The economic crisis in Alkhemia was far worse than Ambrose had imagined. Even the lesser lords were already making contingency plans to prepare for the city's eventual collapse.
But whether Alkhemia would fall was none of Ambrose's concern—at least, not for now. He was fully absorbed in his experints on the creation of spirit golems.
Under Master Morgan's guidance, Ambrose had found a path forward. By optimizing his Mitic Soul, he was able to create artificial souls at a cost of roughly two hundred gold each.
Two hundred gold was extravagant by any asure. A human slave's soul wasn't even worth a single gold coin on the market. Yet compared to Master Morgan's original ritual, which cost fifty thousand gold to perform, Ambrose's version was practically free.
And there was still room to reduce the cost further.
The first stage of the process was now complete. The problem of the soul was resolved, but the design of the body presented a new set of challenges.
Living rcury was the ideal vessel for a soul, yet it lacked many essential organs.
Who knew what those madn in Alkhemia had originally intended when they created it? Apart from its remarkable resistance to magic, living rcury was malford and lacking in many ways.
Without any organs, it was fragile to the point of absurdity, nothing but a blob with the instinct to devour tal. Implanting a soul into such a vessel would be a waste of both ti and materials. Ambrose would have to give the living rcury organs.
The best way to do that was by referencing the anatomy of a sli, since that was what living rcury was based on.
Ambrose sighed. "I never realized how little I know about slis."
Even for an immortal lich, the vast ocean of magical knowledge out there could be humbling. Every year, Legendary Spellcraft published new theories of magic, and countless others didn't make it into the journal at all.
Ambrose was a diligent scholar, but omniscience was beyond even him.
It was ti to seek expert advice.
He asked around in the Elegiac Society's chat group, but the other legendary undead all gave the sa answer: none of them had ever studied slis.
It made sense. Slis were weak, ugly, and nearly useless—an utterly obscure field of study. Even undead, who had eons of ti on their hands, had little interest in such pitiful creatures.
With no better options, Ambrose hauled out back issues of Legendary Spellcraft and began flipping through them one by one in search of references to slis.
The result was disappointing. Even in that venerable journal, ntions of slis were vanishingly rare.
He could only conclude that slis were spectacularly worthless.
After much thought, Ambrose realized that the only true experts on slis must be those who had created living rcury in the first place: the alchemists of Alkhemia.
But now, with the city deep in a financial crisis, prices were skyrocketing across the board. If he were to inquire about exclusive research materials at a ti like this, he'd surely be gouged rcilessly.
Overcharging others was one thing. Being overcharged himself would be agony, akin to bathing in holy water.
After weighing his options, Ambrose decided he could find no shortcuts. He would have to take the traditional lich's approach: catch a few hundred slis and study them firsthand. Dissect enough of them, and he'd beco a sli expert himself.
Once again, Ambrose cast a transformation spell and reverted to human form.
This was a world steeped in racial prejudice, and walking around as a lich was nothing but trouble. Taking on a human guise spared him a thousand inconveniences.
Appearing as a black-haired youth, he stepped out of his laboratory and made his way toward the gates of the old castle.
As he passed Isabel's workshop, Ambrose glanced in, purely in the spirit of a responsible employer.
Thankfully, the girl was behaving herself and hadn't pilfered any of his materials.
He had once made a sentient ghoul to assist in his experints, only for the creature to devour a third of his inventory within days. Furious enough to make his soulfire flash blue, Ambrose had been forced to dismantle the overfed ghoul to recoup so losses.
Isabel, sensitive as ever, sensed his presence. Her eyes widened in surprise, and she hurried over to greet him.
"Master? I'm so glad to see you again!"
"Master?" Ambrose blinked. "You're calling that now?"
Isabel nodded earnestly. "Thanks to your guidance in alchemy, I've made great progress. Perhaps it's a bit presumptuous, but I'm truly grateful, Master."
Ambrose didn't object. The title suited him well enough.
And since he was now a master, it only made sense to check on his student. He asked, "Do you have any questions for ?"
Her eyes lit up. "Yes! Just a mont."
She pulled out her notebook and flipped it open. "When extracting belladonna, I can't seem to control the heat properly..."
"Watch the timing of the bubbles," Ambrose replied without hesitation. "Once the first bubble appears, stop heating within thirty seconds."
"The Animal Speech potion—I followed the recipe exactly, but the quality was terrible."
"That's because of the temperature. The castle's a bit cold. Increase the suspension ratio by about five percent."
......
Whatever Isabel asked, Ambrose had an imdiate answer ready.
The more she questioned him, the more she felt a growing awe for the black-haired young man before her. So many of her doubts, which her previous teacher had ignored or dismissed, he resolved in seconds.
To Ambrose, these were all basic alchemical principles, hardly worth ntioning. But to Isabel, they were priceless insights, knowledge that could save her years of frustration.
The more she learned, the deeper her respect grew. She even felt a trace of reverence.
Flipping through her notes, she asked eagerly, "And one more—the Strength of the Hill Giant potion..."
Ambrose stopped her mid-sentence. "Wait. That's not sothing you can make, is it?"
"I... saw the recipe, and I do have the ingredients..."
"Overreaching will only cause you to waste materials," Ambrose said sternly. "That's a high-grade potion. Even if I taught you step by step, you wouldn't be able to grasp it yet."
He rarely used such a sharp tone, but the Strength of the Hill Giant was an expensive brew. Failure would an losing ingredients worth a small fortune, enough to make his bones ache. The other potions she had asked about previously were ant for general use and would be consud in large quantities on a day-to-day basis.
After half an hour of questions, Ambrose finally raised a hand. "Alchemy is a subtle art. You don't expect to beco a master in a single day, do you? Learn what I've already taught you first."
Isabel accepted the rebuke without complaint. Compared to her last teacher, Ambrose was practically an angel. He didn't insult her as an "idiot" or "halfwit," and he never hoarded his knowledge. Many of the questions in her notebook had haunted her for ages, but every ti she'd asked about them before, she'd received only vague, unhelpful answers.
Ambrose gave her a few final reminders about conserving materials and turned to leave, only for Isabel to call out again.
"Master, please wait! I have one last question."
Ambrose paused, puzzled. "What is it?"
Isabel hesitated, then asked softly, "Master, you're an undead, aren't you? An undead who lives in this castle?"
Ambrose: "..."
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