Of course, imagination always painted prettier pictures than reality ever delivered.
Fantasizing about No. 001 and No. 003 leading the charge while Mo Fan commanded safely from the rear was all well and good—but that assumed he could actually make it out of this valley alive first.
"Cough cough..."
Mo Fan braced himself against the slick rock wall, trying to stand upright. His freshly set ribs immediately lodged their protest—the searing pain forcing him to hunch back over.
He lifted his gaze toward the mist-shrouded sky. A sliver of pale light was beginning to show.
Dawn had arrived.
For undead creatures lurking in dark corners, this light meant hibernation. But for Mo Fan, who had to make it back to the servants' quarters before the morning bell tolled, this light meant deadline.
[ HP: 45/80 (Healing) ]
If I don't hurry back, once it's fully light and the patrol disciples spot me, I could have a hundred mouths and still couldn't explain why I'm covered in blood in a forbidden zone.
Mo Fan craned his neck to look up at the sheer cliff face—over a hundred meters of vertical rock.
Getting here had been easy. Jump down. Exhilarating, even.
Getting back up? Might as well climb to heaven.
He glanced at No. 001 beside him—missing an arm, bones riddled with cracks. The big guy could barely stand straight now, let alone carry a grown man up a cliff.
"Guess it's time for Plan B."
Mo Fan's gaze fell to the freshly stripped skeleton at his feet: the Shadow Panther.
He'd already considered raising it as Summon No. 003, but looking at the creature that had nearly killed him moments ago... he couldn't help feeling a twinge of reluctance.
So this is what it means to be a Necromancer. Turning enemies into allies. Interesting, I suppose.
Pushing aside stray thoughts, Mo Fan shook his head clear and began examining the panther's remains.
The spine was fractured, and he hadn't had time for any fine-tuning. But this was his only available transport.
Mo Fan ran a quick mental calculation:
My Soul Strength just hit 33.5. Fully reviving a Shadow Panther with first-rank high-grade combat power would require at least 40 load capacity—probably more. I can't handle that right now.
But...
His eyes flickered. Mind racing.
Right now, I don't need it to fight. Don't need it casting shadow magic. Don't need it tearing into enemies.
I just need its core locomotion—and the climbing instinct carved into its very bones.
The budget build. Bare minimum specs.
"No. 001, come here."
Mo Fan patted No. 001's cracked skull with a hint of reluctance.
"You did good, big guy. MVP of the night. Rest up in the bag for now. Sorry about the tight squeeze."
This time, Mo Fan didn't resort to brute-force manual folding.
He extended his hand. Blue light flowed from his fingertips.
[ Skill: Bone Armament ]
Guided by Mana, the rigid cartilage in No. 001's joints began to soften. Limbs folded at eerie but methodical angles—compressing, collapsing. In seconds, the towering two-meter skeleton had become a compact bone-sphere no bigger than a military rucksack.
Cost: 20 Mana. But far more elegant than the previous stuff-it-in-the-bag method, and much gentler on damaged bones.
With No. 001 stowed away, Mo Fan drew a deep breath and pressed both hands against the Shadow Panther's cold vertebrae.
"Wake up, 003. Just barely. That's all I need."
[ Summon ]
He didn't pour in much soul fire—just enough to cross the threshold of movement.
As ghostly green flames flickered to life in the panther's hollow eye sockets, the scattered skeleton began to tremble.
Click.
The fractured spine groaned under strain, threatening to collapse again at any moment.
"Easy. Let me patch you up."
Mo Fan moved fast, grabbing several discarded leg bones from the ground and pressing them against either side of the broken spine.
[ Assemble ]
Blue light flashed. The scrap bone melted into something cement-like, clamping the fractured vertebrae together. It looked crude—a structural violation that would make any architect weep—but at least... it held.
Seconds later.
A skeletal panther rose on unsteady legs. Wobbly. Looking like it might collapse at any moment. But those long, powerful limbs still carried that streamlined elegance, that predatory grace.
[ Temporary Unit: 003 (Shadow Panther) ]
[ Current Load: 8.5 ]
"Perfect."
Mo Fan gave its fleshless hindquarters a satisfied pat.
"Let's go. Take me home."
He climbed onto No. 003's back, using that blood-stained belt to lash himself tightly to the panther's ribcage. No way was he falling off halfway and splattering into paste.
"Move out!"
No. 003 might have been the budget model—nothing but climbing instinct—but a Shadow Panther's body was built for conquering vertical surfaces.
Its claws sank deep into crevices. Hindlegs coiled and launched.
Whoosh—
The wind in his ears turned razor-sharp.
Mo Fan felt like he'd strapped into a rollercoaster with no shock absorbers. Every leap and grab sent jolts straight up his spine and into his skull, each one tearing fresh agony through his barely-mended ribs.
