Necromancer, What the Hell Is Summoning a 055? Section 17

Worse still, after he successfully advanced, a bunch of his old companions had egged him on to treat them. How could Josie, having just entered a new realm in life, lose face? He had emptied his father's pockets and borrowed some money besides, then treated his companions at Uncle One-Eye's Old Hedgehog Tavern.

The tavern was thick with smoke and loud with voices. Just as cheap ale and his companions' flattery were making Josie feel a little heady, he caught sight of a young man with a skeleton making his way through the noisy crowd.

The skeleton carried a huge, bulging bundle on its back, and its movements were clumsy and slow.

This was like being handed a pillow just when he was sleepy-a prop right in front of him!

As a "veteran" who had gone on missions outside the area with an adventuring party, Josie considered showing off his modest experience with a little boasting one of the few highlights of his life. But people lost interest when all he ever did was talk. Now that he had spotted this silly pile of bones, little Josie perked right up.

"Hey, guys, see that?" Josie tapped the table to get his companions' attention and pointed at the skeleton moving carefully along. "That thing looks scary, but it's as dumb as a block of wood! A mountain hunter's hound could use it as a chew toy!"

"Really, I'm not kidding!"

He took a swig of ale, his face flushed. "When I was out on missions, if anyone brought one of those things along, the whole team would be too embarrassed to show their faces! It's barely good enough to carry luggage. Fighting? Hmph, I could beat it with both hands tied!"

"Don't believe me? Watch closely, and don't blink!"

His companions' curiosity fully fired up Josie's desire to perform. With the ale emboldening him, he decided to put on an impromptu show and take down the skeleton without using either hand.

The tavern floor was packed earth, pitted and uneven from countless spills and the tread of boots. Bits of broken bone and damp sawdust were lodged in places.

The skeleton Little White followed its master Chen Mo's instruction to "proceed carefully" to the letter, walking especially slowly. By the time Chen Mo himself had almost reached the central platform, Little White had only just trudged as far as the second row of tables-right where Josie's group was sitting.

Grinning, Josie winked at his companions and gestured for them to watch.

He raised both hands high in an exaggerated stretch, but under cover of the movement, he silently and precisely extended his hard-leather-booted leg along the table leg, which had been worn round, dull and black by countless drinkers and was covered in stains.

He was going to trip the skeleton.

On one mission, he had had the good fortune to see how a warrior in the party had tormented a poor skeleton. Here, he intended to recreate that classic performance.

Besides, no one could catch him doing anything wrong. The tavern had rules against fighting and injuring people, but sticking out a leg wasn't against the law, was it?

His exaggerated movement attracted most of the nearby drinkers who weren't completely drunk yet. Plenty of curious eyes turned toward him, waiting to watch the free farce.

There was no suspense.

"Clatter!"

Little White's ankle bone caught squarely on Josie's leg. The poor little skeleton flailed its arms in a panic, but it was no use. Its balance was too poor, and all it could do was fall stiffly forward with an air of clumsy despair and slam heavily against the filthy floor!

It was quite an ungainly fall.

The tremendous momentum sent its whole skeleton sliding across the floor, the loose objects in its rib cage rattling and clanging. Fortunately, it didn't fall apart. Worse, though, the enormous bundle on its back slammed into the thick, sturdy leg of a nearby wooden table.

"Crash! Clang! Clatter!"

The mouth of the bundle burst open! Its contents spilled out in an instant, rolling, bouncing and flying all over the floor!

Josie's smile froze on his face as if stiffened by winter frost.

God of War above, what was this?

That was no ordinary bundle of luggage. Just look at what had fallen out!

A twisted, deformed one-handed sword covered in nicks; a greatsword with its hilt broken off halfway, leaving only half the handguard; a tattered leather cuirass pierced like a honeycomb and reeking of blood; a metal breastplate dented out of shape and covered in scratches; small pieces of armor that looked like bracers or greaves; a mud-caked hunting bow and arrows scattered across the floor...

Most of the weapons and armor were covered in great, shocking patches of dark red, almost black blood!

A short length of arm binding with a metal buckle, several strands of sinew still attached to its torn end, struck a wooden table in the front row and bounced heavily back, rolling to a stop in front of Josie. A clear, half-dried bloody handprint marked the metal buckle, and a small piece of human tissue with hair on it still hung from the sinew.

Under the dim, greasy light, it gave off a chilling air.

Josie seemed to hear a wail from that piece of human tissue, whatever part of the body it had come from.

The tavern, deafeningly noisy a moment before, seemed to have its throat gripped by an invisible giant hand. Every sound-the loud drunken muttering, the clatter of dice in wooden cups, the dirty jokes, the crude arguments, the vicious curses and the cooing voices of the women who kept the drinkers company... vanished without a trace in an instant.

