NEC Chapter 23: Wasteland Gunfire  

If the Mountain Vine Squad had some miraculous life-saving spell, their spilled guts would probably be green with regret. 

This job wasn’t worth twenty silver coins, let alone twenty gold. 

But regrets were useless now. Chen Mo, startled into a cornered beast, had no interest in talking or negotiating. He struck with full force. 

The explosion’s dust hadn’t settled yet. Sticky blood and unidentifiable bits of flesh splattered the wasteland, painting an impressionist’s nightmare. Faint, broken wails carried on the wind, though it was unclear who made them. 

Crack-crack-crack! 

Little White leveled its Type 95 rifle, firing a burst. 

For stationary targets, Little White’s aim was reliable. With ample time, its bullets cracked skulls with precision. One shot per head, with an extra for good measure, it silenced their annoying groans using just five rounds. 

Next came Little White’s post-battle ritual. Brandishing its pale bone spear, it delivered a coldweapon “finishing touch.” 

Two stabs to the chest, one to the head. Not even a god could save them. 

It also put the struggling horses out of their misery. 

After the chaos, a deathly silence fell. 

The wind carried the acrid scent of gunpowder across the plain. Four human corpses and two horse carcasses lay twisted in the sand. The Mountain Vine Squad, so eager moments ago, along with their mounts, had become fresh fertilizer for the wasteland in mere seconds. 

They probably weren’t so eager now. 

Four more lives added to his tally. The heavy scent of blood seemed to seep into Chen Mo’s eyes, stirring an uncontrollable rage in his heart. He stood panting, like a beast fresh from a kill, mentally chanting, “They’re just NPCs! Damn NPCs…” 

But the pungent blood smell invaded his nose relentlessly. The snaking trails of gore on the ground, glinting in the sunset, seemed to writhe toward him, forcing him back half a step. 

No, I have to keep moving forward. 

My homeland gave me all these tools, and I haven’t sent back anything in return. 

With Little White in tow, weapons in hand, Chen Mo cautiously headed toward the woods to find the driver who’d fled. 

The man had foresight, tying the reins tightly to a gnarled tree before the explosion. Though the blast and gunfire spooked the horses into a frenzy, they couldn’t break free. 

Chen Mo didn’t know how to drive a carriage or ride a horse. For now, he needed to drag that wretched driver out. 

At the edge of the woods, he spotted the driver down a slope. 

The man had pulled a tattered cloth over his head, crouching with his back to the wasteland, hugging his head like a textbook ostrich. His outer coat was hitched up, revealing a line of text on his inner lining: “Whitestone City Silverforge Carriage Line.” 

Chen Mo understood instantly—this guy was a seasoned operator. That text was his shield. 

Tie up the carriage, stay clear of the scene, cover his eyes, plug his ears, and claim ignorance. Once the dirty work was done, he’d drive back as if nothing happened. 

This is how you protect your passengers for those exorbitant fares? 

Fury surging, Chen Mo strode forward and kicked the driver, sending him tumbling. 

“Dead yet? If not, get up and work!” 

Minutes later, Chen “Slaughter Maniac” Mo sat cross-legged on the carriage frame, glaring as the trembling driver rummaged through the bloody mess for loot. Every so often, Chen Mo tossed out a question, his quiet voice making the driver shake harder. 

“Who were they? Why were they after me?” 

“S-sir,” the driver stammered, “j-judging by their gear and style, they’re some makeshift wild crew, picking up scraps the big guilds won’t touch. S-sometimes they do shameless dirty jobs.” 

“Either they took a black-market bounty, or some family’s private gig, coming for you, milord.” 

Chen Mo snorted, recalling the cryptic exchange. “What was that gibberish you two were spouting on the road? Line by line, explain it clearly!” 

The driver scrambled to recall. “Y-yes, sir! It went like this. I saw they meant trouble, so I warned them first: ‘Ice-crack paths shun the fire road, black magpies don’t gaze at the sun. What forest bird comes here?’” 

“Fire road and sun mean official channels. I was saying our Silverforge Carriage Line is legit, we don’t mix with shady types, telling them to back off and state their business.” 

“Their reply was, ‘Winter woods need fresh kindling, sparing the tree, seeking only sprouts.’ Kindling means money. They were here for coin, saying they weren’t after our line, just the passenger, telling me to stay out of it.” 

“I pushed back! ‘Whitestone, white leaves, silver linden trees—who dares pluck a sprout?’ I threw out our line’s backing in Whitestone City, warning them to steer clear and not mess with you!” 

“But they said, ‘The tiger roars from the next hill,’ meaning a big shot from another kingdom wants you. They took the job and would ‘offer wine’ to our boss as an apology later.” 

“They wouldn’t let up, and I’m just a driver, sir! I didn’t dare push harder. I swear, I tried to stop them twice!” 

Chen Mo pressed on. “Will others come after me with the same job?” 

“No way, sir!” The driver shook his head like a rattle. “Even in the black market, tasks aren’t doubled up. They’ve got their own rules! If they let anyone grab the same job, guilds and adventurer teams would fight each other first. It’d be chaos!” 

“The black market follows laws?” Chen Mo scoffed. 

“M-most of the time, yes!” the driver said quickly. “No rules, no clean money. People wouldn’t do the work right.” 

“Even dirty money needs rules.” 

“Plus, black or white market, you pay a bond to take a job. It locks in the task’s duration. I don’t know how long they bonded for, but for a job like this, it’s at least five or six days!” 

“If the time’s up or,” Chen Mo glanced at the “fertilizer” on the ground, “they’re all dead, what happens to the task?” 

“Once the bond expires, they can reissue it. But with you wiping them out like that, I doubt anyone else will dare take a contract on you!” 

“Can a black-market task be canceled?” 

The driver froze, his voice uneasy. “Unless the issuer pulls it, I haven’t heard of any other way. I’m just a driver, sir, I really don’t know!” 

Their back-and-forth stretched over half an hour. The driver bundled the loot into a large package, with smaller valuables in a separate bag, and dragged it back. 

Chen Mo, sweating from the ordeal and hoarse from shouting, downed most of a water skin. He shot the driver a glance, his emotions unchecked, eyes blazing with menace. 

The driver dropped to his knees, forehead banging the ground, pleading, “Mercy, milord, mercy!” 

“Enough! Get up and drive!” Chen Mo waved irritably. “Hurry up, get me to Whitestone City! 

Fast as you can!” 

For the rest of the journey, the driver’s whip cracked relentlessly, practically flaying the horses’ rumps. The carriage’s speed surged, barreling over hills without slowing, jolting Chen Mo until stars danced in his eyes and his stomach churned. 

Rushing at breakneck pace, they finally reached the towering walls of Whitestone City just before sunset. 

>>> NEXT CHAPTER