Normally, no undead would ever accept living humans into their domain. To most undead, humans were either food or test subjects—usually both.
Among all undead creatures, only the eccentric vampires had a penchant for falling in love with their als. Naturally, this made them rather unpopular with the rest of the undead.
After all, it was hard to accept those who wanted to marry their dinner. "I respect your tastes, my friend, but please, stay several graveyards away from ," was usually how it went.
And as for the mortals who fell for vampires, they would either beco vampires themselves, or be burned at the stake as a supposed "vampire" by other humans.
On this continent, interspecies romance almost never ended well.
And if even true love went that badly, how would ordinary power dynamics fare? Most such relationships ended with liches enslaving humans, or necromancers binding liches with soul pacts.
Ambrose, however, had no such intentions. Ever since he pioneered the field of engineered skeletons, his need for human bones had plumted. His Mitic Soul likewise completely replaced the uncontrollable nature of real human souls. He didn't have to raise humans like lab rats.
What he really needed was money.
Normally, no sane human would ever swear fealty to a lich. But Alkhemia was in the grip of its worst economic crisis in a century. A massive wave of freefolk had fled their lords' territories after another brutal round of tax hikes. Ambrose saw his chance and decided to collect a few humans of his own.
Taxes, after all, paid far better than business. Even the poorest noble of Alkhemia was richer than Ambrose.
Behind his castle were vast, fertile fields—enough to feed three to five thousand people, once properly cultivated.
The land had been part of a one-off deal with the Alchemists' Council. He would hand over two potion formulas in exchange for permanent ownership and tax exemption over the land, but with a catch—it could neither be inherited nor gifted. If, say, so paladin were to smash Ambrose's phylactery apart, the land would automatically be reclaid by the Council.
Still, the "tax-free" clause alone saved him a fortune. Other lords taxed their people at eighty percent. Ambrose could afford to ask for only sixty.
Rules were made to be taken advantage of, after all. If anything were to bla, it was the economic crisis. Only under such circumstances would freefolk even be willing to accept a lich as their liege.
After being interrogated by Ambrose, Raul finally realized that he had found a more benevolent lord than any he had ever known. Only 60% of their revenue would be taxed? What a bargain!
If word of this spread, tens of thousands of freefolk would rush to his lands, and the other human lords would probably band together to launch a "holy crusade" against this rciful lich.
In Raul's imagination, Ambrose sat at a negotiating table, his tone grave as he told the assembled nobles, "Humans... please, treat your fellow humans with kindness."
Moved by this vision of compassion, Raul felt a surge of guilt. He had misjudged Ambrose. He vowed to make ands by helping the lich recruit even more refugees.
Isabel, however, couldn't shake the uneasy feeling that she and her brother had walked straight into one of the lich's carefully laid traps.
But... that didn't quite make sense either. Their intrusion into the lich's domain had been a pure accident. Even the most cunning lich wouldn't waste divination magic on two nobodies.
Besides, she couldn't fathom a broke lich. Why rob peasants when you could simply rob lords?
It wasn't unheard of. There had once been a lich who despised humanity so deeply that he unleashed an enhanced poison cloud spell, wiping out millions with a plague.
The undead attacking humans was to be expected. A lich that didn't attack humans was far more suspicious.
The more she thought about it, the stranger it seed. Surely Ambrose was hiding sothing. But an alchemy apprentice like her was hardly in a position to find out.
A day later, Raul returned, this ti with ten living, breathing people.
The mont they saw Ambrose, their legs turned to jelly. Several turned and bolted.
Fortunately, Raul was able to control the aberrant skeleton to block their escape in ti. The captives cursed him for being a lich's lackey. So sobbed, pleading for rcy for the sake of their elderly mothers or their children.
That was when Ambrose's foresight paid off. He handed them calming draughts. The panicked wailing quickly faded into an uneasy silence.
Calm minds were easier to reason with. And once Raul dropped the bombshell about the 60% tax rate, their hearts began to waver.
Only 60%? Was this lich actually an angel in disguise?
Before the tax hikes, they'd already been tithing 80% of their revenue. Now, it was 90%, and two years' of taxes would be collected in advance.
Little wonder they'd fled.
But fleeing ant abandoning everything. Their land, hos, and tools were all confiscated by their lords.
There hadn't really been a choice between slavery and destitution.
Even those with useful trades couldn't escape the fate of starvation. The tax crisis affected every fief controlled by the Alchemists' Council. There was nowhere left to run.
Now, however, they suddenly had a new option.
Pledging allegiance to a lich would have been unthinkable days ago. It would have been a betrayal of their very species. But now, with their survival on the balance, who cared about pride? At least the lich would feed his people.
After Ambrose's assurances and a quick tour of the castle grounds, the refugees agreed to settle and beco his subjects.
Ambrose knew he'd won half the battle already. These ten would soon spread word of the "benevolent Master Lich," drawing more and more freefolk to his lands.
He appointed Isabel as head maid and arranged temporary lodging for the newcors in the castle.
For now, his necromantic experints would have to wait. He needed to make a supply run to Alkhemia. After all, the refugees couldn't live in his castle forever. They needed materials to build hos, tools to till the fields, and animals to raise.
Unfortunately, most of them had fled with nothing but a dagger and a few coins. They couldn't exactly pack their houses on their backs. In other words, they were completely broke, and everything they needed would have to co from Ambrose.
Of course, not for free. It would all be rented.
Tools, seeds, livestock—all of it could be leased. Rates depended entirely on the lord's temperant. Benevolent lords charged low interest to attract new settlers. Cruel lords squeezed every last coin until their tenants sold their children and fell into slavery.
There was no right or wrong in this world: only profit and power. Even kind lords sotis ended up slaughtered by their own peasants, while tyrants could live to a ripe old age.
This was a world where power was law.
Ambrose had a long list of purchases to make. None were particularly expensive on their own, but together, it would be a logistical nightmare. Having it all teleported to him would cost a fortune in fees. It was better to go in person, place orders directly, and rent a carriage for transport.
Still, traveling to Alkhemia ant he needed a new look. Strolling in as a lich was asking for trouble.
Standing before a massive mirror, Ambrose raised a hand and murmured a spell. His body shimred, flesh reknitting before his eyes.
In monts, the terrifying lich was gone and replaced by a handso young man with black hair and dark eyes.
That was how he had looked before his transmigration.
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