Ordinary zombies were far weaker than their living counterparts. The zombie balor, for instance, was hacked to pieces by its forr companions in no ti.
Despite the vast sea of undead surging across the battlefield, their actual combat strength was fairly diocre. A single fireball could easily wipe out great swaths of them.
Visually, however, an endless horde of undead charging forward was still an arresting sight.
The demons were completely caught off guard and were heavily suppressed in the opening monts of Ambrose's counterattack.
Ambrose, naturally, had no intention of wasting this opportunity.
One devastating spell after another rained down from the sky, blasting the demons until they howled in agony.
Thick clouds of virulent poison ford above the dretches. Their bodies began to smoke violently as their skin rotted away, flesh dissolving into foul sludge until only bleached white skeletons remained.
Then the bones clawed their way out of the muck and rose once more, now in Ambrose's service.
The surviving balors barely had ti to feel relieved that their zombified comrade had been torn apart before they turned and saw even more undead charging straight at them.
Even creatures of eternal rage like balors felt a flicker of doubt. This necromancer's mana was absurd. It was downright unreasonable even for a legend.
Even a legendary lich should have been drained dry after raising ten thousand zombies at once.
Yet there were already tens of thousands of zombies on the battlefield, and spells were still falling from the sky like loose change.
Had he brought an entire treasury's worth of spell scrolls to a single battle?
Wasn't this just a routine infernal incursion? How was he going to survive financially afterwards?
Ambrose did not care in the slightest.
Gold was ant to be spent. In the past, he would have no choice but to cower before demons like these, utterly outmatched. But now, with the Golden Throne beneath him and the obscene fortune he had accumulated through careful manipulation, his combat power was that of a genuine legend's. And not just any legend. He was a top-tier legend.
After having been half-baked for so long, this was finally his mont to shine.
Cloudkill. Triple Fireball. Power Word: Kill. Dominate Monster. Chain Lightning. Otiluke's Freezing Sphere. It was pure pay-to-win spellcasting. He followed up with nurous dice of fate, turning "potential hits" into guaranteed ones, and "potential saves" into impossible ones.
The balors' formidable magic resistance ant that they were relatively safe from spells like Finger of Death. But as long as there was even a chance of success, Ambrose could render it absolute.
One flaming giant after another had their hellfire extinguished and replaced by blue soulfire. Then they turned and cleaved their forr allies straight through the skull.
The demons had never seen anything this absurd. Each balor that fell was gone for good. The undead, anwhile, only grew in number.
Through sheer magical firepower, Ambrose dominated the battlefield.
Even the elves stood frozen in shock. They were completely overwheld.
This wasn't just legendary magic anymore. It was as if Ambrose were an entire group of legendary spellcasters working in unison.
Under such horrifying magical bombardnt, the demons finally began to collapse. The weakest—the dretches—were the first to break. Lacking the balors' strength or their eternal fury, they fled the mont they realized they couldn't win.
Demons had no sense of honor. What they wanted from the mortal world was fresh flesh. The higher demons were already too busy to care about them, so if they didn't run now, when would they?
The hellfire slowly died out. The demons scattered. The remaining two balors dove back into the magma, fleeing back to Hell.
This was precisely why Hell had never been able to conquer the mortal realm.
Demons were cruel, vicious, and selfish. They wielded trendous power, yet were incapable of true cooperation. In a favorable fight, they might barely work together. But the mont things turned against them, they were just as likely to kill each other first. After all, even the Lords of Hell were locked in mutual hatred of each other.
Perhaps this was the nature of the balance that Aion had created. Demons could not be both monstrously powerful and perfectly united, ready to sacrifice themselves without hesitation.
The Lyon Empire could field so many paladins because they were genuinely devout and living by the doctrine of light. A kingdom ruled by selfish old nobles could never be bathed in holy radiance.
Likewise, in the undead world, you could not both enslave intelligent beings and demand absolute loyalty while preserving their full intellect and individuality.
Even gods could not achieve such contradictions.
Ambrose's power, too, ca at a steep price.
That one battle alone had cost him at least five million gold, and he had even depleted the lion's share of his power over fate.
Even so, it felt incredible. The sensation of annihilating enemies through sheer magical excess was intoxicating beyond words.
As the battle ended beneath his unreasonable magical onslaught, Ambrose slowly descended from the heavens and landed before Catherine.
The mont Ambrose saw her face, even he was briefly stunned.
