Lich for Hire

Ambrose glanced at the unconscious Brandir Sanda and shook his head. The kid was absurdly tough—he'd endured two full magazines of anti-magic rounds before finally collapsing from exhaustion.

For all his lack of combat experience, his willpower was undeniable.

And that enchanted Shillelagh of his was far from ordinary. If the mithril armor took a few more hits like that, it might've been smashed to pieces.

A pity, really. No matter what form a druid took, nothing could match the speed of a supersonic flying suit of armor. With a legendary ranger's accuracy and anti-magic ammunition, Ambrose was his perfect counter.

At that moment, Ambrose finally understood why the God of Alchemy had regained divine power just because Ambrose was flying faster. Breaking the limits of velocity could, indeed, reshape the entire continent.

With his speed, Ambrose had patiently worn down Brandir's magic bit by bit. And the young druid, fully aware that surrender meant his people would be left to slaughter, had held on until the very end.

Looking down at the unconscious young man, Ambrose shook his head. "Idiot. You knew you couldn't win, yet you still charged at me head-on. Even if you couldn't escape, you could've hidden somewhere and harassed me. Stall long enough, and maybe things would've turned around."

Brandir Sanda's fatal flaw was his lack of experience. Ambrose recalled an old adventure during which his entire party had fallen unconscious to a magical trap, leaving him alone against an ogre.

He couldn't just watch it devour his teammates, so he resorted to constant harassment. The ogre was slow; every time it tried to eat someone, Ambrose would fire off a ray of frost.

At his level back then, it barely did more than make the creature shiver, but that was enough to slow it down.

And if the ogre chased him, he'd slip away with Mist Step. It became a contest of endurance.

He dragged it out for over ten minutes until one of his teammates woke up. Fortunately, it was the priestess. One divine spell later, the entire party was back on their feet. Together, they overwhelmed and killed the cunning, trap-setting ogre.

Endurance was good, but only if you used your brain.

Just in case Brandir caused further trouble, Ambrose cast an additional Sleep spell on him and forced a vial of sleeping potion down his throat.

Even a legendary druid would be out for at least a full day.

With all obstacles removed, Ambrose finally approached the enormous banyan tree.

It was monstrously large, over a hundred meters tall and with a trunk forty to fifty meters across, not even counting the hanging aerial roots. It dwarfed Ambrose's castle in terms of sheer scale.

Picking a spot near the trunk, he began preparing to dig.

Naturally, he had no intention of digging three hundred meters underground by hand.

Without hesitation, Ambrose summoned the Golden Throne and cast the sixth-tier Earthquake.

The ground split open instantly, forming a pitch-black pit roughly thirty meters deep.

With the Golden Throne amplifying the spell severalfold, Ambrose leapt to the bottom and cast it again, carving deeper and deeper into the earth.

Every so often, he would re-enter the dream and confirm that he was on the right track with the Lady of Mists.

Step by step, layer by layer, the earth yielded. At last, Ambrose identified Leyla's remains: a decayed corpse, yet strangely not quite flesh or bone. It felt more like condensed mist. When Ambrose reached out to touch it, his hand passed through empty air.

Even in death, a god's body was extraordinary.

Wasting no time, Ambrose retrieved the box containing the divine domain of darkness and opened it over the remains.

A mass of black mist poured out, merging seamlessly with the corpse.

He sharpened his senses, hoping to witness the true process of ascension, but the result was disappointingly understated. There was no grand spectacle nor earth-shaking phenomenon. The mist simply fused and the bones darkened. Then, new flesh rapidly formed. Within moments, the Lady of Mists Leyla stood before him once more.

She carried no overwhelming divine pressure. Rather, her presence was faint and elusive, as if she were an ethereal being.

"Have you... regained your divinity?" Ambrose asked.

Leyla nodded. "I have become a god again. Thank you. You have been my greatest benefactor in these trying times."

She still lacked any trace of divine arrogance. It was little wonder she'd once been mocked as a reclusive, stay-at-home goddess.

"Can you remain here?" Ambrose asked. "Gods aren't supposed to walk freely in the mortal world, are they?"

