Looking at Celeia's wretched state, then at the pool of blood on the ground, Mo Fan ultimately swallowed the follow-up question already on his tongue.
This woman's origins were definitely terrifyingly significant—significant enough to touch the [ Necrotic Realm's ] deepest secrets.
If he kept shamelessly pressing her for answers and actually broke her in the process, he'd have nothing but tears.
She was already living in his space anyway. There'd be plenty of time to study her at leisure.
Besides, hadn't Celeia just said it herself?
With his current strength, all she could do for now was play the obedient housekeeper.
Mo Fan rubbed his chin, followed that line of thinking, and suddenly realized this might actually be a good thing.
As the [ Necrotic Realm ] kept expanding, the number of undead under his command was bound to keep growing.
He couldn't exactly play nanny every single day, personally babysitting every last skeleton's daily routine, could he?
And conveniently, that gacha round had just produced nine busted-up rejects who couldn't even walk without swinging the same arm and leg together. Just looking at them gave him a headache. Might as well go with the flow and dump the whole lot on her!
At that thought, Mo Fan's mood cleared right up.
He leaned back against the throne, utterly casual, waved a broad hand, and said with a grin:
"Fine! Since you put it that way, then from today on, this gang of skeleton bros under me is entirely yours to look after and manage!"
Celeia blinked.
Then an inexplicable gleam suddenly flickered through those beautiful eyes, which had been somewhat dull a moment ago.
She lifted her eyelids subtly and glanced at Mo Fan.
The corner of her pale lips curved into the faintest arc, but she said nothing more—only lifted her skirt with both hands again and bowed with supreme elegance:
"As you wish, my master."
Mo Fan hadn't taken his own words very seriously, treating them as little more than polite conversation.
But the next moment—
Celeia straightened, turned her head, and looked directly at Unit 001, calling softly:
"Mo Yan. Come."
The smile on Mo Fan's face froze slightly.
Mo Yan, who had only ever obeyed his commands, actually gave a faint pulse of the soul flame in his sockets.
Then he stepped forward, walked straight up before Celeia, and lowered his head slightly, assuming the posture of a subordinate awaiting orders!
Mo Fan was dumbstruck. But before he could process it, Celeia had already issued a few offhand instructions.
Mo Yan showed not a trace of hesitation—he even turned around on his own initiative, led the nine Gray Mist Bone Soldiers out of the bone palace, and brought them to the shadowed open ground outside.
Then Unit 003, standing guard outside the hall, came gliding down on its massive bone wings and began clearing out a spacious training area in coordination with Celeia's direction.
And WTF, Pale Bone Scepter in hand, was stationed at the edge of the field to assist in inspecting the nine recruits' condition.
Sitting high on the bone throne, Mo Fan watched it all slack-jawed.
These undead had only ever recognized him, their master!
Forget outsiders—even Mo You could do no more than exchange greetings with them. Fine-grained command like this had been impossible.
Yet now Celeia had mobilized the entire undead legion into crystal-clear order with just a few sentences!
And watching her issue orders with that fluid, unhurried practiced ease, anyone who didn't know better would assume she'd once commanded an undead scourge a million strong!
Mo Fan swallowed, only now dimly realizing that his seemingly casual authorization just now hadn't been quite as simple as he'd imagined.
Still, after carefully checking, he found that his links to Mo Yan and the rest remained rock-solid.
Only then did he relax, and instead of rushing to interrupt, he propped up his chin and kept watching with great interest.
Out on the open ground beyond the hall, Celeia formally began drilling the nine newly recruited Gray Mist Bone Soldiers.
But these guys clearly possessed nothing resembling soldierly discipline.
The command dropped, and some stood so crooked they practically wanted to screw their heads around to face their own backs.
Some already had mismatched leg-bone proportions, so a single step sent them bobbing up and down.
And one of them, having clearly received the order to march forward in step, tripped its own left foot over its right...
Slammed headfirst into the ribcage of the companion beside it, and the two skeletons collapsed into a tangled heap, rolling across the ground as a pile of scattered bone frames.
Mo Fan watched from inside the hall and nearly laughed out loud.
Looking at this group of visually unbearable recruits, Celeia rubbed her brow with a touch of exasperation and sighed.
Then she called Mo Yan out by name and had him stand at the very front of the formation to personally demonstrate the most basic combat footwork and swing patterns for these idiots.