How could a woman be this beautiful?
If liches still possessed mortal desires, he was certain he would have fallen in love at first sight.
Her presence went beyond re beauty. She bore, unmistakably, a divine blessing.
Elves truly were the favored of the gods.
Ambrose had himself been recruited as a chosen by two different goddesses, but they offered nothing but traps, fine print, and binding contracts. If they had learned from the elven gods and provided him with benefits up front, his faith would have followed naturally. No wonder the evil gods never got a chance to shine.
These thoughts flashed through his mind in an instant as he spoke aloud. "Your Majesty, I sincerely apologize for this incident. It was an oversight on my part. Please rest assured. I shall make reparations to the elves on this matter."
"Demons appearing on this land… Soone clearly doesn't want these peace talks to succeed."
Catherine had no intention of assigning bla. Ambrose's arrival had been perfectly tid. Any later, and the elves' secret would have been exposed.
She studied him closely. Though she knew this was rely a transmuted form, she was still mildly surprised.
His "style" was sothing she had never seen before. He looked human, yet his features were even finer than an elf's. As far as she knew, he looked distinct from every known human race on the continent.
It felt visually out of place… and yet strangely beautiful.
Though hardly comparable to Catherine's divine charm, Ambrose's look carried the impact of a novel artistic concept, striking and morable.
Elves were exceptionally sensitive to beauty. The mont they glanced at Ambrose, many felt their instinctive hostility toward liches soften noticeably.
Ambrose, unaware that his appearance from his past life could have such an effect, simply thought the elven queen was courteous and had a way with words.
"Would you prefer to rest? The negotiations can be postponed."
After the fierce battle, though the elves had suffered no fatalities, many were wounded. Ambrose noticed several who could barely stand without support.
Catherine nodded. "Thank you for your consideration. We do need ti to tend to the injured. Is there a suitable place nearby?"
Ambrose casually drew a portal in the air. "You may rest at my castle for now. I will explain the situation to the desert dwarves."
Catherine thanked him again and led her people through the portal.
After escorting them away, Ambrose imdiately returned to the negotiation site and inford the desert dwarves of the ambush.
Hoffman Ironfist frowned deeply. "Have the cultists of Hell beco so rampant that they can now open Hellgates directly?"
As he spoke, he turned to look at Heki Stone.
The dwarven vampire looked up awkwardly at the star-filled sky. He had genuinely forgotten to warn Ambrose about Alkhemia's infernal worshipers, but who could have expected those lunatics to go this far? Opening a Hellgate must have been planned the mont Alkhemia fell.
Seeing his old friend's expression, Hoffman imdiately understood what had gone wrong. He didn't press Ambrose about the delay.
"Then we'll postpone the eting," Hoffman concluded regrettably.
The Lyon Empire was already at the palace gates. Ti was running out for the desert dwarves. Every extra day lost would introduce new variables. But under these circumstances, it was clearly impossible to discuss matters of state with the elves.
Why had the desert dwarves been so unlucky lately?
"Thank you for your understanding. I'll arrange for accommodations in a nearby territory." Ambrose was about to send them to Viscount Letterman's lands, considering his new alliance with the dwarves.
But Hoffman shook his head. "No need. We'll stay here."
"Here?"
Ambrose looked around. They were in the ruins of Alkhemia. There was nothing but rubble in sight.
Hoffman pointed at the ground beneath them. "For a eting to decide the fate of three kingdoms, don't you think this little dirt mound is a bit… undignified?"
A platform stacked from earthen walls with ordinary tables and chairs did look rather shabby.
"I'm not exactly skilled in architecture," Ambrose admitted.
"Then leave it to us. I refuse to let history record that such a eting took place on a pile of dirt. That would be a disgrace to dwarven pride."
Hoffmann Ironfist had clearly decided to vent his frustration by making a show of construction.
The dwarves imdiately got to work, reshaping the terrain with practiced ease.
After watching for a mont, Ambrose had to admit that they were master builders and architects. In no ti at all, the landscape was completely transford.
From the looks of it, they were planning to build an entire castle atop the ruins.
Ambrose didn't mind. If they wanted a grand castle, so be it.
With both delegations settled, Ambrose returned once more to the battlefield.
He intended to track down the mastermind behind the Hellgate while traces of its aura still lingered.
Soone had dared to disrupt one of his business deals. That was unforgivable.
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