Necromancer, what the heck is summoning 055? Section 15

For Chen Mo, this had been a heartwarming little interlude on the road ahead. Now he needed to make the most of his time, train hard, and continue on his path to becoming a higher-level mage.

Just as it was time to leave, he boarded a somewhat battered wooden carriage with four wheels and two horses. Its wheels rolled over the brown earth of the main road with a monotonous rumble. Chen Mo propped his bundle behind his back, settled into a relatively comfortable position, and closed his eyes, concentrating as he tried to enter a meditative state.

The aftereffects of forcibly using a mental power potion to initiate a summoning last time still hadn't faded. Judging by the altar's recovery, it might take another ten days or half a month before he could perform the next Bloodline Sacrifice.

Time waited for no one. He had to hurry and improve himself!

The Basic Meditation Technique taught at Black Raven Castle was a commonplace method, and practicing it was extremely taxing, comparable to solving advanced mathematics problems.

After practicing Basic Meditation for a while, Chen Mo had to rest for a bit, leaning against the window and watching the scenery.

The light morning mist dispersed, and the almost unchanging trees outside the carriage window drifted slowly backward. Chen Mo estimated the distance between several trees, then used his tactical watch to time how long it took to pass them. After several tests, he estimated the carriage's speed at only six or seven kilometers an hour.

According to the driver, the journey would take a full eight or nine hours, which meant this stretch of road was at least fifty or sixty kilometers long.

"Clop... clop..." The crisp sound of hooves came from ahead and quickly drew close to the carriage. Unlike the other riders who passed them by in a flash, this newcomer slowed down as he approached and struck up a conversation with the driver.

Both men spoke in the official language of the Moonrest Dynasty, but there was something strange about what they said.

The driver spoke first, asking warily, "Ice cracks don't take the ground-fire road, black crows don't look toward the sun. What forest bird might you be?"

The rider's reply was muffled and rapid. "The winter woods need fresh firewood, but we'll spare the trees and only take a sapling."

The driver seemed taken aback, and his voice carried a hint of displeasure. "White stone, white leaves, a silver linden tree. What bird would dare carry off a sapling?"

The rider answered at once, "The tiger roars on the next mountain over. Take the sapling, and we'll offer you wine!"

The conversation stopped abruptly. The rider circled the carriage, then turned back the way he had come, passing the open window on Chen Mo's side twice in the process.

He looked like an entirely ordinary rider, clad in a drab leather half-armor, narrow-legged riding trousers and boots, with a long saber on his back. The instant he entered Chen Mo's view, he cast him an icy look.

Chen Mo felt a jolt.

Something didn't seem quite right.

The rider had come all this way just to exchange a few words with the driver, then turned his horse around. There was something peculiar about that.

Chen Mo went over their conversation in his head. The two had certainly understood each other, but he hadn't. Could it have been local underworld slang?

Modern people on Blue Star had no chance to encounter that sort of thing, but it was in novels and on television.

Things like, "A cloud hangs over the northwest heavens, a crow has landed among the phoenixes!"

Or, "The heavenly king covers the earthly tiger, the pagoda suppresses the river demon!"

That was it, exactly!

Seen from that angle, no matter how he thought about the conversation those two had just had, something was off.

Having already been given a harsh lesson by this society several times, Chen Mo immediately began making preparations.

He checked his two firearms, one long and one short, and hung both weapons where he could reach them easily. He pressed the plates firmly into his stab-resistant vest. Finally, he pulled a Kevlar cut-resistant glove over his left hand and even took out the fallback letter Mother Homeland had given him, tucking it into his coat pocket with a corner of the envelope sticking out.

At that moment, Chen Mo bitterly hated how weak he was.

If only he had a black warrior at his side, carrying a Vulcan cannon that spat blue flames, why would he have to be so frightened?

No longer in the mood to meditate, Chen Mo opened the carriage window a crack and propped his goggles against its edge, using the lenses as a rearview mirror. With one eye on the road ahead and the other on what lay behind, he waited quietly, his nerves taut.

The carriage continued at its unhurried pace, the sound of its wheels rolling over earth and stones monotonous enough to make him drowsy. Then, without the slightest warning, the carriage suddenly swerved. With a mumbled shout from the driver, it veered sharply off the level main road, its wheels crunching heavily over roadside gravel and dead grass. It jolted into a patch of wilderness overgrown with weeds and sparsely dotted with trees, finally stopping in front of a few lonely trees with twisted branches.

"Sir in the carriage, I'm sorry!" The driver's voice came from outside, carrying a note of contrived panic. "I... I really can't hold it anymore. I need to go into the woods and relieve myself! Sorry to make you wait, sir. I'll be right back!"