All that remained was the occasional crackle of firewood in the hearth and a suffocating, deathly silence!

There were no rookies here. Even young Josie, who looked the most like one, had spent several years struggling out in the world.

They were all too familiar with these objects. They were the tools of the trade that these mercenaries lived with day and night.

Displayed like this, the equipment seemed to scream silently at the mercenaries, recreating a scene of brutal slaughter before their eyes.

Several experienced old mercenaries stared wide-eyed at the young undead summoner ahead of them, their gazes filled with apprehension and fear. Their hands were already gripping their weapons tightly, their bodies taut, muscles contracted and legs braced, ready for battle.

The instant Little White fell, Chen Mo jumped too, reflexively reaching inside his clothes with his right hand to grip his gun. When he turned and saw what had happened, his first reaction was that his own dumb skeleton had stumbled and fallen yet again, and a wave of intense embarrassment washed over him.

What was he supposed to say at a time like this?

Nothing he said would be appropriate. It was like a hall full of people enjoying a lively meal, only for him to come in and overturn a garbage truck. Would they think he'd come to wreck the place?

Chen Mo gave a slightly sheepish smile, and the mercenaries watching him felt every hair on their bodies stand on end.

Good grief, he killed so viciously, yet he smiles so shyly. He's a psychopathic murderer!

Chapter 26: You Make Your Own Identity

The first to react was the one-eyed owner, who had been leaning lazily behind the bar the whole time.

A worn half eye patch covered part of the owner's face. His one remaining eye swept back and forth across the crowded, smoke-filled hall like a laser pointer. It was no small feat that he could keep an eye on everything around him.

Most of the time, the owner flirted with a few wavy-haired women whose busts rivaled a minotaur's and whose lips were painted like vampires'. But ever since Chen Mo had entered, the corner of his one eye had remained fixed on the unfamiliar newcomer. He had also heard the server's report and seen Josie's little trick.

Naturally, he had also seen how his tavern had turned into an ice cellar.

In the suffocating atmosphere, the one-eyed owner pressed one hand to his eye patch and shouted, "A friend dropped his things. Brothers and sisters, don't go pocketing any of them. I'll have someone clean up right away, and to thank you, each table gets another bottle of Black Snake liquor!"

"Old John, an honored guest has come looking for you! Stop playing that lousy funeral tune and attend to him!"

The moment the one-eyed owner spoke, the tavern seemed to come alive again. The noise slowly, slowly rose and returned.

Only the instigator remained standing in the eye of the storm, trembling: little Josie, whose boasting had blown up in his face. The young copper-pattern warrior stood there, his face deathly pale, his eyes vacant and seemingly unfocused.

Then the one-eyed owner easily grabbed him by the back, lifted him up like a dead dog and tossed him in front of Chen Mo.

"I've brought the little troublemaker over to you. Where are you from, friend, and what should I call you?"

There was an old saying among mercenaries: away from home, you made your own identity.

For a visitor from another world like Chen Mo, resolving the question of "who am I" was a top priority.

Chen Mo had been making up an identity for himself all along. He had started defining himself from the moment he came into contact with this world. The more he learned about the Starry Continent, the more complete the definition became, the richer its contents, the fuller its details and the more consistent its logic.

Meeting the questioning gazes of One-Eye and Old John, Chen Mo cleared his throat and began his performance.

"First, I ask you to understand," he said with a faint, slightly distant smile that was just right, "that for certain reasons I cannot speak of openly, I can't reveal the details of my family. I can only say... the place is respectable enough."

He paused, then clearly enunciated a few words. "By the way, my name is Chen, Mo."

That brief pause in the middle was just right. The one-eyed owner and Old John exchanged a quick, thoughtful glance.

The surname Chen was connected to far too many prominent families. Generally speaking, if someone had no connection to the Chen family of the Firmament Empire, they would immediately follow it with an explanation: "Not the Chen you're thinking of!" It was just like how the captain of the White Stone City garrison had to declare immediately after giving his surname, Feng, "No relation to the Feng family of the Norton Kingdom!"

Chen Mo smiled faintly. Good. Guess whatever you like. I haven't said anything, anyway.

The one-eyed owner solicitously offered Chen Mo a seat. Chen Mo's eyes swept over the unidentified stains that had dried black on the wooden bench, and the smile at the corner of his mouth seemed to freeze for a barely perceptible instant. He remained standing straight beside the table and unhurriedly recounted his background.

His parents had died young, leaving him alone and without support. Competition within the family had been fierce, and he had suffered a series of misfortunes sad enough to bring listeners and onlookers to tears: provocation by profligate young masters, exclusion by petty people, a broken engagement with his childhood sweetheart and estrangement from old friends. In the impetuosity of youth, he had chosen to leave home and travel far away, hoping to carve out a place of his own.

