Chapter 486 More Skills

[Spirit Refinement Arts – Intermediate]

[Mind Imprint – Intermediate]

....

...

...

Michael’s brows drew tighter with every line.

Most undead... they came with a handful of skills at most.

Jester had just devoured a library.

Michael felt both awe and worry creep up his spine.

"This guy was no ordinary undead..." he muttered.

Which brought him back to the earlier thought.

This was the second time.

The second time he had an undead too intelligent for comfort.

First Spartan, who could’ve severed their bond had he tried seriously.

Michael glanced at the coffin.

The [Damaged Coffin of the Forgotten].

The item had potential. Incredible potential. But...

It wasn’t as reliable as he’d once believed.

Its first effect—summoning a powerful undead from the Netherworld—wasn’t fixed. The more mana he poured in, the higher the odds, but that was all they were: odds.

A gamble.

And its binding effect?

Also unreliable.

The creature that emerged still had a will and was able to

fight back

.

Had his means not been enough, he might’ve failed.

Michael exhaled sharply and turned his gaze to the twitching corpse in the coffin.

Right now, Jester was somewhere in its "head".

That was the other problem.

Though the other skill had worked, erasure, mind harvest has also worked.

This meant Jester was still able to absorb a portion of the evil cultivator’s memory.

Michael didn’t know whether to call this a good thing or a bad thing.

Will there come a time when Jester became

aware

?

Truly aware?

And if it

did

—what then?

Would he still be in control?

Or would he one day wake up to find that Jester had become something else entirely?

The thought unsettled him more than he expected.

"...I need to be more careful," he muttered.

His contract slots at least came with hard rules. The undead bound by them

could not

resist unless they were close to two or two full ranks above him. And even then, the bind still existed to a certain extent.

Those rules gave him certainty.

But these two summons—Jester and Spartan—were wild cards.

Powerful?

Yes.

But unpredictable.

He stared down at the corpse.

"I hope you’re still mine," he whispered under his breath.

—

Master?

Michael froze.

A voice appeared in his mind. The voice was soft. Childlike. But not childish.

There was clarity in it. It sounded young, but laced with an unnatural maturity. The kind of voice that had

seen

things far beyond its apparent years.

It was excited. Curious. Eager.

Michael’s brow furrowed. "...Jester?"

—

Yes!

the voice chirped, almost too cheerfully.

I’m here now. You let me in, remember? You said ’Take over.’ So I did!

Michael exhaled slowly, composing himself before turning his attention towards the coffin.

Inside, the silver-haired undead sat motionless, body limp, head drooped forward unnaturally—neck still bent at that grotesque angle from the earlier blow. Despite that, its body hadn’t collapsed.

Michael stared at the figure for a few moments, then asked aloud, "Can it move?"

Jester responded instantly, his cheerful tone as sharp as ever.

—

Nope! You hit it too hard, Master. Its motor functions are... mmm, let’s say scrambled.

A faint giggle echoed in his mind.

Usually, this wouldn’t matter. Most undead can still move even if they’re a pile of bones and slime. But this one...

Michael frowned. "This one?"

—

This one’s different. I don’t know why though. The memory I absorbed isn’t quite complete.

Michael went quiet at that.

"You could’ve wiped him clean," Michael murmured. "Why didn’t you?"

—

I wanted to know what he knew,

Jester replied, without guilt or hesitation.

And now I do. His memories aren’t perfect—some are fuzzy, others buried—but I saw enough.

Michael didn’t reply immediately.

That statement carried weight. And implications.

It almost sounded exactly like what he thought a parasite would sound like.

A moment passed before he asked quietly, "Jester. What did you learn?"

A pause.

Then Jester answered.

—

His name is Li Yang. He came from a world where people cultivated to gain power. Xuanyan. A place where flying through the skies and splitting mountains is basic. A place where humans live for centuries..

Michael’s lips tightened.

He wasn’t unfamiliar with the concept of other worlds, so the revelation didn’t shock him.

What unsettled him was how confidently and casually Jester spoke about it.

If not for the bond they shared, he might’ve already considered destroying it—or sealing it away in his storage space, where time stood still—until he figured out what he was truly dealing with.

Michael shook the thought away. Now wasn’t the time to spiral.

He stared at the silver-haired body, still seated inside the coffin.

"Do you need a new body?" he asked, his voice low.

—

Yes

, Jester replied immediately, no hesitation.

A new vessel would be better. Preferably a living one. Human. With a spirit root.

Michael raised a brow. "Why?"

—

So I can put what I know to use. This body is broken... It limits me. I’m not saying it’s necessary... but if you want me to be stronger, that’s the way.

Michael narrowed his eyes.

"...You’re saying if you had a live host, one with a spirit root, you could cultivate?"

—

Mhm! Not just cultivate. Adapt. Create. Apply what Li Yang knew instead of just remembering it.

Jester’s tone was disturbingly cheerful, but Michael didn’t miss the hunger beneath it.

A living host.

One with potential.

A spirit root...

Michael’s thoughts briefly flickered.

He didn’t know what a spirit root meant exactly, but he could guess—it was likely some kind of energy conduit, a requirement for cultivating in that world.

He exhaled slowly, then looked back at the coffin.

Michael crossed his arms. "How many skills did you absorb from him?"

—From Li Yang? Hmm... hard to say, Jester mused,

the number’s a little fuzzy, but it’s definitely over a hundred.

Michael’s brow twitched. "Over a hundred?"

—

I could count if you like, but we might be here a while. The man’s mind was a mess, but filled to the brim with techniques, rituals, and methods. Some incomplete. Some forgotten.

Michael already had access to the skill list, but he hadn’t scrolled to the end yet. There were

rows

. Dozens. Maybe more.

Jester continued, tone growing more curious. —

Also... if I’m allowed to experiment, I could recover even more. Or create new ones from fragments.

Michael stayed quiet for a moment, absorbing that.

Michael rubbed his temple.

"Damn it," he muttered. "You’re too valuable to waste... but too dangerous to trust."