Chen Mo whipped the carriage curtain aside, only to catch a glimpse of the driver hunched over and stumbling at a frantic run toward the dark, dense woods nearby, without looking back. From behind, he looked just like a rabbit being chased by a wolf.

Almost at the same time, a rapid, dense clatter of hooves came from the direction of the main road, quickly approaching the wilderness!

Chapter 22: The Mountain Vine Squad

Four men on two horses came charging along the dry main road, kicking up a cloud of dust.

Four grown men crammed onto two horses. It looked as though they were no powerful force, but a typical makeshift outfit.

Under the original course of events, the force sent to hunt down Chen Mo would have been at least a second-class mercenary corps.

After all, this was a bounty from the Zircon Family of the Green Pine Kingdom.

When a swift owl from Black Raven Castle brought word that one of his direct descendants was suspected of having been killed by an apprentice, and that the suspect might already have fled to the Southern Continent, the head of the Zircon Family displayed textbook "noble outrage"-polite, restrained, and with just the right hint of a loss of composure.

The family had so many children that he could barely remember what the one sent to Black Raven Castle looked like. As for affection, there was none to speak of.

But the honor of the Zircon Family could not be defiled.

Sending family warriors to deal with the matter on the Southern Continent was impractical. Noble status was useful at home, but abroad, it might get you a table nearer the front at a dinner party, and that was all.

What noble family didn't have a long history? In particular, most of this generation of nobles were descendants of sword-wielding nobles who had fought their way to prominence in the Hundred Years' War. Trace their lineages back a little, and they might all be related by blood!

The Zircon Family had its own way of handling a slightly troublesome problem like this: put out a bounty.

Go through the official mercenary guild? Too slow! For a special-class assignment like killing someone across national borders, the scrutiny from each country could drive a person mad. The procedures were despairingly complicated, taking two or three months at best and half a year or a year at worst. And if the other side deliberately dragged its feet...

A Radiant Templar who had defected from the Mist Moon Divine Court and was living carefree in the Firmament Empire was a living example. The Firmament Empire's mercenary guild repeatedly demanded evidence from the Mist Moon Divine Court, and the review process dragged out the task's posting for forty-seven years, turning an assassination contract into an obituary notice.

After weighing everything, the Zircon Family chose underground channels to deal with this "unknown Preparatory Apprentice" more quickly and effectively.

The veteran mercenary Luke had told Chen Mo so many anecdotes about the continent and interesting stories about its various countries, but he had overlooked one important point. Besides the mercenary guilds, which were official institutions, there were mercenary black markets everywhere in every country.

Tasks posted at a mercenary guild had to comply with the laws and regulations of the country in question. But what about all the tasks that didn't comply?

Where there was demand, there would be a market. What couldn't survive in the sunlight would naturally retreat into the dark.

The demands lurking in shadowy corners, the thefts, robberies, assassinations, and slaughters that could not see the light of day, flowed like a river beneath the earth, giving rise to the freakish creation known as the mercenary black market.

While Chen Mo was still gazing at the sea of clouds from the airship, the Zircon Family's magical message had already reached White Stone City. By the time his feet had barely touched the soil of the Southern Continent, the squad that had accepted the job had long been waiting eagerly at White Stone Outpost.

The Zircon Family's plan was practically perfect. Unfortunately, the world always liked to play tricks of mischance.

The bounty the head of the Zircon Family had originally approved was forty gold coins-a huge sum enough to tempt a mid-sized mercenary corps. Paying it to secure justice for Little Goldie, that unfortunate nineteenth heir in line, was fitting enough for his status.

However, the person handling it was the Zircon Family's eldest son. This future family head had a natural dislike for any "brother" ranked behind him.

So he pocketed thirty coins. "They already said over at Black Raven that he's just a Preparatory Apprentice who can only summon skeleton spearmen. Ten gold coins is enough to kill him a hundred times over. Why waste the money?"

The chief steward turned and instructed the steward for external affairs, "The higher-ups have decided. The bounty is three gold coins. Move quickly, and don't let the boy slip away."

The steward for external affairs informed the deacon, "Sixty silver coins. That's plenty. This is a task from the Zircon Family, after all. Surely there are some sensible mercenaries willing to be of service."

By the time the task was finally posted on White Stone's underground black market, all that remained was twenty silver coins and a vague promise of "the Zircon Family's friendship."

By then, the money was no longer enticing, leaving only the prestige of the Zircon Family's noble status to sweeten the deal.

Then the mercenary corps that were somewhat interested asked around and learned that the little necromancer apprentice with the bones had arrived on an airship chartered by a young master or mistress from Cloudmist Territory.

That meant "the Zircon Family's friendship" might bring "the Emerald Duchy's displeasure." Forget it. Whoever wanted to earn that lousy sum could have it.

