Lich for Hire

"Focus. Prayer isn't a game. You have to sustain it and mean it..." Arthur Lyon was doing his best to guide Ambrose through a prayer to the Lord of Dawn.

It ended, as it always ended, in Ambrose screaming.

He lay on the floor afterward. "No good. Not even having my limbs hacked off hurt this much. I give up."

After the group chat had spent considerable time cataloguing his achievements, Ambrose had decided it was time to collect his reward from the Lord of Dawn. He had found Arthur Lyon and asked the Holy King to walk him through the proper form of prayer.

But it was all pointless. The moment he felt even a trace of holy light, his soul felt like it was being flayed. Holy light was pure torment for the undead; there was no way around it. He hadn't experienced pain this acute in decades. His entire body had been shaking.

Perhaps the Lord of Dawn would genuinely have been willing to offer him a path to redemption. Ambrose simply didn't have the willpower to pursue it.

He had originally become a mage largely because he was afraid of pain and couldn't bear the thought of trading blows with people at close range.

And holy light was akin to prolonged torture, so Ambrose made his choice without hesitation.

Arthur Lyon looked genuinely disappointed. He had been curious to see what a holy skeleton would look like.

"Very well. Holy light and I are simply not meant to be. Unless the Lord of Dawn is willing to give me a personal exemption, perhaps some kind of immunity, I'll just keep being a lich."

Fear of death, fear of pain, and fear of poverty were not traits conducive to being a paladin.

Ambrose bid Arthur Lyon farewell and set about preparing for the ocean voyage.

The trip had several objectives. First, to resolve the situation with the dragons. Second, to help Aige harvest faith and ascend to godhood. Third, to promote his alchemical products along the way, making money while also increasing the God of Alchemy's divine power.

There was a lot to accomplish, but with any luck, each goal would fall into place alongside the others.

Stepping out of his extradimensional space, Ambrose found Milena waiting in full combat equipment, practically vibrating with excitement.

"Father, are we leaving?"

He nodded. He was bringing her along this time. She had nothing useful to do in the Umbral Depths, and Black Rose's attempt to have her manage the enslaved mycelids and deep gnomes had ended with Milena being persuaded into mining for ore herself.

Black Rose deeply regretted having put all of Milena's attribute points into combat power during her creation. The girl had no aptitude for governance whatsoever. She was built for charging at things, not managing them.

But Black Rose had no alternatives. There weren't that many legendary-tier corpses lying around suitable for creating a better heir. When word came that Ambrose was heading out, Black Rose had sent Milena along in the hope that spending time with her father might teach her something. Even learning a tenth of his capabilities would be enough to run the underground kingdom.

Ambrose accepted this with resignation. He had forgotten to account for intelligence during the creation process, and had instead been focused entirely on maximizing the body's combat potential.

There was nothing to be done about it now. He would consider it an after-sales service.

"We're leaving soon," he told her. "But remember: watch, listen, and think. Don't talk unless necessary, and don't start a fight without my say-so."

"Understood. I'll behave."

She was a little dense, but she did listen. That was something, at least.

Ambrose led Milena aboard a sleek, streamlined airship.

This was his personal warship, the Blacktide. It would carry them all the way to the far reaches of the sea.

Ambrose certainly had funds for continent-wide teleportation by now, but arriving by air would give the locals a proper introduction to what alchemy could accomplish and make establishing transport routes considerably easier.

The Blacktide was sixty-eight meters long and had minimal passenger capacity, perhaps fifteen at most. It was not a transport vessel. It was a warship Ambrose had built with the undead equivalent of blood, sweat, and tears.

For this voyage, in addition to Milena, he brought Bear and Husky, who had been helping out as Harvey's assistants.

They had been with Ambrose long enough; it was time to bring them along on one of his ventures and broaden their horizons.

As they boarded, Ambrose stepped toward the helm. The crystal sphere at the center released a cloud of mist that resolved into a soul.

"Welcome, my master. The Blacktide is ready to depart. Awaiting your orders."

"Let's go," Ambrose said. "Destination: the Emerald Dreamwood."

"Understood."

The ship gave a gentle shudder and began to rise with the help of a mass Featherfall. Several thousand tons of warship became weightless all at once.

Powered by both dark magic and a magitech reactor, the energy output of this ship would have dropped every alchemist on the continent to the floor in shock. Ambrose had occasionally entertained the idea of founding a new branch of alchemy and calling it undead alchemy.

But he had later thought better of it. Any discipline built on the unique capabilities granted by a legendary boon wasn't something others could replicate, which meant it couldn't qualify as a proper discipline at all.

The hull of the Blacktide flared with light, then vanished.

An instant later, it reappeared in the sky above the desert.

"Spatial transfer complete," the ship's soul reported. "Deviation within specified parameters."

Ambrose nodded. Short-range directional transfers were straightforward enough: calculate coordinates in advance and supply the energy. That was it.

"Engage all engines. Test supersonic flight."

On his command, the jet engines at the Blacktide's stern ignited with high-velocity thrust.

The ship surged forward. The force pressed Ambrose deep into his metal seat.

Bear locked both mechanical arms around a handhold and held on for everything he was worth. Husky's mercury body had no such option. Just a moment's inattention was all it took for him to be splattered across the wall in a flat pancake.

Only Milena could stand upright. She was already pressed against the viewing glass, watching the landscape blur past below.

As the Blacktide accelerated, a white haze began to form ahead of the bow. Air currents were revealing themselves in the turbulence before the airship broke through them outright. The hull shook as the ship crossed the supersonic threshold. A sound like rolling thunder trailed behind them and startled every desert-dweller for kilometers in every direction.

Several thousand tons of metal, flying faster than sound—in another life, that would have been the dream of scientists and the subject of speculative fiction. Here, undead alchemy had made it real.

But the triumph didn't last long. "Master," the ship's soul reported, "the vibration frequency on the starboard hull is exceeding projected limits. Structural damage is possible. Overall hull oscillation has reached critical threshold..."

The series of alerts drew a sigh from Ambrose. "Reduce speed. Subsonic is fine. The materials still aren't holding up."

He had spent considerable time on the design and revisions, but high-speed flight produced turbulence that hammered the outer armor in ways ordinary steel couldn't withstand. He had used several alloys, but clearly not the right combination.

"For a ship this size to sustain supersonic flight, mithril is probably the only answer. And I have no idea where I'd find that much mithril. Even the entire underground supply probably wouldn't be enough."

At reduced speed, the ship quickly stabilized. Six hundred kilometers per hour was the most efficient cruising speed, and still far faster than anything alive on the continent.

"Master, detecting life signatures ahead. Suspected large flock of harpies."

Ambrose straightened up. "Slow down further. Prepare for combat."