"When I was at home, for certain special reasons, I mainly studied literature and had no chance to become a professional."

"So it wasn't until after I left the family that, through a chance encounter, I managed to cross the threshold and learn a few basics."

The one-eyed owner's eyelid twitched almost imperceptibly. He raised a hand to summon a server, who soon brought Chen Mo a cushion that looked reasonably fresh and clean.

Under what circumstances would a great family forbid its descendants from learning martial arts and allow them to study only literature?

When they were outstanding children of a branch family.

This was a world where might reigned supreme. People had different talents, and if the opportunity to study martial arts were granted equally to every member of a family, it would probably take no more than two or three generations for the main branch's power to pass out of its hands.

No matter how many rules you made, or how complicated and strict they were, it was no use. The greed of human nature couldn't be stopped.

As one legendary Radiant Lord surnamed Feng had put it, laws were made by those above the rules to restrict those beneath them.

You couldn't expect an Eternal Night Ranger from a side branch to submit to the arbitrary orders of a Silver Armor Warrior from the main branch.

Just as you couldn't expect a frontier general commanding three hundred thousand iron cavalry in the Northern Territory to surrender his military authority and submit to capture on the strength of an empty edict from the capital.

How did Chen Mo know this rule? He had little blondie to "thank" for that. The carefree fellow had boasted more than once among the apprentices that an exceptionally gifted member of a side branch of the Zircon family had ultimately been able to become nothing more than a bookkeeper.

The server brought over a reasonably fresh-looking cushion at just the right time. Chen Mo sat down cautiously, then turned the conversation to business.

"Unfortunately, wherever there are people, there are disputes." He sighed, a hint of helplessness in his voice. "Even when I only want to find a quiet corner to cultivate, some blind profligate always comes looking for trouble."

"After making my way to the Creek Moon Federation this time, I only want to obtain a mercenary identity and find a magic tower where I can devote myself to studying."

"As it happens, I met Luke on the road. He strongly recommended that I come here, saying an old friend of his could help."

Old John ran his knuckles through his few sparse locks of mostly white hair. "Luke? Oh, you mean that big fool Luke from Mirror Lake? How... did you come to know him? He doesn't seem like the sort who could make connections with someone of your standing."

"It's quite a coincidence." A perfectly measured hint of embarrassment crossed Chen Mo's face. "He was serving as a guide to the young commandery princess of Cloudmist Territory at the time. I happened to catch a ride on a Cloudmist Territory ship, so we met on board."

"I've also had a few dealings with Captain Peiwen of Cloudmist Territory, so it might be more convenient to ask them to arrange an identity for me. But they've done me too many favors already. Otherwise, if I couldn't repay their kindness, I wouldn't feel at ease."

"Master Locke of Cloudmist Territory treated my injuries, and Commandery Princess Liushuang gave me medicine. Look at the sorry state I'm in now..." Chen Mo spread his hands, his manner frank yet a little reserved. "I really have nothing to repay them with. How could I have the nerve to trouble them again?"

This part was rather lofty. As Chen Mo spoke, the one-eyed owner and Old John kept their eyes fixed on his expression and gaze like probes.

Chen Mo's gaze was clear, his expression calm and his conscience clear. I haven't told a lie.

I did come on Cloudmist Territory's airship, didn't I? I did deal with Captain Peiwen, didn't I? Master Locke did treat my injuries, didn't he? The commandery princess did give me healing medicine, didn't she?

Not a single word was false.

By this point, the whole story, its causes and consequences, had been clearly explained, and the last trace of doubt in Old John's eyes faded.

"A mercenary identity is easy to arrange, but the starting rank will be a little low. Would you mind?"

"It doesn't matter," Chen Mo said decisively. "I only want to enter a mage tower to study. My mercenary rank doesn't matter; the sooner it's done, the better."

Hearing this, Old John was greatly reassured. "Good! Sorry for the trouble, sir, but please come with me to the Mercenary Guild tomorrow. I'll make sure everything is properly arranged for you!"

Chapter 27: A Little Mercenary Hires a Little Mercenary

With their business concluded and seeing that Chen Mo was in a good mood, the one-eyed owner brought his fan-sized hand down hard on the shoulder of little Josie, who was crouching nearby. The blow was so forceful that it sent the copper-pattern warrior staggering down onto one knee.

"This child is young and doesn't know any better. He's caused you trouble. How would you like to deal with him?"

His posture and words made it look as though he was leaving the punishment entirely up to Chen Mo, but there was a hint of a plea for leniency in what he said and what he left unsaid.

Little Josie's father had once been a mercenary in the one-eyed owner's team and had risked his life to take a blade for him.