Mo Yan had only just received his exclusive set weapon, the Netherbone Sword, and was still the coldest, most ruthless top assassin under Mo Fan's command.
And now, out of nowhere, he'd been press-ganged into serving as drill instructor for this batch of rookies.
Worse still, Mo Yan carried out the duty with utter seriousness.
Dark gray Netherbone Sword in hand, he moved through grip, step, slash, and pivot—a full sequence, clean and decisive, death energy swirling at the blade's edge, radiating razor-sharp killing intent.
And the nine Gray Mist Bone Soldiers trailing behind him swung their bone sabers in imitation, copying along. The picture was ridiculous from every angle—like a squad of broken wind-up toys trying to perform morning exercises.
Celeia paced slowly alongside the formation, hands clasped behind her back.
Now and then she spoke up to correct the formation. Occasionally a single glance was enough for her to pinpoint a given skeleton's flaw with surgical precision and adjust it on the spot.
The entire process was orderly and methodical, a display of true mastery.
Before long, those undead who'd started out as a shambling mess were actually running drills that looked halfway legitimate.
Watching that slender silhouette issuing commands outside the hall, Mo Fan couldn't help rubbing his chin, his expression growing stranger by the second.
Hold on...
Did I recruit a housekeeper, or did I bring home a lady of the house?
Just as Mo Fan was muttering to himself, Celeia suddenly halted what she was doing outside.
She tilted her head slightly, those deep silver-gray eyes crossing the empty hall and settling on a shadowed corner in the deepest part of the bone palace.
And for the first time, a genuinely startled expression appeared on her face.
In her perception, there was a distinctive living aura lurking inside this space, which should have been saturated with nothing but pure death!
It was definitely not undead—yet it was also utterly unlike any form of life she knew of.
Mo Fan followed her gaze, caught on quickly, and explained offhandedly:
"Oh, you mean that one over there? His name's Mo You."
Celeia turned back, a questioning look in her eyes.
Mo Fan didn't hide it. He explained briefly—just that it was his external avatar, though a rather special case...
Transformed from a certain strange creature, possessing independent self-awareness, and therefore not strictly classifiable as an ordinary puppet clone.
Celeia listened thoughtfully and was about to say something.
At that moment, deep in the palace's shadows, Mo You—who had been refining himself with eyes closed—also sensed the unfamiliar aura that had suddenly appeared.
"Mo Fan. What have you dragged in here this time?"
Mo Fan's mouth twitched. He replied:
"Housekeeper I just recruited. Name's Celeia. She'll be handling the management of this palace for us from now on."
Mo You was silent for a moment in the shadows, seeming to split off a thread of attention to subtly probe Celeia's presence.
Several breaths later, Mo You's consciousness came through again, his tone turning rather odd:
"You call that a housekeeper? This woman's aura... doesn't seem ordinary at all."
At the same time, Celeia walked back into the hall of her own accord and inclined her head slightly toward Mo You's direction, displaying keen interest.
After all, a special existence like a Formless Demon was exceedingly rare even within her vast store of knowledge.
Seeing this, Mo Fan went ahead and mentioned the origins of the "Formless Demon," along with Mo You's ongoing attempt to evolve a Spirit Root.
What caught Mo Fan off guard, however—
When he brought up basic cultivation concepts like "Spirit Root," "Foundation Establishment," and "Golden Core," a distinct trace of bewilderment surfaced on Celeia's stunning face.
She knit her brows slightly and humbly asked Mo Fan what exactly these terms meant.
Mo Fan stared at Celeia for a long moment.
He almost expected her to burst out laughing and tell him she was joking.
But no.
Those silver-gray eyes held nothing but sincere curiosity.
She really didn't know.
For a moment, Mo Fan genuinely had no idea how to respond.
Seriously?
You can command an undead legion like it's second nature, and you don't even know the basics of cultivation?
Still, looking at Celeia's perfectly earnest expression, he swallowed his complaints.
"Alright, let me explain."
Mo Fan cleared his throat and began with the basics.
He started with Spirit Roots, then moved on to the various stages of cultivation, explaining Foundation Establishment and Golden Core as simply as he could.
Celeia listened attentively.
Occasionally, she would interrupt with a question—sometimes so elementary that Mo Fan found himself wondering whether they were even talking about the same kind of power.
And the longer the conversation went on, the stranger things became.
By the time Mo Fan finished his explanation, both he and Mo You, who had been quietly listening from the shadows, had arrived at the same unsettling realization.