What concerned him more was whether she would be forced to leave—and if so, whether the Dreamveil Barrier would collapse. Without it, the druids would be defenseless against Lyon's armies.

"My situation is unusual," Leyla explained. "My flesh has fused with this land, becoming the druids' barrier itself. This body is incomplete, and I can only become whole by merging fully with the forest. But if I did that, the druids might ascend along with me. That is something Aion would never allow. So I will remain here for the moment, slowly separating my power from the land. It will take a long time."

"During that time, can you still control the barrier?"

Leyla smiled. "Of course. In fact, I am stronger than before. The mist is no longer confined to this forest."

With a flick of her fingers, gray motes appeared in the air. She guided them toward Ambrose. "Inhale this. No matter where you are, you can enter the dreams I weave for you."

Ambrose frowned. Something about her tone seemed to have subtly changed.

Leyla stepped closer, gently brushing a hand across the mithril faceplate of his armor. "You can come find me in dreams whenever you wish. In your dreams, you need not be a lich. You can be anything... and so can I."

Ambrose understood her intent immediately. But for a lich, such an offer held little appeal. He'd rather have a powerful blessing.

Still, refusing a goddess outright was a good way to make an enemy. He took out a glass vial and carefully collected the powder. "I'll make use of it when I can," he said. "Ah, and before I go, I have something for you as well."

He produced a mechanical mirror and handed it to her.

"Say ‘Mirror, mirror' to activate it. If I can't reach you through my dreams, you can use this to contact me."

After explaining its use in detail, he added, "I shouldn't stay here for long. I'll take my leave while the druids remain asleep."

Leyla seemed a little reluctant. "Go, then. I'll be waiting in my divine realm."

Ambrose smiled. Now that was a proper backdoor.

If things ever went wrong, he could even ascend to Leyla's divine realm. She could hide even from the Prince of Lies; few gods would be able to find him there.

Ambrose didn't fly off after emerging from deep underground. Instead, he located the continental teleportation array within the forest and headed directly to the Unholy Kingdom.

Now that all the divine domains had been dealt with, he could finally enjoy the convenience of teleportation again.

Though there was still over a month before Mr. Misfortune's appointed time, Ambrose had no intention of cutting it close. That old schemer had claimed he would cooperate, but that might well be a lie.

It was better to head there early and check out the circumstances for himself.

And perhaps he could check on whether that leonine general had gone bald yet. [1]

As the teleportation array flared, Ambrose arrived at the city of Blackgate, on the border of the Unholy Kingdom.

With tensions rising across the continent, all visitors had to pass inspection here before proceeding further.

The moment he stepped out, a group of tifling soldiers homed in on him, ready to strike at the slightest provocation.

A tifling mage approached. "A human? State your identity and your reason for entering."

Without hesitation, the mage cast a detection spell on him to ensure he wasn't lying.

Ambrose smiled. "Relax. I'm not a spy from Lyon."

"Hmph. No spy would admit it. You're human, so you—" The mage cut himself off mid-sentence.

In Ambrose's palm, a mass of dark magic was taking shape.

The mage recognized it instantly as Blight, a signature spell of necromancy.

There was no chance he was a Lyon agent. The Lyon Empire despised necromancers and killed them on sight.

And the sheer power of Ambrose's spell made the mage's heart palpitate. This was no ordinary spellcaster.

"I apologize for my tone," the mage said quickly. "Tensions have been high, and Lyon has been making moves across the border."

"I understand," Ambrose replied, unruffled. "May I enter?"

"...Please state your purpose," the mage repeated cautiously. "A powerful necromancer is more dangerous than a hundred Lyon spies."

Ambrose sighed. "I'm heading to Redriver. I was an adventurer there many years ago, and I'm returning to visit an old friend."

"Redriver?"

The mage pressed him for details.

Ambrose answered from memory, but centuries had passed since his last visit. Many details no longer matched up.

"I'm afraid we'll have to ask you to remain here for further verification," the mage eventually said.

1. Can't be me belatedly realizing that Endel Mark's teleportation fiasco is due to the fate that Ambrose wove... ☜