Lich for Hire

Ambrose was respectfully escorted into the city.

However much the Lyon citizenry might hate liches, a writ of pardon issued by the capital was something they had to honor, unless they were prepared to revolt.

And Roger Ángelo, the general in question, happened to be among the army's most committed royalists, the kind who weighed the Lyon royal house and the Holy Light on the same scale.

It was best not to ask which of the two weighed more. Comparing the Holy Light to Lyon's royalty at all already qualified as borderline blasphemy.

Roger Ángelo was a powerful legendary paladin. When he met with Ambrose, the sheer holy light radiating from him was strong enough to make Ambrose distinctly uncomfortable.

As Ambrose stopped a careful distance away, Roger Ángelo gave him a contemptuous smile. However arrogant the undead might be, the undead were still undead. A writ of pardon didn't change the fact that holy light was their natural counter.

What Roger Ángelo didn't know was that, though Ambrose was raising both hands ostensibly to shield himself from the light, he was actually extending his perception to examine the general carefully.

The leonine general stood over two meters tall. He was wearing a fully enclosed metal helmet. What had once been a thick mane of hair was now flattened against his neck where it spilled out from beneath, giving him a distinctly odd appearance.

It was clear that this general didn't usually wear a helmet. So why had he put one on to meet with Ambrose?

Ambrose smiled inwardly. It seemed Roger Ángelo hadn't merely lost a few strands of hair. He must be close to bald already.

It was strange, though. The general was supposed to be in his seventies or eighties. Why did he seem so young?

Ambrose had personally woven Roger Ángelo's baldness into being, but he didn't know exactly what had caused a legendary paladin to lose his hair. He could only guess that it was somehow connected to the man getting younger.

Had baldness granted him strength?

Surely not. That would be too potent a side effect.

Glowing like a giant lightbulb, Roger Ángelo deliberately stepped closer to Ambrose. His smile didn't reach his eyes. "Welcome, welcome. If it isn't Master Megaman himself. I've heard that you taught the Silvermoon Knight a memorable lesson. It's quite remarkable, really."

Ambrose froze for a fraction of a second. Had someone figured out that he'd gone back in time and screwed over the Silvermoon Knight?

Nonsense. If anyone had known, his writ of pardon would have been revoked long ago.

Still, Ambrose was on guard and ready to bolt at the first sign of trouble.

Roger Ángelo went on, "If you'd only humbled the Silvermoon Knight, I wouldn't be quite so pleased. He was, after all, one of Lyon's heroes. But I hear you also gave that traitor Allen Watson a thorough beating. That makes me want to share a drink with you."

Oh, that was the incident he meant—when Ambrose had screwed Allen over. He had nearly summoned the Golden Throne in sheer fright.

Roger Ángelo laughed heartily. His right hand, wreathed in shimmering holy light, came down toward Ambrose's shoulder in a hearty slap.

That treacherous old bastard!

The strike had come with no warning. It was a sneak attack, plain and simple.

Fortunately, Ambrose reacted quickly. With the slightest motion of his finger, two fine spikes flicked out from his shoulder.

Before entering the city, Ambrose had changed into his mithril armor, Mark 78, which was equipped with enough hidden weapons and mechanisms to kill someone a hundred times over. These two little spikes were enchanted with antimagic properties, alloyed with traces of adamantium, and coated with a custom poison.

Roger Ángelo's palm stopped half an inch from Ambrose's shoulder.

He withdrew his hand and continued smiling. "Aha. I almost forgot that you were an undead. My apologies."

Ambrose smiled back, entirely unbothered. "No worries. I rather wanted to see what your slap would feel like."

Roger Ángelo showed no trace of embarrassment, as though he hadn't heard Ambrose at all.

Ambrose immediately registered that this was a difficult opponent to face. Roger Ángelo was the most shameless paladin he'd ever encountered.

He didn't fear the reckless sort, the type who would rush into a building swinging his sword and yelling out loud. He feared the shameless sort who didn't care for his reputation one whit.

Still, there were ways of dealing with people like Roger Ángelo.

"General Ángelo, I came here today seeking to deepen my friendship with Lyon. I have some information for you regarding the Unholy Kingdom, a small gift with which to mark the occasion."

"Oh? What information?"

"To hold off Lyon's offensive, the Unholy Kingdom has cut a deal with a Lord of Hell. Once the war begins, Hell will help the tiflings resist Lyon."

Roger Ángelo scoffed. "What kind of secret is that? Look at how many Hellgates are lined up at the border. If it hadn't negotiated with a lord of Hell, the Unholy Kingdom would have been part of Hell itself by now. Master Megaman, your information seems rather out of date."

"Then does the general happen to know which Lord of Hell they made the deal with?"

Roger Ángelo's expression shifted. "You claim to know?"

Ambrose smiled. "Of course. If it were something everyone already knew, how could I justify offering it as a gift?"

