be afraid. They entrusted their lives to you because they trust your judgment. Even if you make a mistake, they won’t blame you because you tried your best. This world doesn’t criticize those who exhaust themselves; the unfairness of fate shouldn’t be your burden… Is that what you want me to say?”

Ashe looked up, and then his collar was suddenly grabbed by a wet hand, pulling him close to the Con Artist’s face.

“You’re willing to let a Con Artist deceive you rather than face reality yourself,” Igor’s eyes were full of disdain. “Even among my clients, you are at the lowest level.”

With a push, Igor sent Ashe sprawling to the ground.

“Go get some candy from Harvey; that’s the real cure for you.” Igor didn’t look at him. “I’m a top-tier Con Artist; I don’t deal with such rotten clients.”

Ashe sighed. “Isn’t that a bit harsh?”

“I started betting other people’s lives when I was thirteen,” Igor said coldly. “I’ve won a lot, but losing is reasonable too. Because of my wrong decision, a partner was caught by the ‘Fire Crab’. I could only see him in the most bizarre news articles. He had become a piece of avant-garde abstract art, made with a hanger and a chair… What do you think I felt back then?”

“Revenge?”

“No, I just hoped he received and executed my final message—to end himself before the Fire Crab found him.”

Water dripped from Igor’s hair, merging into the bathtub and disappearing. “This is the fate of a decision-maker. Even if you are calm enough, work hard enough, you still cannot prevent sacrifice. Not even gods can save everyone. Who do you think you are?”

“Enduring sacrifice, accepting sacrifice, getting used to sacrifice—this is the only way. There is no second option. Do you think seeking comfort from a mental sorcerer will give you the resilient heart of a decision-maker? Mental sorcerers are not enhancers; they can’t just make you stronger with a ding.”

“What you need is not comfort, not deception, but growth.”

The Con Artist looked at the dejected Cult Leader, but another image appeared in his mind.

In the apocalypse, a mysterious man in a dark red trench coat, gazing down at the world alone…

“There is also a very simple way, as long as you are selfish enough,” Igor said. “Like me. If you are selfish enough to see everyone as a pawn, selfish enough to not care about anyone’s thoughts, selfish enough to be happy just for yourself, then you won’t feel the pressure of responsibility.”

“For us orphans of the Blood Moon, this should be an effortless advancement route, right?”

A gleam appeared in the Cult Leader’s eyes. “Just like you…”

“Yes, just like me…” Igor looked at his blurry reflection in the water. “You only need to care about yourself, value yourself, love yourself…”

“—And if I have as much decision-making experience as you, I can grow into a captain who can calmly bear the pressure of responsibility!”

Igor blinked. Hmm?

Ashe stood up, patting the water off his pants. “The difference between you and me is that you already have extensive team experience, while I don’t. So, I should find ways to increase my leadership experience and become a steady decision-maker.”

“But how will you gain that experience?”

“I already have an idea,” Ashe said. “It was definitely right to come to you. I won’t disturb your bath any longer.”

“Although I don’t know what your idea is, it certainly won’t be as simple as my ‘selfish advancement’ approach,” Igor said indifferently. “Why make things so complicated?”

“Because being selfish isn’t that simple,” Ashe said, opening the bathroom door. “If even you can’t do it, how could I possibly manage?”

“What do you mean I can’t do it?”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

Igor was taken aback, listening to Ashe’s footsteps gradually fade away.

“If I entrusted my life to you, could you make a bet without a moment’s hesitation?”

“Seed…”

The Con Artist exhaled. Even though he had soaked for quite a while, he decided to stay a bit longer to clear his mind. Otherwise, his thoughts and ideas would become the rain and sunlight that made the seed sprout.

Knock! Knock! Knock!

The unfamiliar knocking made Igor uneasy.

As expected, the bathroom door opened once again.

“Aunt Bukin!” Lise stood with her hands on her hips in front of the Con Artist. “I have something very important to discuss with you… we need the wisdom of the Con Artist!”

“Did you not notice that I’m taking a bath?”

Lise paused, suddenly realizing, and obediently closed the bathroom door.

Igor almost wanted to summon the Gospel Book to check the blood relation between Lise and Ashe.

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