NEC Chapter 26: You Make Your Own Identity  

The first to react was the one-eyed tavern owner, lazily propped against the bar counter. 

His worn half-eyepatch covered one eye, but the other scanned the smoky, crowded hall like a laser, catching everything despite the chaos. No small feat. 

Most of the time, he flirted with a few women whose figures rivaled minotaurs and lips were painted vampiric red. But since Chen Mo entered, his lone eye had tracked the newcomer, noting the waiter’s report and Josie’s little stunt. 

He also saw how the tavern turned into an icebox. 

In the suffocating silence, the owner pressed his eyepatch and bellowed, “A friend dropped some stuff. Don’t go pocketing it, folks! I’ll have it cleaned up, and to show thanks, every table gets a free bottle of Black Snake ale!” 

“Old John, you’ve got a guest looking for you. Quit strumming that funeral dirge and greet them!” 

His words jolted the tavern back to life, the clamor rising from a murmur to its usual roar. 

Only the instigator, young Copper Crest Warrior Josie, stood frozen, his boasts blown to bits. His face was ashen, eyes vacant, focus gone. 

Then the owner casually grabbed him by the scruff, tossing him before Chen Mo like a dead dog. 

“Here’s the troublemaker. Where’re you from, friend, and what’s your name?” 

There’s an old mercenary saying: Out in the world, you make your own identity. For a transmigrator like Chen Mo, answering “Who am I?” was paramount. From his first moments in this world, he’d been crafting his persona. The deeper his understanding of the Starry Continent grew, the richer and more coherent his self-crafted identity became. 

Facing the probing gazes of the owner and Old John, Chen Mo cleared his throat and began his performance.  “First, I hope you’ll understand,” he said, offering a faint, slightly distant smile. “Due to reasons 

I can’t disclose, I can’t reveal my family’s specifics. Let’s just say… it’s a respectable place.” 

He paused briefly, then said clearly, “Oh, my name is Chen Mo.” 

That brief pause was perfect. The owner and Old John exchanged a quick glance, thoughtful. 

The surname Chen tied to many great houses. Usually, if it wasn’t the Chen family of the Sky

Empire, one would clarify, “Not that Chen!”—like Whitestone’s guard captain, surnamed Feng, always adding, “No relation to the Norton Kingdom’s Fengs!” 

Chen Mo smiled faintly. Guess what you want, I’ve said nothing. 

The owner courteously seated Chen Mo, who glanced at the dried, dark stains on the wooden bench. His smile flickered almost imperceptibly before he stood upright, continuing his tale unhurriedly. 

Orphaned early, without support, he faced fierce family rivalries, endured taunts from spoiled nobles, scheming rivals, a broken betrothal, and estranged friends—a tragic tale to make listeners sigh and weep. In youthful defiance, he left home to carve out his own path. 

“At home, for certain reasons, I studied scholarly arts, not combat,” he said. 

“Only after leaving did I, by chance, touch the edges of magic, picking up some basic skills.”

The owner’s eyelid twitched slightly. He signaled a waiter, who soon brought Chen Mo a relatively clean cushion. 

In a world ruled by martial prowess, why would a family bar a child from combat training, pushing them toward academics? 

Only for exceptional branch-family heirs. 

In this martial world, talent varied. If every child had equal combat training, within a few generations, the main family’s power would slip. No matter how strict the rules, human greed prevailed. 

As a legendary Feng lord from the Norton Kingdom once said, “Laws are made by those above the rules to bind those below.” 

You couldn’t expect a branch-family Eternal Night Ranger to obey a main-family Silver Armor

Warrior’s whims, just as a border general commanding thirty thousand northern cavalry wouldn’t surrender power on a mere capital decree. 

How did Chen Mo know this? Thanks to Little Blondie, who’d bragged among apprentices about a gifted Zircon branch heir forced to become a mere accountant. 

The waiter delivered the cushion. Chen Mo sat cautiously, shifting to business. 

“It’s a pity, where there are people, there’s conflict,” he sighed, a touch of resignation in his voice. “Even if I just want a quiet corner to train, some clueless noble always comes knocking.”  “I came to the Crescent Moon Federation to register as a mercenary and study in a mage tower.” “As luck would have it, I met Luke on the way. He strongly recommended I come here, saying his old friend could help.” 

Old John ran his fingers through his sparse, mostly white hair. “Luke? You mean that big oaf from Mirror Lake? How’d you meet someone like him? He doesn’t seem the type to cross paths with… someone of your standing.” 

“Funny story,” Chen Mo said, a perfectly timed flush crossing his face. “He was guiding the

Cloudmist Domain’s young lady. I hitched a ride on their airship, and we got to talking.” 

“I’ve dealt with Captain Paven a few times; they could’ve helped with an identity. But owing too many favors… it doesn’t sit right.” 

“Master Locke healed my wounds, and Lady Frost gifted me a healing pill. Look at me now, down on my luck,” Chen Mo spread his hands, his poise both open and reserved. “I’ve got nothing to repay them with, so I’d rather not impose further.” 

This was high-level maneuvering. As he spoke, the owner and Old John’s eyes probed his expression and gaze like needles. 

Chen Mo’s eyes were clear, his demeanor open, his heart steady: I haven’t lied. 

He rode the Cloudmist airship, dealt with Paven, was healed by Locke, and received a pill from Lady Frost. Not a single false word. 

With the full story laid out, the last trace of doubt in Old John’s eyes vanished. 

“A mercenary identity’s easy to arrange, but the starting rank will be low. Mind that?” 

“No issue,” Chen Mo said firmly. “I just want to study in a mage tower. Rank doesn’t matter; the sooner, the better.” 

Old John nodded, reassured. “Good! Tomorrow, come with me to the Mercenary Guild. I’ll get it sorted clean and proper!” 

>>> NEXT CHAPTER