Roger Ángelo had been deeply hostile to the undead from the start. He had only let Ambrose in because the writ of pardon left him no choice. He had even been planning to humiliate this self-important undead at length.

Now, however, he had to reconsider how much this "information" was worth.

The Lords of Hell varied considerably, as did the aid they could render.

Knowing in advance which layer of Hell the gates connected to—whether its inhabitants specialized in ranged spells or in poison, for instance—would let Lyon prepare appropriate counter-magic and significantly reduce its losses.

Roger Ángelo smiled at Ambrose. "You'll tell me, won't you? Friend?"

"Of course, my friend." Ambrose's mouth said one thing; his mind ran in another direction entirely. He thought to himself, "This old man doesn't know yet that Lyon will be deploying the Draconic Armaments, does he?"

In the prophecy, the Draconic Armaments had reversed time and made all the Hellgates vanish. It didn't matter which layer of Hell the gates were connected to—the creatures wouldn't appear at all.

There was about a month and a half until Lyon's full offensive. When was Lyon going to inform its front lines that the Draconic Armaments would be deployed?

The prophecy had confirmed that the Draconic Armaments would appear, but their effect on the Hellgates was something he and Mr. Misfortune had only inferred. What if something were to change?

Roger Ángelo, oblivious to Ambrose's inner monologue, pressed on. "Which Lord of Hell, exactly? And what are the terms?"

Ambrose was about to invent a name on the spot when something stirred at the back of his mind. He turned to Roger Ángelo. "The name is something I'd rather not bring up. As for the terms, General Ángelo, have you ever considered the possibility that one day, your friends might become your enemies?"

Roger Ángelo frowned. "What do you mean? Have they prepared a charm spell?"

That seemed unlikely, on reflection. Paladins had iron wills and strong resistance to ordinary charm magic. Even a Lord of Hell would struggle to mass-charm a force of paladins. And even if the paladins were charmed, priests had any number of spells to dispel such effects.

Ambrose shook his head. "Of course not—nothing so crude as charm magic. This is a curse you can't possibly defend against."

The words had barely left Ambrose's mouth when several cries of alarm erupted from outside the reception room.

Roger Ángelo started in surprise. He strode out without waiting for anyone to report to him.

Outside the door, he saw his guards with their swords drawn, forming a circle around one of his close personal guards.

"What's happening?" Roger Ángelo demanded. "What's wrong with Alfredo?"

One of the guards turned and reported quickly. "General, Alfredo, he's... he's turning into an undead!"

Roger Ángelo's eyes went wide. He pushed through the ring of guards.

Alfredo was kneeling on the floor in agony. His right hand blazed with holy light, but it couldn't stop the gray creeping up his arm.

Roger Ángelo immediately registered the dark magic, sickening to his senses.

Nearly half of Alfredo's right hand had already taken on the gray tint of the undead. The clash between his holy light and the necrotic force seeping into his limb was wrenching screams out of him.

Roger Ángelo drew the longsword at his hip and severed Alfredo's right arm at the shoulder in a single stroke. Blood sprayed, but the Holy Light's power staunched it almost immediately. Alfredo had lost a great deal of blood, but at least he wouldn't die.

Roger Ángelo turned back toward Ambrose with fury in his eyes, longsword raised. Holy light condensed along the blade, lengthening it several times over, until the tip pointed directly at Ambrose's forehead.

"Lich, was this your doing? Don't think a writ of pardon will save your life!"

Ambrose felt the highly concentrated holy light scorching his forehead, which was almost starting to smoke.

Even so, he didn't flinch. Calmly, he said, "You won't believe me even if I claim to be innocent. Keep an eye on your subordinate. He's not out of danger quite yet."

Roger Ángelo turned, puzzled. Alfredo, who had only just regained some clarity, was thrashing on the floor again.

He was howling in pain and waving his left hand wildly. The same gray was creeping up that arm now, too, starting at his fingertips.

This time, Roger Ángelo didn't lop off his left arm as well. Without identifying the source of the issue, hacking off Alfredo's limbs would accomplish nothing.

He turned back to Ambrose again. His face was still grim, but he was no longer treating Ambrose as the perpetrator.

He had calmed down. There was no way Ambrose could turn the living into undead in his presence. And Alfredo, a member of his personal guard, was a high-ranking paladin. Turning a live paladin into undead couldn't be done silently. Paladins were hypersensitive to dark magic, and Ambrose couldn't possibly have fooled him.

If Ambrose had that kind of ability, he could single-handedly kill every soul in Lavarun.

"What is going on? You know something. I expect you to tell me the truth, or else..." Roger Ángelo ground his teeth. His plastered-on smile from earlier had vanished.

Ambrose was still smiling. He rubbed his scorched forehead lightly with one finger and addressed the general. "General Ángelo, a moment ago, I had come seeking friendship. I would have offered you the information freely. But after that little display with your sword, I'm afraid friendship is beyond me. Let's talk business instead. How much are you willing to pay for this information? I'll give you a friendship discount: twenty billion gold."