NEC Chapter 11: Cleaning the Battlefield

Chen Mo began clearing the battlefield.

The air reeked of gunpowder and the metallic tang of blood. Fighting shudders and a roiling stomach, he silently repeated every self-soothing mantra he could muster.

“Self-defense!”

“Evil, begone!”

“Bodhisattva, protect me!”

“Long live Renmin!”

The last phrase seemed to bolster his courage. Slipping on cut-resistant gloves and wrapping them in thick cloth strips, he took a deep breath and flipped over Little Eleven’s still-warm body.

He grabbed the dirt- and blood-stained pack Little Eleven had inherited from Many-Bones, then directed Little White to drag the stiffening scout’s corpse to Ellie’s side.

Careful to avoid Ellie’s once-vibrant face, now frozen in shock and pain, Chen Mo averted his gaze, reaching out to gently close her lifeless eyes.

He dumped Little Eleven’s body in the mud nearby, positioning the scout’s resentful face toward Ellie, granting the simp’s final, humble wish in a way.

I’m taking your stuff as payment for fulfilling your dream.

Next came a swift inventory. Chen Mo moved through the chaotic battlefield, decisively discarding heavy or suspicious items, collecting only the most valuable and practical.

The easiest to assess was money.

He yanked off and tossed aside the coin pouches from each body, pouring their contents into his own threadbare sack.

His pouch had held just five copper coins, earned through grueling odd jobs for a wealthier apprentice at Black Crow Castle.

This deadly game yielded one gold coin, twenty-three silver, and sixteen copper. The heavy coins clinked reassuringly in his tattered bag.

Ninety-nine percent of the haul came from the Zircon family’s Little Blondie.

The gap between people could be unimaginable.

Still, the hefty gain slightly soothed Chen Mo’s wounded spirit.

For the rest, he did a quick search, packing only what he’d take.

Little Eleven’s crossbow and a quiver of bolts, some portable rations, and water. Everything else he left, unsure if Zircon family items carried tracking enchantments. His magical knowledge came only from apprentices’ tall tales.

Safety first.

As for Ellie’s belongings, he hesitated but left them.

Same concern: unknown magical tracking. No time to bury her, so he let her go with her possessions.

As for Little Eleven… Simps get what they deserve!

Oh, and shoes.

A pair of tough leather boots with anti-slip soles, caked in mud but sturdy and well-crafted, standard for a scout.

Swapping them for his own worn-out pair, they pinched slightly, but the grip and support felt like ascending from hell to heaven. In this perilous jungle, good shoes were half a life!

The setting sun’s golden glow filtered through the trees, casting a deceptive warmth over the eerie Breeze Path.

Re-wrapping Little White in its tattered rags to conceal the pack of all his worldly goods in its ribcage, man and skeleton staggered off, vanishing into the depths of the forest trail.

Six-Leaf Grove sat on the vast Windrest Plain, southwest of the Gloomy Forest.

The northern continent’s biting monsoons, blocked by the towering Ancient Snow Mountains, forced warm, moist air downward, creating a lush, temperate climate on the plain, rich with grass and teeming with life.

The grove’s outpost guarded a bend in a clear river, offering wide visibility. Long ago, a shrewd centaur chieftain claimed this prime spot, leading warriors to drive out beasts, clear land, and build the first walls with sturdy logs and solid stone.

Over generations, the outpost expanded, becoming an essential resupply and rest stop for adventurers venturing into the Gloomy Forest or heading to Redtree Highlands.

As the sun sank, painting the sky in vibrant purple-red, the camp stirred to life.

This was the hallmark of forest-edge camps. By day, people were taut bowstrings, battling through dense woods and dangers; by night, they flooded into the relative safety of the outpost, numbing nerves with food, liquor, and debauchery for fleeting joy.

Whether from bards’ exaggerated tales or apprentices’ whispers, Six-Leaf Grove was no haven of virtue.

It hosted starry-eyed boys chasing hero dreams, scarred mercenaries living on the edge, grimeyed fugitives on the run, and bandits waiting for a chance to strike.

There were mountain thieves dodging soldiers, broke gamblers drowning in debt, slick vendors hyping lizard skin as ancient dragon hide, and con artists peddling “treasure maps” or “true name scrolls” to gullible fools.

Not to mention spies from human kingdoms, elf and beastman informants, chattering goblins and dwarves, and fiery-tempered dwarven or barbarian warriors ready to “smash your skull” at a slight.

In this nexus of order and chaos, you saw life in its rawest, most chaotic forms. Compared to them, the young necromancer with four lives on his hands felt pure as untouched paper.

The moment he neared the camp, centaur sentries spotted him.

Two sharp, birdlike whistles sounded, and a group of young centaurs, playfully roughhousing and kicking at the gate, stopped and curiously gathered around.

They feared no one, backed by the powerful Six-Leaf centaur tribe.

Though not yet adults, these “little guys” were imposing, with muscular horse bodies covered in glossy fur, solid hooves, and lean human torsos clad only in simple leather skirts or cloths. Their short, soft manes gleamed healthily in the twilight.

Their unique four-legged, two-armed structure gave centaurs unmatched mobility and combat prowess, setting them apart among the “fifth race” subhumans.

“Hey, my turn!” A lively young centaur galloped forward, outpacing the others, and stopped nimbly before Chen Mo. His human height matched Chen Mo’s, but his robust equine body dwarfed him.

“Hey, stranger!” He puffed out his chest, mimicking the elders’ stern tone, though his youthful voice betrayed his age. “This is Six-Leaf Camp! Territory of the great and noble Six-Leaf Centaur Tribe!”

“Looking at your exhausted state and that rickety skeleton, I bet you need a reliable guide!” Chen Mo didn’t waste words. With a flick of his thumb, a gleaming silver coin arced elegantly through the air.

The young centaur’s eyes lit up. With a light kick of his forelegs, he reared up, snatching the coin midair in a fluid motion.

“Ha!” He blew on the coin, grinning to reveal two rows of white teeth. “Honored guest! Kaga, future warrior of the Six-Leaf Tribe, is at your service!”

His tone carried a teenager’s smug pride, with a hint of grown-up mimicry.

>>> NEXT CHAPTER