The Spellcaster's Manual

Chapter 2: I Really Am a Bad Guy

“Name?” “Ash… Ash Heath.” “Age?” “No idea, I lost my memory.” “Gender?” “Let me check… male.” “Race?” “Probably not a dog?” “Past experience?” “I really don’t know. Amnesia.”

…

Behind the one-way mirror, Bloodmad Hunter Amy’s pupils slit vertical like a cat that just watched someone kick its favorite laser pointer. Her nails shot out half an inch, clawing the air.

“Captain, this scumbag thinks the Sin-Hunting Hall is staffed by drooling interns? This by-the-book Q&A is useless. Let me in. Back in the academy, I minored in t*****e under Father Malice—earned my Level-1 Torturer cert, Priest’s honor. I’ll have him confessing kindergarten bed-wetting before the coffee gets cold!”

“Burn the certificate,” Gerald said, his voice flat as a gravestone. “Twelve years back, the Human Rights Act gutted the torturer program. One wrong twitch and your hunter license is confetti, minimum. Worst case? A century-plus in the hole. Parliament’s got us on a leash shorter than a chihuahua’s. If Ash Heath so much as stubs a toe, we’re the headline. Feel like starring in a congressional roast? Be my guest.”

“Hmph.” Amy deflated, tail drooping like wet spaghetti. “Fine. What about the Memory Reader? We’ve had this creep in holding forever. This is a major case—a memory dump has to be protocol, right? The Criminal Code says direct neural evidence for every felony, right?”

“The Memory Reader’s not coming.”

“Why the hell not?”

Gerald shot her a look that could freeze lava. “He has seen the Four Pillars God.”

Amy’s tail froze mid-sag. Oh.

“Not just him. None of the cultists,” Gerald continued. “Memory contamination is their signature move. One hundred thirty-four years ago, I cracked a Four Pillars God cell—a Memory Reader pulled a cultist’s brain-tape, and the next day he was preaching their gospel. The cult’s like herpes: it keeps flaring back.”

“Then what do we do?” Amy was dumbfounded. “No questioning, no t*****e, no memory extraction… Are we supposed to just let him walk? Special handling?”

“No special anything.” Gerald said. “There is one kind of death penalty that fits a public-enemy-numero-uno like him who has sparked intense public outrage… This interrogation is just a dog-and-pony show. The real trial will be at 8 p.m. on the 15th, live, city-wide, where everyone gets a vote.”

Amy immediately understood, but when she turned to see the cult leader still cycling “I don’t know” and “lost my memory” like a broken NPC, she still couldn’t get over her anger. She stuck out her tongue—bleh bleh bleh—in contempt, tail dragging a gray skid mark as she stomped off.

Gerald watched the farce hit the fifteen-minute mark. Protocol kicked in: mandatory hydration break. This was also a basic human right stipulated by the Human Rights Act.

The cult leader gulped prison-issued electrolyte slush, fingers occasionally ghosting over the fresh crater in his chest. Wonder flickered in his eyes, then quickly curdled into dread.

For reasons Gerald couldn’t fingerprint, he felt the guy wasn’t lying. All his reactions—panic, curiosity, fear, confusion… really seemed like those of an ordinary person with amnesia.

According to the Human Rights Act, symptoms such as split personality, amnesia, or mental illness meant the person lacked criminal liability and could be exempted from punishment. If a Memory Reader confirmed Ash Heath really had amnesia, he could even be released without charges.

But none of this concerned him. Because of the Four Pillars God, no Memory Reader would, or could, come to extract his memories. So…

“Judging you is the public’s business. We just deliver the piñata.” Gerald turned and left to hunt the next suspect.

…

“I should’ve just stayed dead…”

Lying on the clean, soft, and bouncy mattress, Ash put down the documents in his hand and looked at this bright, spacious cell with a private, gleaming bathroom. His heart was filled with gloom.

Although when he saw those four ‘angels’ reveal such ugly forms before perishing, Ash had a vague premonition, he hadn’t expected the reality to be even worse—the hunters’ accusations were completely correct. He was a bona fide, franchise-level evil cult leader.

The gods that granted Ash power were the most notorious Four Pillars God in this world. They had many aliases, but their most notable feature was that they often appeared together, causing endless chaos.

Lord of Billions of Glories, aka the Tyrant: Pursued endless wars and mountains of corpses. His followers would s*******r everything they saw, turning into genocidal Roombas.

