Chapter 411 Searching

Michael had quite a number of human undead.

And no, it wasn’t as though he’d gone on a killing spree.

For one, he couldn’t have done so in Aurora. There were far too many people more powerful than him there.

And while it

was

possible in the Land of Origin, provided he planned it well, Michael wasn’t a killer by nature.

Most of these corpses came from the unfortunate souls the Hunters Guild had offered him as part of various tasks—bandits, fugitives, and the like.

Not all of them had been good people.

In one way or another, they all had blood on their hands. And Michael, someone who now operated in ways that might earn a frown from others, was willing to do what needed to be done—so long as it didn’t cross the lines he refused to break.

This was how he’d acquired his human undead.

All of them were high humans.

The fact he could summon them proved it—Most times Michael never bothered to evolve an undead if he couldn’t at least summon it first.

Unfortunately, since he’d been saving his evolution points lately, not all his undead had been fully strengthened yet. But they were still summonable.

When one thought about it, Michael was rather fortunate.

Thanks to evolving as a high human—which had boosted his mana reserves, his magic capabilities, his affinity for elements, and more—he could maintain a large undead retinue in the Netherworld.

In the days he’d spent in the Land of Origin, armed with overwhelming mana and a series of trials and errors, he’d managed to accomplish something he’d once assumed would only be possible after entering an academy.

That didn’t mean he no longer needed ritual methods for summoning undead.

It wasn’t always a matter of simply contracting creatures weaker than himself to guarantee success.

Take, for example, the taboo mind-controlling tentacle monster currently sealed in his storage space.

Its rank was far too high. So was its level.

And because the creature was so rare, Michael wasn’t about to risk reviving it lightly.

If he failed three times, that would be the end of it.

That wasn’t something he was willing to chance—at least not unless he became so strong he could easily surpass the creature at its peak.

And that probably wasn’t going to happen anytime soon.

Strength didn’t necessarily equate to combat power.

Besides, there was no need to rush.

Michael took a slow breath and focused.

One by one, he reached out—extending that thin, silvery thread of mental contact—until all five undead were linked to his awareness.

The experience was...strange.

He could feel them.

Each mind was like a vacant vessel, perfectly receptive, never resisting.

And even with all five connections active at once, it wasn’t hard.

In fact, it barely felt like any strain at all.

He blinked once, surprised.

This was Telepathy at

basic mastery

.

He’d assumed that connecting to more than one or two undead would quickly become exhausting—that the skill would have built-in limits based on its level of refinement.

But it seemed he’d been wrong.

If there was a ceiling, it wasn’t something imposed by the skill itself.

It was imposed by

him

.

Michael shifted his focus experimentally, sending a brief pulse of thought to each undead in turn—Spartan, the five new ones standing motionless before him. They all responded at once, acknowledging his call without hesitation.

A slow sense of amazement settled in his chest.

So the real limit wasn’t the skill’s mastery.

It was the same factor that determined how far he could send his spiritual senses in the first place—

his intelligence stat

.

The range of his Telepathy had already proven to rely on how far his perception could stretch, rather than any arbitrary cap.

And now, it seemed the number of concurrent connections was the same.

As long as his mind could handle it...

There was no limit.

Michael’s lips curved faintly.

Interesting.

This was still just the beginning, too.

If this was how Telepathy felt at basic mastery, he could only imagine what it would become at intermediate or advanced mastery.

Or—he allowed himself to think—at perfect mastery.

A skill that could evolve alongside his mind, unshackled by anything but his own potential.

And perhaps one day...

...he wouldn’t even need to stand in the dark, directing his undead by halves.

He could be

everywhere

at once.

Michael drew in another long breath, feeling his heart slow to a steady, purposeful rhythm.

One by one, he gave the five armored undead their first command:

Circle the grounds. If you find anything—anything at all—report to me.

Six silent minds answered as one.

He felt no fear from them. No doubt.

Only obedience.

As the undead dispersed into the darkness, Michael closed his eyes, extending his perception along each thread of connection.

At first, all he sensed was that same quiet blankness—the emptiness of minds waiting for command.

He pressed further against the link, testing it—half expecting to see through his undead’s eyes.

Nothing.

Michael’s brow furrowed.

He couldn’t

see

through them. Couldn’t feel what their bodies felt either, as they were undead. They were not capable of physical feeling.

He’d known this limitation before—Telepathy seemed like it was nothing more than thought.

Still...

Michael thought of another skill of his: Sharing Senses.

If he invoked it, he could link his perception to a single undead as though it were his own body. He couldn’t control the body but he could see what it saw.

If it was a living subject, he’d feel what they felt.

As Michael tested the edges of this mental connection, he couldn’t help but wonder—

Could Telepathy accomplish the same thing?

It felt like it should be possible.

After all, if the number of connections depended on the strength of his mind, perhaps the same was true for the

depth

of each connection.

He focused, drawing in a long, steadying breath.

In his mind’s eye, he reached not just

to

Spartan but

through

him—willing his senses to flow along the thread of connection.