In the mountains time loses meaning; winter's end goes unnoticed.
When the first cicada cry pierced through the morning mist of the menial servants' district, Mo Fan suddenly realized that an entire month had passed since that night when he formed the "Mystic Realm Rocket Team."
Midsummer heat began to steam upward, making even the air thick and sweltering.
This past month, Mo Fan had lived... very much like a normal person.
During the day, like countless resigned low-level menial servants, his routine was shockingly regular.
He'd clock in at the scrap area each morning, directing Summon No. 001 to finish the work; at noon he'd squat against a wall with Old Lü, holding rough rice, basking in the sun while the old man rambled on about bygone days; afternoons he'd spend some time "instructing" A-Song.
Though he himself was worthless, he couldn't help having [ Death Vision ] that could see through spiritual energy flow.
"A-Song, your breathing is chaotic. Qi sinks to the dantian—don't rush to grab those light particles, let them come to you."
Whenever he pretentiously corrected A-Song's breathing rhythm, watching that child with mid-grade Wood Spirit Root look at him with worshipful eyes, Mo Fan felt that "charlatan" sense of achievement surge within.
In others' eyes, Lu Xiaoqi, who had experienced dramatic ups and downs, became increasingly taciturn, but that sickly frame that once swayed in the slightest breeze was visibly growing sturdier.
His skin shed its pallor, displaying a healthy bronze color with even a hint of metallic texture. Under his once-loose servant's robe, muscle definition faintly showed, radiating restrained explosive power.
Everyone said this was strength gained from chopping wood.
But only Mo Fan himself, and those Rotbone Ants at Abandoned Sword Cliff's bottom who'd suffered eight generations' worth of bad luck, knew how much inhumane torment lay beneath that skin.
Late night, cliff bottom.
This was Mo Fan's true training ground.
The outer perimeter of the cliff bottom was eerily quiet now. Once-ubiquitous, densely-packed Rotbone Ant nests now stood nine-tenths empty. The remaining few ants, seeing that human reeking of corpse poison approach, would tremble their antennae in fright and burrow into soil playing dead.
"Last time."
Mo Fan sat cross-legged bare-chested on a rock blackened by venom corrosion.
He expertly grabbed a handful of still-struggling Rotbone Ants and, like applying face cream, expressionlessly crushed them and smeared them on his chest and back.
Sizzle—
High-concentration formic acid and Corpse Poison instantly corroded skin, raising wisps of white smoke.
At the start, Mo Fan would have rolled in agony. But now, he merely furrowed his brow slightly without even groaning.
[ Bone Armament · Periosteum Hardening ] coordinated with Iron Bone Art's circulation pathways—Qi-blood and Mana within surged madly like greedy sharks, instantly tearing apart, devouring, and transforming those invading toxins into nutrients that strengthened flesh.
Half an hour later.
As the last trace of stinging pain vanished, Mo Fan slowly opened his eyes, exhaling a foul-smelling turbid breath.
[ System Notification: Skill "Iron Bone Art" (Incomplete Version) proficiency reached 100% (Perfect). ]
[ Constitution greatly increased. ]
[ Acquired Traits: Basic Corpse Poison Resistance, Copper Skin Iron Bones (Mortal Grade). ]
"Finally... perfected."
Mo Fan stood up, his skeleton producing crackling sounds like popping beans.
"No. 001, come here."
Summon No. 001, which had been standing guard nearby holding a rusty sword, immediately stepped forward.
"Use that sword in your hand—strike me. Fifty percent strength." Mo Fan extended his left arm, issuing the command.
No. 001 didn't hesitate; in its logic, the master's commands superseded everything. With a flick of its wrist, the rusty sword brought a cold gleam, heavily slashing Mo Fan's forearm.
Screech—!
Rather than the sound of flesh being cut, a teeth-grinding shriek rang out, like metal scraping metal.
Mo Fan looked down. Only a shallow white mark remained on his arm—not even breaking skin.
"Very hard."
Mo Fan's eyes flashed with brilliance.
No. 001's current strength exceeded an ordinary person's by over threefold, and though it wielded a rusty sword, it was still iron. This strike on the former Lu Xiaoqi would have broken his arm.
"Though perfected, this is just an incomplete version. Strength roughly equals a mid-Qi Condensation body cultivator's physical level."
Mo Fan rationally assessed. "Can block mortal weapons, but against magical artifacts, I'd still need to kneel. However..."
This was body cultivation technique after all—it trained flesh, didn't occupy meridians, didn't occupy the dantian.
This meant this "skin" wouldn't affect his future cultivation of orthodox spells at all, and could even serve as the last insurance for a Necromancer's fragile body.
