NEC Chapter 10: Came as a Team, Left Alone

The deafening gunfire shattered the forest’s silence, startling a flock of noisy birds that flapped frantically into the distance.

Ellie, that cunning girl, had decisively used the binding spell on Chen Mo without witnessing his first strike. She never could have imagined her brief life would end at the hands of a slow, seemingly dim-witted skeleton.

Watching her delicate figure collapse like a kite with a cut string, tumbling into the fallen leaves and decay, Chen Mo felt a sharp pang in his chest.

Was it… reluctance to let go of this naive girl?

No!

“Damn it… I’ve been shot?!”

Chen Mo looked down in shock, seeing a short arrow embedded in his chest, its fletching still quivering.

Not far off, Little Eleven’s eyes blazed blood-red, wild with madness.

The young scout didn’t hesitate, firing again. A second bolt tore through the air, slamming into Chen Mo’s shoulder! Luckily, the hate-fueled shot missed a fatal mark; a headshot would’ve ended things right there.

Chen Mo, slowed by pain, scrambled to dodge.

“Why did you kill her?!” Little Eleven roared, charging like a lunatic, heedless of danger. For Chen Mo, a man of two worlds, Ellie was viewed with detached observer’s calm. But for these kids, long oppressed under the castle’s shadow, she was a rare light in their bleak lives.

To Little Eleven, Ellie was the embodiment of all gentleness: soft-spoken, never cursing or kicking.

She didn’t spit in people’s faces, though some thought it’d be an honor if she did.

She clapped for others’ promotions, blushed with thanks after they cleaned her summons, her long lashes enough to keep boys awake all night.

Little Eleven, a mere servant, didn’t dare dream of her, only stealing glances at her beauty.

Now, that light had been snuffed out by this damned guy!

Little Eleven lost all reason.

With his crossbow empty, he didn’t reload, instead hurling it at Chen Mo with a hysterical scream, drawing his dagger, and slashing wildly.

“Why did you kill her?”

“Such a good girl, why did you kill her?”

“I didn’t want to kill her! She tried to run!” Chen Mo struggled against the ice ring’s grip, trying to snap the crazed scout out of it. “If the grand mage found out she escaped, I’d be dead…”

“She wanted you dead? Then you should’ve died!” Little Eleven’s voice twisted with rage.

“Go die!”

A naive modern college student, nurtured too well by society, facing his first life-or-death crisis, Chen Mo made two mistakes.

First, swayed by Little Eleven’s earlier kindness, he’d kept control of the situation but allowed them to remain fully armed and free despite their resentment at being forced to Six-Leaf Grove.

Little Blondie’s body wasn’t even cold, and Chen Mo had repeated the same mistake!

He was too green at killing.

Second, under the dual shock of searing pain and mortal danger, he lost focus, neglecting to command Little White.

When a summoner is attacked, their summon instinctively protects them.

Little White was rushing to his aid.

Chen Mo glanced over, his heart sinking.

Without his guidance, the dim-witted skeleton reverted to its primal instincts, abandoning the powerful rifle with half a magazine left. Instead, it clumsily wielded its broken bone spear, shambling forward in its rickety, about-to-collapse gait, “trying” to close in.

It was trying hard, but it couldn’t outrun a whirlwind-fast forest scout.

Especially a crazed one.

Chen Mo stumbled back, tripping over a root or rock, crashing onto the cold dirt. The fall shattered the fragile ice ring, weakened by fading magic.

The binding broke!

With life on the line, there was no room for hesitation. Chen Mo stayed down, kicking the ground to raise a cloud of blinding leaves and dust, and drew his pistol from his pocket.

Little Eleven, like a berserker, ignored the dust, ignored the gun, his red eyes locked on Chen Mo, charging chaotically.

Bang! The first bullet bit into the scout’s left shoulder.

Little Eleven staggered as if shoved, his shoulder jerking back, body tilting, but he kept lurching toward Chen Mo’s muzzle.

Bang bang bang bang! The QSZ-92G unleashed a rapid burst.

Chen Mo emptied the magazine, still aiming at the scout, pale knuckles locked on the trigger until the firing pin clicked uselessly.

Little Eleven collapsed, the cold grip of death seeming to restore a flicker of sanity. His body twitched, trying to rise, but fell limp.

With his last strength, the young scout lifted his head, staring at Ellie’s fallen form, his arm reaching futilely, fingers grasping at air.

He was reaching for her.

His lips moved, mumbling something, but the sound was too faint for Chen Mo to catch.

When Chen Mo came to, only the rustle of wind through leaves remained.

Twenty seconds later, Little White “arrived,” clumsily prodding the corpse with its bone spear, splattering itself with fresh blood.

Chen Mo, still shaken, leaned against a tree, gasping heavily. The pain in his wounds ebbed and surged, finally breaking through the dopamine or endorphin haze, pulling him back to reality.

After a few minutes, he checked his injuries.

The two arrows to his chest were stopped by the stab-proof vest’s plates, leaving deep dents and a shocking bruise beneath, a testament to his brush with death.

The shoulder arrow had sunk deep into flesh, its tip likely against the bone. He tried pulling it out, sucking in air as pain blackened his vision.

Gritting his teeth, he applied clotting powder around the wound and swallowed an anti-infection capsule.

Donghuang’s words echoed in his mind: “In danger, expect the worst, prepare for the worst.”

And yet, he’d been careless.

After connecting with his motherland, his greatest obsession was returning home.

If that wasn’t possible, he’d settle for a peaceful life here, sending something back to show he was doing fine.

Like telling Mom, “I’m good out here, don’t worry.”

Work’s busy, so I won’t come home.

But they wouldn’t let him go.

In this world, an ordinary person’s life was the cheapest thing.

Little Blondie wanted him dead over jealousy.

Many-Bones wanted him dead for loyalty.

Ellie wanted him dead to escape blame.

And Little Eleven…

Chen Mo hadn’t even noticed his feelings for Ellie.

The young scout always scouted ahead alone, silent during breaks or camps, volunteering for night watch, never speaking to her.

When Little Blondie and Ellie chatted, he just quietly swatted mosquitoes or fanned them… Chen Mo thought he was sucking up to Little Blondie!

Then Little Blondie died, and he calmly looted the body. But when Ellie fell, he lost it!

Damn simp!

Twilight deepened unnoticed. Chen Mo struggled to his feet, wincing at the tearing pain in his shoulder.

Facing away from the setting sun, his shadow stretched long across the forest. He suddenly wanted to film a short video of himself, certain it’d auto-match that familiar lyric: “We’re all fighting so hard to live!”

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