Lich for Hire

Roger Ángelo was built like a lion.

Anyone who had ever seen him remembered that thick, wild mane of red hair, dense as a lion's ruff. Combined with his massive frame, it made people instinctively forget that he was already eighty years old.

The leonine general had spent forty years on the frontier, guarding the empire and carving out a fearsome reputation for himself.

Once, there had been a buffer zone between the Unholy Kingdom and Lyon, a region inhabited by all kinds of races—goblins, undead, lizardfolk, gnolls, and the like.

The tiflings had used them as a living shield.

But ever since Roger Ángelo took over as lord of Lavarun, those races had been all but exterminated.

Massive goblin tribes numbering in the tens of thousands were trampled into bloody pulp by his iron cavalry. A legendary goblin warlock had been personally beheaded by Roger Ángelo, and his skull still hung in the general's bedchamber.

His brutality was one of the key reasons the tiflings feared Lyon. Everyone knew that if this general launched a full assault, their entire race could face extinction.

This was why more Hellgates had to be built. It was far better to risk divine wrath than be slaughtered by that terrifying executioner.

The Hellgates were a nightmare for Lyon. Once opened, they spewed forth demonic hordes. In a single day, one could unleash hundreds of thousands of fiends. Even with their fearsome military, Lyon would suffer devastating losses.

That was what angered Roger Ángelo most. His lifelong dream was to conquer a kingdom. But the desert war had been a mess. The dwarves were too weak from the very beginning. Then the Silvermoon Knight's subsequent reckless advance led to heavy losses, and he was left to clean up the utterly stifling aftermath.

Later, when the Silvermoon Knight died during the orc campaign, Lyon halted its offensive entirely. When Roger Ángelo received the report, he erupted in outrage. "What a bunch of idiots! So what if the Silvermoon Knight is dead? Lyon's glory wasn't built by him alone! Those cities were bought with our soldiers' lives. How can we just abandon them?! What a pack of rotten, incompetent bureaucrats!"

Recently, however, his mood had improved. Word from the imperial capital instructed him to intensify training and prepare to receive a large shipment of war supplies: food, potions, weapons, and more.

Roger Ángelo immediately understood that war was coming—and no mere skirmish at that.

This would be a war of annihilation, much like the desert campaign.

He was thrilled. Before his death, he would finally have a chance to wage a war against an entire kingdom. All his years of striving to fulfill his oath had led up to this very moment!

Lyon's institutions and culture were the finest on the continent. Humanity was the superior race. It was only right that humans should rule the land, that the light of the Lord of Dawn should shine across every inch of it.

Conquest was the means of spreading faith, the greatest offering a believer could make.

And yet, Roger Ángelo had never once received a divine revelation from the Lord of Dawn. Not even when he advanced to the legendary realm had the god spared him a glance.

He believed it was because he had yet to fulfill his oath.

Now, at last, the time had come.

Filled with excitement, he increased the frequency of his daily patrols. That was how he encountered something strange: a noble from the dwarven lands had somehow teleported directly into Lavarun.

Their explanation was that a teleportation accident had resulted in spatial distortion, diverting them from their intended destination, the Unholy Kingdom.

Roger Ángelo initially didn't believe it. If it were that easy to teleport directly inside the city, what was the point of defensive wards? Anyone could just teleport in explosives or poison. How could the city still remain standing?

But the entire party stuck to that statement even after interrogation.

Consulting the priests in charge of the city's defensive array yielded an almost absurd explanation: the wards only blocked targeted forced teleportation, and attempts to deliberately breach spatial seals. If someone tried to force their way in, the array would activate and stop it.

But if the teleportation was untargeted—if the destination were instead random—the array wouldn't react.

A failed teleport randomly depositing someone inside the city was an incredibly rare event, which might not happen once in a hundred years.

Lyon couldn't justify increasing the cost of its defensive arrays tenfold just to guard against such a negligible possibility.

Roger Ángelo didn't fully understand the magical theory, but he trusted his subordinates. This was, indeed, an accident.

A subordinate asked, "General, what should we do with the noble we've imprisoned?"