Moreover, most importantly, body cultivation techniques differed from inner sect techniques—they rarely conflicted. Most body cultivators initially tempered their bodies, which laid sufficient groundwork for his subsequent cultivation of orthodox body techniques.
"As a 'foundation,' it's already perfect enough."
Mo Fan dressed, concealing that frightening bronze skin.
But this wasn't tonight's greatest harvest.
Through this month's tireless "scorched earth" sweeping, though killing low-level monsters carried severe experience penalties, the cliff bottom's monster quantity made up for it.
That despairingly long experience bar was finally filled tonight by the last batch of unlucky Rotbone Ants.
[ Experience full. ]
[ LV. 3 (1400/1400) ➜ LV. 4 ]
Hum!
A more solid golden ghostly light than before erupted from within.
[ Congratulations Host, level increased! ]
[ Current Realm: LV. 4 (Mid-Qi Condensation) ]
The data panel refreshed again:
HP: 80 ➜ 95
Mana: 500 ➜ 550
Soul Strength (CPU): 33.5 ➜ 35.5
"Mid-Qi Condensation..."
Mo Fan clenched his fist, feeling that even more massive and purer necromantic Mana within. If previous magical power was a trickling stream, now it had become a rushing river.
And with the level breakthrough, the System skill tree's fourth layer fog also dispersed, revealing that iconic red skull icon that countless players feared.
[ New Skill Unlocked: Corpse Explosion ]
[ Cost: 50 Mana/use ]
[ Description: Inject unstable necromantic death energy into a corpse (or severed limb), detonating its internal flesh energy. ]
[ Damage: Deals necrotic area damage equal to 10%-20% of the corpse's maximum HP. ]
[ Note: Art is explosion. ]
Mo Fan stared at that icon, his breathing quickening.
This was qualitative change.
Before this, his combat methods relied only on No. 001's basic attacks, or stabbing with his own dagger—when surrounded he could only flee.
But with this skill, a Necromancer finally possessed true "mage" dignity—AOE (area damage).
"Must test it."
Mo Fan's gaze searched around, quickly locking onto a plump Carrion Rat just trampled to death by No. 003.
"Though the material's inferior, it'll do."
He walked over but didn't directly touch the corpse. Standing two meters away, he raised his right hand, index finger pointing at that lump of rotten flesh.
Mana within instantly boiled, surging through meridians toward his fingertip, condensing into a dim red glow filled with destructive aura.
"Explode."
Mo Fan spoke softly.
The red glow entered the rat corpse.
The originally withered body suddenly swelled like an over-inflated balloon. Subcutaneous blood vessels turned an eerie dark red, emanating unstable luminescence.
Next second.
BOOM!
Not gunpowder's open flame explosion, but a muffled, wet bursting sound.
The rat instantly exploded into a sky-filling blood mist.
But it wasn't finished. The shockwave carried highly corrosive poisonous blood, radiating outward in all directions, covering a two-meter radius. Surrounding rocks shattered; weeds touched by blood instantly withered and blackened.
"Hiss..."
Mo Fan sucked in a cold breath, instinctively stepping back. This power was even more disgusting and vicious than he'd imagined.
"Is this so-called 'necrotic damage'?"
Mo Fan looked at the mess on the ground, countless devious tactics instantly surfacing in his mind.
"Before, when facing many enemies I could only flee. Now... as long as I have corpses, I can create a minefield."
"Even—I could have No. 001 carry a bag of corpses into a crowd, then..."
The image was too beautiful. Mo Fan couldn't help grinning, revealing those two fangs that looked especially white in moonlight.
Dawn approached.
Mo Fan retrieved Summon No. 001 and No. 003, climbing the cliff alone to stand at the windy clifftop.
He looked back at Abandoned Sword Cliff's bottom shrouded in morning mist.
After this month's frenzied harvesting, the outer perimeter and shallow fog zone's ecology had been completely destroyed. Rotbone Ants went extinct, Carrion Rats relocated, even poisonous grass had been plucked bare.
"No more monsters to farm."
Mo Fan sighed, then looked down at the bulging storage pouch at his waist, nearly bursting at the seams.
Inside were packed various beast bones, pelts, venom sacs, plus a pile of materials he couldn't name but felt were valuable.
[ Current Status Summary: ]
[ Techniques: Maxed out (incomplete version limit). ]
[ Map: Farmed clean. ]
[ Inventory: Overflowing. ]
"Looks like it's time to emerge from seclusion."
Mo Fan turned his gaze beyond the mountain range, where a brightly-lit building complex was faintly visible—that was Azure Cloud Sect's Outer Sect Market, also a money sink where low-level cultivators traded resources.
"Need to convert this junk into Spirit Stones, then... seek true body cultivation techniques."
Mo Fan tightened his ragged clothes and, facing the rising sun, strode down the mountain.