NEC Chapter 24: The Hedgehog Tavern  

Whitestone City, the largest stronghold in the northern foothills of the Crescent Moon Federation, once stood as a formidable military bastion. With the advent of the Five Tribes Republic era, humans and elves established their territories and borders, designating the outskirts of the Gloomy Forest as a demilitarized zone. For a hundred and seventy years, no war had touched the city. 

Its towering walls hinted at past grandeur, but the vines draping them and the cracked stone bricks silently whispered to travelers that this was a shield slowly succumbing to rust. 

Chen Mo gazed at the city, lost in thought, when the driver’s respectful voice interrupted.

“Milord, we’ve arrived at Whitestone City. You’ll need to step down for a moment.” It was time for the security check. 

The temporary pass, secured at great expense, proved its value. A guard clad in black light armor meticulously inspected Chen Mo and his skeleton spearman, Little White, frowning at the large bundle slung across the skeleton’s back. He said nothing, collected the entry fee—ten coppers for Chen Mo, one for Little White, treated as a pet—and waved them through. 

Inside the city’s controlled bounds, the driver’s demeanor eased noticeably. Freed from the looming threat of death, his voice gained confidence, laced with a touch of flattery. “That pass of yours is top-notch, milord. Normally, those black-armored gate dogs squeeze every copper they can, never settling for less than the maximum.” 

“They charged your summon as a basic pet today. That’s real clout you’ve got!” 

“What?” Chen Mo didn’t catch the meaning. 

The driver explained that while the human entry fee was fixed by law, summons, whether large or small, had wildly variable fees. “With backing, even a towering beastman gets counted as a pet. No backing? A pet fish becomes a combat companion. Those gate dogs make their coin with these tricks.” 

Curiosity sparked, Chen Mo asked, “What if I brought a Black Armor Rider or a bone dragon?” 

“Oh, milord, don’t jest!” the driver chuckled. “Third-tier professionals or higher, like a 

Suncrown Mage or Silver Armor Warrior, enter free. It’s a universal rule across the Starry Continent, every city honors it!” 

“Alright, would you believe this is my first time in a city?” 

“Milord, I’d believe anything you say!” The driver pointed ahead. “The tavern you’re after is just up there. I’ve got to return the carriage. So…?” 

Chen Mo nodded, tossing a stack of coppers onto the carriage frame. Amid the driver’s fervent thanks, he turned and pushed open the wooden door of the Hedgehog Tavern. 

A thick, almost tangible stench slammed into him, wrapping him in a suffocating embrace. The sour rot of cheap fermented wine mingled with the greasy odor of stewed meat, spiked with the sharp tang of over-soaked spices like onion and star anise. The rancid smell of sweat-soaked leather, the choking haze of low-grade tobacco smoke, and a suspicious whiff of vomit or spoiled food scraps from a corner blended into a low, maddening cacophony that nearly drove Chen Mo back outside. 

The air felt viscous, clinging to his skin like liquid. His eyes stung, forcing him to step out for a few gulps of fresh air before cautiously entering the tavern. 

The creaky wooden door swung shut, sealing off the sunset’s glow, creating a stark divide between inside and out. 

The dim lighting took time to adjust to. The tavern’s interior was larger than he’d imagined, filled with rough-hewn wooden tables and chairs where burly men sprawled, leaned, squatted, or lounged. 

Their worn half-leather armor, tattered coarse cloth garments, and boisterous, shouting conversations made Chen Mo think he’d wandered into a miners’ camp in the Redtree Highlands, were it not for the weapons—axes, maces, greatswords—propped against tables or scattered on the floor. 

“Welcome to the Old Hedgehog Tavern!” a waiter in a faded apron appeared from nowhere, balancing a rough wooden tray stacked with steaming ceramic bowls and wooden mugs. His smile was mechanical. “Here for a drink, a meal, or perhaps a chat with a lady?” 

“Is Old John around? A friend sent me to find him.” 

“John, eh? Common as dirt!” the waiter drawled, eyes glinting slyly. “We’ve got more Johns passing through than fingers to count. Bit of a pickle… Why not sit, wet your throat with a drink? I’ll poke around for you.” 

Five coppers clinked onto the greasy tray. 

“Oh, my ears!” The waiter’s smile turned warm and eager, his fingers deftly pocketing the coins. “You meant Old John! My mistake, thought you said Young John. That little rat hasn’t shown up in ages. There!” He pointed briskly toward the tavern’s depths. “The guy cradling a lute, mumbling on the stage, that’s likely your Old John.” 

Chen Mo followed the gesture. In the flickering lamplight, a small wooden platform rose a few inches at the tavern’s center. A white-haired, bleary-eyed old man clutched a stringed instrument, plucking it listlessly, his voice a mix of song and drunken murmur, not unlike the groans of a zombie axeman. 

Chen Mo strode toward the stage without hesitation. 

The patrons’ chatter paused, their wary or appraising gazes locking onto the newcomer. Spotting Little White trailing behind, their expressions shifted to scorn or impatience, as if a rabbit had hopped into a wolf’s den. 

Necromancers were common on the Starry Continent. Youngsters chasing glory trained as Copper Crest Warriors, those seeking flair became Blue Feather Marksmen, and those craving elegance studied as Stardust Mages. But the frugal, or those like Chen Mo with limited means, turned to necromancy, summoning undead to save coin. 

The complex barrier to mastering necromancy kept it from being universal, but who wouldn’t want a tireless undead to haul gear through the Gloomy Forest? 

With adventurers aplenty, necromancers weren’t rare. But a lone pre-apprentice, barely above the status of a servant at Black Crow Castle, wandering with a low-tier skeleton spearman? That was a rarity. 

What apprentice roamed free? They served their masters for years, long enough to rise to Stardust Mage. 

In the Mercenary Guild’s mage hierarchy, a senior apprentice graduated to first-tier Stardust Mage, then second-tier Moonring Mage, and third-tier Suncrown Mage. At the fourth tier, they branched into complex paths like Elemental Mastery, Spirit Summoning, Life Shepherding, or Creation Alchemy. 

Most necromancers in the low-end mercenary scene were Stardust or Moonring Mages, typically fielding dark gargoyles for aerial scouting and tough zombies for ground tanking, a combo prized by teams. 

How long had it been since the Old Hedgehog Tavern saw a necromancer with a mere skeleton spearman? 

Probably never, not such a reckless kid.

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