"Investigate his business partners thoroughly. If there's any connection to our wanted list, execute him immediately. If not, have his family pay a fine for illegal entry into Lyon territory. As for his goods, confiscate everything." He paused, then added, "What was in that carriage, anyway? The packaging looked rather refined."

"Fountain of Youth, sir. It's a variant of the Potion of Youth that has gotten popular lately."

"Potions of Youth? That many?!"

Roger Ángelo was startled. A single vial of a true Potion of Youth could cost nearly five hundred thousand gold coins. How much would a whole carriage of it be worth?

Even he was shaken by the figure, which could rival five years' worth of military expenses for Lavarun.

The subordinate quickly clarified, "It's not the true elixir, sir. It doesn't extend one's lifespan and only restores youth temporarily. Once the effect ends, your body will return to normal."

"So, an alchemist's trick... Wait. You said it restores one's youth? Is it merely cosmetic, or does it go beyond that?"

Roger Ángelo suddenly leaned forward, his eyes sharp.

"I'm not entirely certain, sir. But it's said to restore the body completely while it's in effect. The nobles use it as an aphrodisiac, so it surely can't be just cosmetic."

"Find out. And bring those potions to me immediately!"

As his subordinate hurried off, Roger Ángelo paced restlessly.

He hoped that these potions could truly restore someone to their youthful peak, even if only briefly.

In Lyon, using Potions of Youth to extend one's life was strictly forbidden. Anyone caught doing so would have all their property confiscated, the main offender executed, and their entire family exiled.

Even someone as revered as the Silvermoon Knight had borne the weight of age and ultimately died on the battlefield.

"If he had this back then, the Orc Kingdom would've fallen long ago!"

Though Roger Ángelo looked down on the Silvermoon Knight as a reckless brute, he couldn't deny the man's overwhelming strength. If he had been restored to his youth, even for just a few days, no number of orc champions could have stopped him.

But he was already dead.

Still, this potion could be invaluable. It didn't extend one's life, so it didn't violate the law.

Roger Ángelo himself was eighty. His stamina could no longer compare to his youth, even if his combat experience had grown massively in the meantime. If he could return to his prime, he would become the nightmare of the tiflings.

Most of Lyon's legendary warriors were over sixty. If each could drink a bottle before battle, how much stronger would they become?

How could no one have informed him about such treasure?

It must be because anything related to restoring one's youth was taboo in Lyon. People avoided even the mention of it.

They had nearly let something invaluable slip by.

Soon enough, the entire carriage of potions was brought before him.

The palm-sized bottles were each filled with liquid that shimmered like a starry sky.

"Beautiful," Roger Ángelo murmured. "How much do these potions cost?"

"At least two thousand gold, sir. We've confirmed the effect: it restores bodily function as well. This is the lowest tier, lasting about three days. Higher tiers can last up to ten."

Holding the vial, he asked, "Any side effects?"

"None reported so far. However, after one dose wears off, you must wait at least a month before taking another, or you may experience dizziness and diarrhea."

Roger Ángelo hesitated, then ordered, "Bring me a prisoner. An old one."

Minutes later, a hunched old man was dragged in. Without asking about his crime, Roger Ángelo forced the potion down his throat.

Within seconds, the wrinkled elder transformed into a man in his twenties.

Roger Ángelo's face lit with excitement, but he remained cautious. He had the man examined thoroughly.

The conclusion came quickly: the man had fully returned to his youth, inside and outside. No abnormalities were found. Three days later, when the effect wore off, he simply reverted to his original form—again, with no issues.

What the clerics failed to notice, however, was that during those three days, the disheveled old man had shed several strands of white hair.

This was perfectly normal. Hair loss was something hardly worth noting.

Even if someone had noticed, no one would have cared. A starving prisoner losing hair wasn't unusual. Surviving at all was already impressive.

The final report: no side effects.

Roger Ángelo slapped the report down, elated. "Excellent! This is good stuff! Send word to the capital immediately and add the Fountain of Youth to our military procurement!"

Then, without hesitation, he downed an entire bottle himself. It was time to experience the feeling of youth once more.