NEC Chapter 25: Watch Me Trip It Up  

Josie, a freshly minted Copper Crest Warrior, was bragging to his companions about his promotion exploits. 

Advancing as a professional had two paths: passing the Mercenary Guild’s test or completing a designated promotion task. Tests required fees, tasks needed proof of completion, both key revenue streams for the guild. 

For instance, the Whitestone City Mercenary Guild’s task to advance from apprentice to first-tier Copper Crest Warrior was to slay six or more Shadow Demon Wolves and bring back their crystals as proof. These wolves, dark creatures found in lairs at the Gloomy Forest’s edge, could be spawned with enough obsidian to tap the lair’s magical energy. 

Obsidian was a basic first-tier material, while shadow crystals were refined second-tier materials. Keeping the crystals meant a small profit from killing wolves, but submitting them for the task was a pure loss. 

No way around it, though—advancement demanded coin. 

Worse, after succeeding, Josie’s old buddies egged him on to treat them. Freshly elevated and unwilling to lose face, Josie emptied his father’s purse, borrowed more, and booked a round at Uncle One-Eye’s Hedgehog Tavern. 

The tavern buzzed with smoky clamor. Half-drunk on cheap ale and puffed up by his friends’ flattery, Josie caught a glimpse of a young figure weaving through the crowd with a skeleton in tow. 

The skeleton, lugging a massive, bulging bundle, moved clumsily, its steps sluggish. 

It was like a gift dropped in his lap—a perfect prop! 

As a self-styled “veteran” who’d joined out-of-town missions, Josie loved flexing his experience with a bit of boasting. But talk alone bored his audience. Spotting this bumbling skeleton, Josie’s spirits soared. 

“Hey, boys, see that?” He rapped the table, drawing their eyes, and pointed at the skeleton inching along. “Looks scary, right? But it’s dumber than a stump! A hillman’s hound would chew it like a bone!” 

“No lie, swear it!” 

He took a swig, his face flushed. “When I was out on jobs, anyone hauling one of these embarrassed the whole crew! Good for carrying bags, maybe. Fighting? Pfft, I’d take it down with both hands tied!” 

“Don’t believe me? Watch, and don’t blink!” 

His companions’ curiosity ignited Josie’s showmanship. Fueled by liquor, he decided to stage a performance, “both hands tied,” to topple the skeleton. 

The tavern floor, packed dirt pocked by spilled drinks and boot heels, was uneven, littered with bone fragments and soggy sawdust. 

Following Chen Mo’s order to “move carefully,” Little White crept along slowly. By the time Chen Mo neared the central platform, Little White had only reached the second row of tables— right where Josie and his crew sat. 

Grinning, Josie winked at his friends, signaling “watch this.” 

He raised his arms in an exaggerated stretch, using the motion to mask his leg sliding out. His hard leather boot, gliding along the table’s worn, grimy edge, extended precisely into Little White’s path. 

He meant to trip the skeleton. 

On a past mission, he’d seen a team’s warrior toy with a hapless skeleton. Now, he’d recreate the classic. 

No one could call him out. Tavern rules banned brawling, but stretching a leg wasn’t against the law. 

His theatrics drew the eyes of half the sober patrons, eager for a free comedy show. 

No surprise there. 

Crack! 

Little White’s ankle bone snagged on Josie’s leg. The poor skeleton flailed its arms in panic, but its balance was hopeless. With a clumsy, desperate lurch, it slammed onto the filthy floor. 

It was a spectacular tumble. 

Inertia sent its frame skidding, loose bits in its ribcage clattering. Miraculously, it didn’t break apart. But disaster struck when its massive bundle smashed into a sturdy table leg. 

Crash! Clang! Thud! 

The bundle burst open, its contents spilling out, rolling, bouncing, scattering everywhere! 

Josie’s grin froze, as if winter’s frost had locked his face. 

By the God of War, what was this? 

This wasn’t just luggage. Look at what spilled out!  

A warped, notched one-handed sword; a broadsword snapped at the hilt, half its guard gone; tattered leather armor riddled with holes, reeking of blood; a dented, scratched metal breastplate; bits of wrist or shin guards; a mud-stained hunting bow with arrows strewn about. 

Most of the weapons and armor were caked with dark, crimson-black bloodstains, shocking to behold. 

A small arm brace, its metal clasp trailing tendons and leather straps, hit a front-row table, bounced back, and rolled to Josie’s feet. The clasp bore a clear, half-dried bloody handprint, with a scrap of hairy flesh dangling from the strap. 

Under the tavern’s dim, greasy lamplight, it radiated an eerie chill. 

Josie could almost hear the flesh’s silent wail. 

Moments ago, the tavern had roared with noise—drunken mutters, dice clattering in wooden cups, crude jokes, rowdy arguments, fierce curses, and the cooing of barmaids. Now, it was as if an invisible hand had choked it silent, leaving only the occasional crackle of the fireplace and a suffocating, deathly hush. 

No rookies here. Even Josie, the youngest, had years of rough experience. 

These items were all too familiar, the tools mercenaries lived by. 

Displayed like this, they screamed of a brutal slaughter, laid bare before their eyes. 

Seasoned mercenaries, eyes wide, stared at the young necromancer ahead. Hands gripped weapons, bodies tensed, muscles coiled, legs braced for combat. 

When Little White fell, Chen Mo startled, his hand instinctively reaching for his gun. Turning to see the scene, his first thought was that his clumsy skeleton had tripped again, flooding him with embarrassment. 

What do you even say in a moment like this? 

Nothing felt right. It was like walking into a lively banquet and flipping over a garbage cart. Would they think he was here to wreck the place? 

Chen Mo forced a sheepish smile, but to the mercenaries watching, it sent chills down their spines. 

This guy killed so ruthlessly yet smiled so shyly? A deranged murderer! 

>>> NEXT CHAPTER