Chapter 412 Heading Back

For a heartbeat, there was nothing.

Then—

A rush of strange, blurred impressions.

A darkness that wasn’t his own.

It wasn’t clear. It wasn’t as vivid as Sharing Senses.

But it was

something.

Michael’s heart thumped once, hard.

A grin tugged at the corner of his mouth.

So Telepathy could

almost

replicate Sharing Senses, after all—if he pushed it.

He suspected if his skill was stronger—or if his mind was more practiced at this—he might be able to see everything Spartan did as though it were his own eyes.

And if that was true...

Then this skill’s potential was far beyond anything he’d first imagined.

Even as the blurry black and white vision pulsed and faded, Michael felt a surge of quiet satisfaction.

He might not have been able to stride back into the auction house himself...

...but he wasn’t powerless.

Michael drew in a slow breath, feeling the night around him, and focused all six threads of his will into a single, silent command.

Find something, anything for me.

The six minds acknowledged as one, and Michael felt them scatter in all directions like silent shadows.

At first, he kept his perception steady, content to let the faint, half-formed impressions drift back to him.

But then, less than a minute later, something changed.

It began gradually, so subtle he almost missed it.

The blurred darkness behind Spartan’s senses—barely distinguishable from the night—started to sharpen.

Edges clarified.

The vague sense of shape became the clean outline of a hedge.

The shadows deepened into gradations of black and gray.

Michael’s eyes snapped open.

He wasn’t using

Sharing Senses.

He hadn’t activated it at all.

But the vision continued to grow clearer, the world resolving itself in stark detail.

His pulse climbed, just a little.

What...

He could see everything Spartan saw, just as vividly as his own eyes.

This isn’t Sharing Senses,

he thought, stunned.

This is...

Telepathy.

He hadn’t cast another skill.

Sharing senses won’t even work with the distance between him and his undead at the moment.

Then a realization settled over him like a stone dropped into still water.

This was not him.

Michael’s mind stirred and he called out his status to confirm something.

[Telepathy – Intermediate Mastery – Proficiency: 0%]

The ability to transmit thoughts or information directly from one mind to another without relying on physical senses.

At this level, the skill transcends simple mental communication:

Enhanced Sensory Convergence:

The user can perceive the world through the senses of any connected creature with full clarity, as if occupying their body personally. No longer limited to partial impressions or flickering shadows—vision, hearing, and even the subtleties of spatial awareness are perfectly replicated.

Directed Perception:

The user may choose which senses to share or suppress for each connection, allowing them to filter overwhelming input.

Projected Illusions:

The user can project real or false sensory information into the mind of a connected target, shaping what they perceive as reality. Through this, the undead—or any linked subject—can be made to see or hear things that do not exist, facilitating deception or enhanced coordination.

As expected, the skill had leveled up without him even realizing it.

This was now the fastest he had ever advanced a skill to the next mastery.

"Why is it like this, though?"

Michael couldn’t help but wonder if it had something to do with his deliberate attempt to push beyond the simple scope of Telepathy.

Michael lowered his gaze to the two women resting beside him. Their breathing was steady, their pulses calm. Neither stirred.

They were safe, at least for now.

Michael shifted his focus back along the connections, watching through Spartan’s eyes as the undead stalked around the perimeter of the auction hall.

Everything appeared in perfect clarity—every blade of grass, every ripple of disturbed air. Black and white, the entire world rendered in stark contrast. The vision of the undead was different from his own living sight, but somehow more precise.

There was no color. No warmth.

Through the eyes of the dead, the world was a place of pure shapes and motion, a landscape reduced to essentials.

He guided Spartan to a low wall at the estate’s edge and peered over it, scanning the cobbled street beyond.

He switched perspectives without effort—shifting his awareness to another undead slipping between hedges on the opposite flank. The transition was smooth, like blinking.

Michael’s lips curved faintly.

He felt like this was the true power of Telepathy for a Necromancer. Not merely communication, but omnipresence. He could be anywhere—everywhere—all at once.

And this was only intermediate mastery and his current limit.

He let his focus drift across each thread in turn, gathering impressions, cross-referencing angles of vision.

There were no ritual circles in the grass. No hidden mages crouched behind walls.

He began to feel a cautious relief.

But he wasn’t done yet.

Michael was ready to return to the auction space.

Since there wasn’t a problem outside, it could only mean there was a problem inside.

Michael shifted his perception back through Spartan’s eyes.

The undead stood just beyond the courtyard.

Move forward,

he commanded.

Spartan obeyed without hesitation.

Step by step, the armored undead began crossing the cobblestone drive that connected the main entrance to the carriage park.

It didn’t take long for Michael to see that the illusion’s reach far beyond the auction chamber itself.

Figures dotted the wide drive in eerie, frozen stillness.

A footman with one hand raised to adjust his cap, mouth half-open in what must have been a greeting—locked in place like a statue.

Two people in long coats stood beside an opulent carriage, caught in the middle of a conversation. One of them was holding a ledger, the other gesturing toward the hall. Neither so much as blinked.

Farther along, a coach driver sat slumped over the reins, head bowed as if in exhausted sleep, his horses standing motionless beneath the flickering lanterns.

Yes, even animals were not spared.

Michael felt a chill stir the back of his mind, even though he knew the cold wasn’t real.

He guided Spartan onward, every step echoing in the perfect hush.

Past the first carriages. Past the frozen attendants.