NEC Chapter 30: Preparing for Another Sacrifice  

Psychic Shunting, also known as Shunting Spell, wasn’t a high-tier skill. Alongside Glimmer, Fireball, and Ice Arrow, it was one of the four

Psychic Shunting, also known as Shunting Spell, wasn’t a high-tier skill. Alongside Glimmer, Fireball, and Ice Arrow, it was one of the four

Psychic Shunting, also known as Shunting Spell, wasn’t a high-tier skill. Alongside Glimmer, Fireball, and Ice Arrow, it was one of the four foundational skills for magical professions. 

These skills represented the basic roles a mage could play in an adventuring party: lighting, igniting, creating ice (which could be melted for water), and breaking down powerful magic into weaker, more flexible applications through Psychic Shunting. 

Its core function was to convert a single, potent spell into multiple weaker ones. 

For example, a senior apprentice might normally summon a skeleton army of fourteen once a month. With Psychic Shunting, they could adjust to summoning three skeletons weekly. 

That was the gist of it. 

Though shunting reduced the spell’s total effect, the increased flexibility made it a must-learn for mages. 

The more practiced one was with Psychic Shunting, the more frequently they could split their magic with less loss. For someone like Chen Mo, with his unique circumstances, it was practically a divine skill. 

Thus, finding a mage tower to complete his “magical kindergarten” phase was non-negotiable. 

Old mercenary Luke had recommended three mage towers for a reason: all were on the North

Foothill River’s west bank, near Qingze City, in the traditional Resting Moon language region. 

At its peak, the Resting Moon Dynasty spanned the Gloomy Forest, with seventy percent of the Crescent Moon Federation’s territory under its rule. The names Resting Moon and Crescent Moon hinted at their shared lineage. 

After internal strife and wars, Resting Moon lost its southern holdings, and the Crescent Moon lands split into a dozen tribes until, two centuries ago, they coalesced into a loose federation. 

The North Foothill’s western region, home to many Resting Moon descendants, shared a common tongue with the Mirror Lake Kingdom and Emerald Duchy across the Gloomy Forest— the only language Chen Mo had a shaky grasp of. 

Seeking towers elsewhere risked landing in a different linguistic zone, forcing him to relearn a new language and pass another “proficiency test.” That would be agony. 

Besides, crossing the river didn’t guarantee acceptance. 

With no better options, Chen Mo decided to recuperate and max out his condition. 

The mental strain from his last bloodline sacrifice had nearly healed. In two or three days, he’d be ready for another. For now, mage towers could wait. He’d write home, update them on his situation. 

His elders back home were probably losing sleep over him. 

Over two days, Chen Mo tuned his body and mind while leading Josie and Little John through nearby market towns, buying an eclectic array of items per his peculiar needs. 

Boar tusks, Longkong Mountain ore, Snowkiss flower buds, Swordleaf tree foliage, Moonlight Grove moss, Bighead beetle specimens, Swiftfox tails, Wildgrass roots, plus local crafts, specialty snacks, metal scraps, and unidentified materials. 

The haul filled two large bags, weighing under five kilograms, light enough for the altar to handle. 

Atop the bundles sat a piece of the Dark Magic Tree’s heart, harvested from the Demon Tree Jungle, and the healing pill gifted by Lady Frost. 

Though Captain Paven’s reaction suggested the pill was a valuable lifesaver, Chen Mo felt embarrassed. This was his second summoning, and he hadn’t sent home anything noteworthy. The priciest item he had would go to his “mom,” to pretend he was thriving out here. 

He chose a reputedly well-connected inn in town for the summoning. 

Booking a corner room and the adjacent one for his escorts, Chen Mo paid hefty deposits and stocked up on food. With a stern expression, he instructed, “I’ll be in seclusion for a while, maybe a day or two, maybe three to nine. You’ll guard round-the-clock in shifts, triple pay.” 

“Nobody enters my room until I’m out.” 

Josie and Little John nodded like bobbleheads. 

Mercenaries, even the less mature ones, were never truly reckless. The unforgiving laws of survival weeded out the foolish. 

That this lone necromancer pre-apprentice had taken down multiple mercenaries, including ranked swordsmen and bowmen, was no secret. Back in Whitestone, the Hedgehog Tavern’s oldtimers had dug into every detail. 

Chen Mo’s solo stand against the Mountain Vine Squad wasn’t something you could hide. The driver, terrified at the time, turned it into prime bragging material once back in town. 

“I didn’t see the fight, but I cleaned up the aftermath,” he’d boasted, spit flying. “Four bodies, not a scrap of clean flesh! Bloody, too bloody!”  

Rumors grew wilder. Chen Mo’s skeleton wasn’t ordinary—it was either a mythical golden skeleton or a murderous deep-blue seventh-tier one. 

Josie didn’t buy it. He’d tripped Little White himself. 

After days together, he was certain: Little White was just a standard skeleton spearman, its lance half-broken. 

The real terror was the calm, ever-smiling young man. 

Before leaving, their families had drilled it into them: don’t cross this lord, whose status was unclear but definitely not low. 

At Chen Mo’s grave orders, the two snapped to attention, fully armed, one on day shift, one on night, guarding for four days and three nights. 

Necromancer summonings weren’t time-bound. Urgent rituals had their methods, slow ones had theirs. 

Summoning undead required the underworld lord’s approval, so when the summoned appeared depended on the lord’s state: enough staff to handle requests, available units, the lord’s mood, or satisfaction with the offerings. Sometimes, the lord might be getting thrashed by enemies, unable to respond despite accepting the tribute. 

Thus, Starry Continent’s arcane scholars universally agreed: necromancy wasn’t a battlefield skill but a daily one. 

Calling their academic field “arcane law” wasn’t inaccurate. 

For Chen Mo, these issues didn’t apply. 

East Xia’s history was vast, but Chen Mo was the first recorded person to send a beacon back from another world. 

Unprecedented, with no successors in sight. 

This alone ensured East Xia’s government treated his bloodline sacrifices with utmost priority and security. 

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The critical beacon rested in a repurposed, top-secret conference room in Changle Palace’s Linhua Hall, surrounded by a heavily guarded isolation zone. Even Chief Cangming’s office was commandeered, the leader unceremoniously evicted. 

When the altar beacon flickered white and trembled, countless high-tech devices behind thick blast-proof glass—cameras, spectrometers, imaging systems, energy detectors—caught the anomaly in unison. 

A low alarm blared through the comms. 

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