"Hssss—! Slow down! Are you trying to finish me off yourself?!"
Pain and exhilaration in equal measure.
His face twisted in a grimace, but the speed was astonishing. A climb that would've taken No. 001 half an eternity of huffing and puffing—No. 003 covered in under five minutes. The cliff's edge was already in sight.
"Stop!"
A few meters from the top, Mo Fan gave the command.
No. 003 anchored itself to a jutting rock, perfectly stable.
Gritting through the pain, Mo Fan reached out, fingers straining toward a cluster of dusty-gray plants growing from a crack in the cliff face.
[ Ironbone Grass (Common-grade, Upper Quality) ]
A low-tier herb with remarkable effects on external wound healing. Not worth much money, but the treacherous growing conditions meant few servants were willing to risk their lives harvesting it.
Mo Fan yanked them up roots and all, deliberately leaving the morning dew and dirt clinging to the stems. He clutched them tight.
In his previous life here, Lu Xiaoqi's main duty as an outer sect servant had been regular herb collection—which meant familiarity with the local medicinal plant distribution. And that gave Mo Fan his alibi.
If he hadn't been chased by that wolf pack... this probably would've just been another ordinary day for him.
He wasn't sure if it was the Soul Strength boost, but lately Mo Fan's mind kept wandering, thoughts branching in a dozen directions at once.
Maybe that's a good thing? Training my multitasking abilities?
He shook his head again, trying to shove the distractions aside. Right now, the only priority was survival.
As the morning mist reached its thickest, a dark shadow crested the cliff's edge.
Mo Fan didn't hesitate for a second. He unstrapped the belt and slid off the panther's back.
This No. 003 was far too conspicuous. Those elongated beast-bones screamed "dangerous monster"—absolutely not something he could bring back to the servant quarters where eyes were everywhere.
His storage pouch was at capacity too. With No. 001 and all the collected materials crammed inside, there was no room for a skeleton this size.
"Go. Hide."
Mo Fan pointed toward a concealed tree hollow nearby—his former "Supply Point #1."
No. 003 obediently slipped into the hollow's depths, curling its body tight. The soul fire in its eyes dimmed and extinguished as it entered zero-consumption [ Silent Standby ] mode.
Only after all this was done did Mo Fan begin his slow shuffle toward the servants' quarters—dragging his leg in a practiced limp, those stalks of Ironbone Grass clutched tight in his fist, selling the performance one painful step at a time.
When he returned to the hut, the sky had already grown bright.
The sounds of people waking drifted through the servants' quarters, mingled with the aroma of breakfast.
Mo Fan pushed open the rickety wooden door, quickly stripped off his blood-stained black clothes and hid them, then changed back into his tattered servant's uniform.
He sat on the edge of the bed, looking at the few dew-covered herbs in his hand, and let out a long breath.
At this moment, apart from his face being deathly pale from blood loss, he looked exactly like a pitiful servant who had toiled through the night just to scrape by.
Just as he was about to lie down and give his nearly-exploding lungs a moment's rest—
BANG!
The wooden door was shoved open so violently that the hinges let out a shriek of protest.
Mo Fan's nerves went taut instantly. The dagger hidden in his sleeve slid into his palm.
But it wasn't an enemy who entered.
It was a little girl with pigtails tied up like lamb's horns, her face tight with anxiety.
"Brother Mo! Brother Mo, you're finally back!"
The moment Er Ya saw Mo Fan sitting on the bed, her eyes reddened. Her voice cracked as she cried out, "I just searched all over the back mountain and couldn't find you anywhere. I thought you'd been dragged off by wolves..."
Mo Fan discreetly slipped the dagger back into hiding and managed a weak smile. "Silly girl, what are you crying for? I just went to the cliff's edge to pick some Ironbone Grass to treat my leg wound..."
"This isn't the time to talk about herbs!"
Er Ya stamped her feet in agitation, rushed over, grabbed Mo Fan's sleeve, and started tugging him toward the door.
"Hurry! Come with me! Something terrible has happened!"
"Steward Wang came by with his men for roll call just now, and he was furious! He said if you're not at morning assembly, he'll strike your name from the servant registry and throw you out of the sect!"
Mo Fan's heart gave a lurch.
Steward Wang?
Ever since he'd sent that gift to Steward Liu, all the petty tyrants in this area should have been satisfied. Why would some Steward Wang suddenly appear to single out a cripple like him?
Could it be... had the bribery been discovered? Or was someone jealous?
Suspicions swirled in Mo Fan's mind, but he knew he couldn't afford to panic now.
"Don't worry, I'll go right away."
He patted the back of Er Ya's hand reassuringly, then took a deep breath and forced himself to his feet.
"Let's go meet this Steward Wang."