In the end, the only ones who took the job were the ill-informed, dirt-poor [Mountain Vine] adventurer squad before him.

Their captain was a veteran Bronze Pattern swordsman. His squad included a newly promoted Bronze Pattern scout and two lackeys without any rank at all. They had lain in ambush on an earthen slope outside the wilderness, and when they saw the driver obediently steer the carriage into the designated "slaughterhouse," they immediately spurred their scrawny horses forward in a ferocious charge.

At least, that was how it felt to them.

As they charged into the wilderness and spotted the lone carriage, the [Mountain Vine] captain's confidence soared. He bellowed, "You little bastard from Black Raven! Get out here and let your granddaddy have a look at you..." Before he finished, a dark, round object came spinning through the air, flying straight toward them.

What greeted them was a defensive grenade.

Don't let the words offensive and defensive fool you. In actual combat, the defensive type was far more vicious than the offensive type.

The offensive type emphasized mobility and was meant to be thrown while charging. It had over three hundred fragments and an effective lethal radius of three or four meters.

The defensive type was meant for holding a position; you only dared throw one from inside a trench or fortification. The one Chen Mo had was an enhanced version, containing over sixteen hundred steel balls. Its effective lethal radius was at least twice that of an offensive grenade, and anyone within twenty-five meters could be injured.

Using the carriage as cover, Chen Mo hurled the 82-2, then immediately darted behind the carriage body.

Boom!

A muffled explosion boomed across the wilderness.

The [Mountain Vine] squad had at least retained some awareness. The instant Chen Mo threw the unidentified object, the riders instinctively yanked their reins, trying to turn. Unfortunately, they were too late!

The densely packed steel balls swept outward in every direction like a metal storm, giving off a scalp-tingling shriek.

The Bronze Pattern swordsman charging at the front bore the brunt of it. He instinctively raised a hand to block, but it was meaningless. The steel balls easily punched through his thin leather armor with a sickening series of wet thuds.

The shock on his face had not even fully registered before the blast flung him off his horse like a rag sack.

The squad member behind him was slightly luckier. The captain in front had become his human shield, absorbing most of the blast. Even so, several steel balls mercilessly burrowed into his thigh and side. Worse still, one struck at an angle and pierced his throat, instantly twisting the piercing scream that had just escaped it into a strange, short "Hh..." before cutting it off.

The ones who suffered the worst physical damage were the two poor warhorses. Their cries were drowned out by the explosion as both great beasts crashed to the ground. Their heavy bodies rolled six or seven meters under their enormous momentum, their bellies and necks instantly riddled with countless holes gushing blood. Scalding blood poured out like streams, soaking the dry ground red in moments.

Steel balls, the shock wave, flames, and the crushing weight of the falling warhorses-a single grenade had neatly put all four mercenaries down.

Of the four, only the Bronze Pattern scout reacted quickly enough. The moment the grenade flew toward them, he almost instinctively performed a graceful maneuver, hiding himself alongside the horse in the stirrup, and narrowly avoided most of the deadly steel balls.

But man proposed, heaven disposed. The heavy warhorse fell squarely on top of him, pinning him fast and leaving him unable to move.

Without the Bronze Pattern scout shielding him, the lackey behind him had a hole blown straight through his abdomen. As he was flung through the air, his intestines spilled out, mingled with blood.

He tried in vain to cover them with his hands, but he couldn't lift his arms. His blood-misted eyes were filled with incredulous bewilderment.

Hadn't they said he was an unranked Preparatory Apprentice?

Those liars from the Zircon Family!

Chapter 23: Gun smoke in the wilderness

If the members of the Mountain Vine Squad had possessed some magical life-prolonging spell, even the intestines that had spilled out of their bodies would probably have turned green with regret by now.

Never mind twenty silver coins; even for twenty gold coins, they probably couldn't have managed this job.

But no amount of regret could help them now. Chen Mo, already as jumpy as a startled bird, had no intention of communicating or negotiating. He struck hard from the outset.

The dust and smoke from the explosion had yet to settle, and thick blood and indescribable fragments of biological tissue had already splashed across the wasteland, painting an impressionist picture. A couple of intermittent howls seemed to drift on the wind, though there was no telling which of them had made the sounds.

"Rat-tat-tat!"

Little White leveled the Type 95 automatic rifle and first fired a round to finish them off.

When shooting stationary targets, Little White's stability was reliable. Given ample time to aim, the bullets precisely blew open their skulls. One shot per person, with an extra shot for one of them, used up a mere five bullets to put a complete stop to their irritating racket.

Next came Little White's customary post-battle routine: advancing with the ghastly white bone spear to deliver another round of finishing blows, this time with a cold weapon.

Two shots to the chest and one to the head-even an immortal would shake his head.

He also put the struggling warhorses out of their misery.