Lord of Wind, Rain, and Snow, aka the Scheming Counselor: Famous for manipulating mortals. He loved to fulfill his followers’ wishes, though fulfilling them would drive the followers bat-s**t insane.

Heart of Eternal Burning Heat, aka the Merciful Father: The source of all plagues. His followers became walking petri dishes, living in pain and terror, but unable to die.

Soul of Dreamy Freedom, aka the Prince of Indulgence: Represented endless desire. Intelligent races were most easily seduced by him, turning from thinkers into drooling animals, with reason completely swallowed by instinct.

Actually, Ash had also suspected the file was deep-fake p********a. But first, he was already cuffed; they could shape him however they wanted. Second, the documents were illustrated with crime-scene glossies, including photos of Heath’s own crimes. The brutality of the methods made Ash’s mushroom-chicken lunch threaten a comeback tour.

Since Heath was a bad person, the Four Pillars God were naturally evil gods. Conversely, the Bloodmad Hunters chasing him were the forces of justice… or at least, social stability.

In just half a day, Ash had experienced a massive emotional swing—he’d initially thought he was a Hero about to leave the newbie village, but it turned out he was a cult leader who had just received the first round of angel investments, preparing to start a business. Then he was farmed as a loot-piñata by a group of Heroes.

Even if he had to transmigrate into a cult leader, why exactly when the hunters were closing the net? Was he specially here to deliver performance metrics (KPI) to the hunters?

Ash tossed and turned, complaining about fate’s unfairness and debating if he’d actually just died of overwork and this was hell. But all thoughts eventually converged into one idea: How will they execute me?

Although the interrogation was polite, with free food and a luxury single room—aside from the designer shackles—Ash almost felt like he was on vacation. But even using a fallen hair to think, he knew they would never let him go. However, Ash vaguely felt this world’s civilization seemed very advanced. Maybe they had abolished the death penalty? A glimmer of hope…

Suddenly, a crisp notification bell rang in his mind. 「Ding-dong!」

Ash felt a heat at his nape, and a light screen unfolded like a pop-up ad from hell. His heart jolted. With countless expectations, he read the unfamiliar text:

「Dear Mr. Ash Heath, prisoner number 4001623. Kaimon City Hall cordially invites you to star as the special guest of the Blood Moon Trial program on Channel 1 at 8 p.m. on the 15th of this month. Please maintain a camera-ready appearance and demeanor. We will send dedicated personnel to escort you. If you wish to withdraw, please reply ‘TC’.」

Although he didn’t know what this Blood Moon Trial was, the name alone didn’t sound like anything fun. Ash naturally hurried to edit ‘TC’ in the dialog box. However, when he moved his mind, another prompt popped up:

「You are currently in the arrest and interrogation phase. The messaging function has been disabled.」

You absolute trolls.

Ash estimated this Blood Moon Trial was his death sentence, but his attention had already shifted to the light screen itself. He touched the back of his neck but felt no bumps. However, he could clearly sense the implant, as if the light screen settings were hard-wired to his spine. Since even a ‘death sentence announcement’ was notified this way, Ash felt this might be this world’s communication tool, not his unique cheat.

Sure enough, when he focused his mind on the 「?」 in the upper left corner, information popped up:

「Name: ‘Heath’’s ‘Concourse Light Screen’」 「Version: 14.4.1」 「Chip Model: Miracle 13」 「Current Status: Messaging function disabled, networking function disabled, channel access function disabled, photo function disabled, kinetic output restricted, virtual realm access prohibited, spellforce output prohibited…」 「Main Number: 459105198」 「Service Provider: Kaimon Psychic」

Ash casually changed the name to 「‘Ash’’s ‘Consciousness Light Screen’」, thinking this world’s tech was truly advanced—mixing supernatural individual combat power with this kind of mass-market tech peripheral. What was ridiculous was that Ash had just thought this was his transmigration cheat; turns out it was a mass-market iBrain. It was like an ancient caveman picking up a smartphone and calling it a divine artifact. Thinking of his earlier delusions of grandeur, Ash’s cheeks burned.

Although Ash wanted to study this new toy, unfortunately most functions were disabled. Aside from calendar, messages, notepad, and calculator, the only thing left was…

Spellcaster's Manual of Aurora? Ash froze, pulse doing the Macarena.