Ambrose had always been a simple sort of lich.
Whether it was taking in refugees, aiding druids, feuding with paladins, or starting wars with neighboring lords, every move and sche served one purpose only: profit.
It was no different this ti. As a legendary lich who possessed the technology to forge artificial souls, he had minimal need for human souls. This war, from his perspective, was a complete loss. The castle's magical defenses devoured gold every second they stayed active.
Killing a few intruders wasn't nearly worth the expense.
So, Ambrose had to earn at least a little interest.
The three who had fallen into his trap would serve perfectly well as free test subjects for his new creation: the living rcury spirit golem.
......
Harvey was beginning to think that magic simply wasn't for him. The so-called school of divination was a joke. His instincts had told him that following the paladin's charge was the right call—yet here he was, falling into a pit trap.
He'd seen pitfalls before, of course. But who in their right mind dug one dozens of ters deep right in front of their own gates? What kind of effort was that? And for what? A few spears at the bottom would've done the job. Why make it so absurdly deep?
That question was soon answered. As they fell, the pit narrowed like a funnel before eventually turning into a slanted chute.
The three of them slid down one after another, tumbling like refuse flushed down a drain. And just as Harvey began to fear he was about to land sowhere profoundly unpleasant, sothing snagged his robe and sent him veering into another tunnel.
By the ti his backside was thoroughly scraped raw, Harvey found himself inside a tal cage. With a loud clang, the bars sealed shut.
He didn't even have ti to lant his poor tailbone before realizing who stood before him outside the cage: the terrifying lich Ambrose himself.
The lich's eyes, burning with soulfire, were fixed upon him. Harvey forced a trembling smile. "Master gaman, I was coerced into this, truly. Won't you believe ?"
The lich chuckled. "Does it matter to whether you were coerced or not?"
Harvey fell silent. This lich was far too blunt—he didn't offer even a pretense of rcy.
Still, as a magician who had invested all his stats into intellect, Harvey's mind worked fast. "If I wasn't thrown straight into a spike pit, that must an I still have so value alive. Master Ambrose, what may I help you with?"
Ambrose didn't bother to hide it. "Simple. You're worth more alive than dead. I want your ransom."
Harvey's jaw dropped. Of all the reasons he could have imagined, this one had never crossed his mind. Then he recalled how the lich had effectively tried to ransom the refugees for coin from the Porcupine Knights and neighboring lords. Just how desperately did this lich need money?
"Ah... How much are you planning to ask for, Master gaman?"
"At least ten thousand gold," Ambrose replied. "You're a magician, after all."
Harvey let out a weary laugh. "Then I fear you'll be disappointed. My employer can't afford that much."
"Impossible. A force of over a thousand n, and they can't spare ten thousand gold?"
Ambrose frowned. Gold might be scarce, but surely they had assets of equal worth. These were lords he was talking about, after all.
Harvey sighed and explained, "Master gaman, have you not heard what's happening in Alkhemia? If things weren't that desperate, they wouldn't have banded together to attack your castle in the first place."
"Is it really that bad?"
Before Ambrose could continue, another clang echoed through the chamber. The priest of light had fallen into the next cell.
Ambrose casually cast a Human Stasis spell. By the ti the spell wore off, the priest had already been force-fed several vials of Potions of Sleep and was already unconscious.
"Well then," Ambrose said, turning back to Harvey, "we'll continue this discussion later."
With that, the lich floated out of the cell.
Seeing the restless, misshapen skeletons pacing outside his cage, Harvey quietly slipped the bit of wire he'd been hiding back into his sleeve. Even if he could pick the lock, a half-trained magician stood no chance against this many undead. Trying to escape now would be suicide.
He sighed heavily. "So much for the Lyon Empire's boasts that paladins can easily suppress the undead. Sure doesn't look like it."
......
Ambrose drifted into another sealed chamber. The paladin had landed there safely and was now pacing the room, pounding on the walls in search of an exit.
But it was futile. The cell was encased on all sides by dense stone, with only the chute above and a single heavy iron door.
Perhaps scarred by the earlier trap at the castle gate, the paladin hadn't dared use Sacred Slash on the door.
Ambrose set the blob of living rcury down before the door and gave a command: "There's a paladin inside. Teach him a lesson he won't forget."
The rcury creature quivered in understanding. It slithered forward, oozing through the gaps in the iron door.
The paladin's senses were keen. He noticed the intrusion imdiately.
He'd never seen living rcury before, though, and assud the lich was trying so new form of vile alchemy.
Raising his sword, he waited tensely.
What happened next, however, went far beyond his expectations.
The mass of rcury moved—crawled—toward him, alive.
"A sli? No... what in the Light's na is this?"
The paladin was an adventurer of no small renown, but this... this was new.
So abominable undead construct, perhaps?
No matter. Whatever it was, one Sacred Slash would end it.
Holy radiance flared along his blade as he swung. The sword cut so fast the air itself rippled.
Watching through a scrying crystal, Ambrose felt his bones rattle. If that strike had hit him, half his skeleton would've been shorn clean off.
Such was the might of a Lyon Empire paladin—and there were legions of them.
The shining arc descended, only for a sharp tallic clang to echo through the cell.
The sword had not struck flesh or sli, but steel.
A silver-white blade had erged from the rcury sli's body to et the holy strike head-on. The two blades locked in a ss of flying sparks.
The mimicked blade split nearly to its core, but the holy light guttered out harmlessly against it.
"Impossible!" gasped the paladin. "That thing's not undead, and it even resists magic?!"
Just one exchange told him that this foe was sothing extraordinary.
Before he could recover, the rcury began to flow again. The sword lengthened, sprouting a hilt, a hand, and an arm... Eventually, a knight of shining rcury stood before him, clad in heavy armor, with an eerie resemblance to himself.
The mimic raised its sword, imitating the paladin's earlier stance. Then, with a single swing, it unleashed a torrent of silver light, fiercer and more violent than even the paladin's Sacred Slash.
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