Lich for Hire

Chapter 281: Helldivers

The struggles between gods were brutal. Even the God of Alchemy himself had nearly been hunted down and killed by the Spider Queen.

If Ambrose hadn't restored a portion of his power in time, he wouldn't have been able to drive her back.

And if not for the Spider Queen's need to remain wary of her supposed allies, the God of Alchemy would have had no choice but to continue fleeing for his life.

This was precisely why the God of Alchemy did not want Ambrose to ascend to godhood so rashly.

To fuse with an incompatible divine domain meant being forever trapped as a lesser god—the kind that were slain by mortals in myths and legends.

That was one of the reasons the God of Alchemy had refused to absorb those domains himself. Corruption, darkness, and spiders—if he absorbed those domains, alchemy might devolve into a purely destructive art. And if that happened, he would never recover his former strength.

After all, tools that harm others could never be as widely embraced as those used in daily life.

The only authority of real value was that over the drow. If he absorbed it, he could become the supreme god of all drow, restoring his power far more quickly and without any real side effects. At most, it would simply increase the number of alchemists among the drow.

But that would transform him from a conceptual deity into a faith-based one. Neither path was inherently superior, but the latter would bind him to the influence of believers, which ran counter to his own ideals.

Besides, this was the most valuable of the four domains.

If Ambrose were to absorb the drow domain, he might even be able to negotiate with the Spider Queen, becoming her subordinate deity, securing a powerful backer, and smoothing his path to divinity.

This student of his had a habit of walking on the edge. As his former master, the God of Alchemy naturally felt compelled to prepare a few safety nets for him.

"Let's see what he's up to..."

The God of Alchemy tapped the table, and a massive crystal mirror rose before him.

Its surface appeared smooth, yet it was etched with countless microscopic patterns and brimming with divine power.

This was a divine artifact of his own creation, the pinnacle of alchemy that lay beyond mortal comprehension.

Whatever he willed, the mirror revealed.

It was through this artifact that he had detected the Spider Queen's approach in advance.

Soon, Ambrose's face appeared within the mirror. He was in a dark alley, and a group of furious adventurers surrounded him.

The God of Alchemy sighed inwardly. The lich really did attract trouble wherever he went.

Night had fallen over Sweetdew City. A chilly wind swept through the desert, cold enough to freeze drops of water into frost.

Ambrose had just stepped out of the tavern when he was surrounded within a nearby alley.

He sighed. "Why is it that every tavern has these conveniently placed alleys for ambushes?"

Whether in Alkhemia or Sweetdew City, the layout was always the same: taverns were tucked in the center of a web of narrow, shadowy passages. If you wanted to leave, you had to pass through them.

"That's the bastard!"

The orc ranger, his face wrapped in bandages, pointed at Ambrose, his voice a miserable wail.

The earlier beating had broken several of his bones. Worse still, their captain hadn't even been willing to spend a single potion on healing him.

Why? Because after the brawl, the party had been forced to compensate the tavern.

A broken table cost three hundred gold. Even the shattered bottles used to beat them were priced at one gold each.

It was absurd. Those bottles hadn't been worth a single gold even when they were full of ale, but the tavern claimed that they had "commemorative value" since they'd been used by potential future legends.

The bill alone was enough to cripple the entire party.

Burdened with such debt, their captain had nearly killed them on the spot, but the tavern didn't care about internal disputes. If they wanted to keep operating in Sweetdew City, they had to pay.

That was why they had come for revenge.

Maybe they could squeeze some compensation out of this alchemist. After all, alchemists were usually wealthy.

They had waited until nightfall before finally cornering him in a small alleyway.

"Lad, hand over everything valuable you've got. Then cut off one of your arms. Maybe we'll let you live then."

The speaker was a tall tifling clad in heavy black armor, its surface etched with grotesque, menacing patterns.

"An infernal knight? A tifling infernal knight? Don't tell me that armor's a family heirloom."

Ambrose sounded genuinely surprised. An infernal knight alone wasn't remarkable. But a tifling infernal knight? That was another matter entirely.

Long ago, there had been a noble angel named Sariel. Disgusted by her peers' passivity toward the forces of Hell, she raised an army and led a crusade into the infernal realms, seeking to slay the archdevils.

She was astonishingly powerful, and her campaign once achieved staggering victories.

But not all who followed her possessed such resolve.

Some broke under the horrors of Hell... and fled.

Sariel had prepared a fallback: a great portal connecting Hell and the mortal world.

Yet those deserters, fearing pursuit, used the portal to escape and then destroyed it behind them.

Sariel was stranded. Cut off from the mortal world, she was eventually defeated and captured.

In the end, she succumbed to Hell's corruption, abandoning her grace and becoming a devil herself. She rose to become the ruler of the first layer of Hell. She would never forget the traitors who had stranded her.

Among those infernal knights were many tiflings.

With their infernal blood, they should have been her strongest supporters. Instead, they were among the first to run. Perhaps the cruelty in their blood was awakened by Hell itself.

At any rate, all that had happened a long time ago.

History blurred the truth. Some believed Sariel's fall forced the knights to flee. Others believed their betrayal caused her fall.

Ambrose knew the truth from personal experience. He had once known an ancient infernal knight. The man's body had long since demonized, but he had spent centuries consumed by guilt.

In the end, Ambrose helped him find release. Before dying, the knight confessed to everything and begged Ambrose to destroy his soul entirely so that it would not return to Hell. That was Ambrose's first encounter with necromancy. It took five full days to tear the soul apart, and the process was agonizing the entire time.

Yet the knight endured it until he was completely annihilated.

Back then, Ambrose had thought that, if the infernal knight had shown such resolve during Sariel's campaign, he would not have spent a lifetime in regret.

The tifling before him, wearing his armor so proudly, clearly believed the other version of the story.

The tifling captain, pleased that Ambrose recognized his armor, said proudly, "This is my ancestor's badge of honor from the infernal campaign. Since you've got some knowledge, I'll spare your arm, but I'll still break one of your legs."

Ambrose rolled his eyes. This tifling had clearly been fed a very convenient version of history.

But that didn't matter. Ambrose had no interest in the disputes between archdevils and traitors.

He said calmly, "You intend to break my leg and take everything I own?"

"What, you think you've got a chance?"

Blades were drawn, arrows nocked, and spells prepared.

This was a seasoned adventuring party. None of them underestimated Ambrose. At the slightest movement, they would strike with lethal force.

Ambrose raised his hands. "Then allow me to open up my storage and take everything out."

"Don't try anything stupid," the captain warned. "Right now, you might live. Anger us, and no one will care if you die."

"Relax," Ambrose said. "I won't make a move." A spatial rift opened. "But they might."

Before anyone could react, more than a dozen drones shot out of the rift, unleashing a storm of needles.

Screams erupted. Those without armor dropped instantly.

Ambrose knew the needles lacked killing power, so he had coated them with potent paralytics. None of the adventurers were elves, so they possessed no resistance.

One hit was enough. By the end of the salvo, only two remained standing: the armored tifling captain and a lucky mage briefly shielded by his companions.

Then the mage took a hit as well.

His barrier shattered instantly as the needle struck his groin.

He collapsed. Only the tifling remained.

Shocked, but realizing the needles couldn't pierce his armor, the tifling raised his sword. Flames roared to life along its edge.

"Cunning human! I've changed my mind. I'll cut off all your limbs and stuff this scrap metal down your throat!"

He charged.

But Ambrose's rift had not closed. Two massive black shapes burst forth: obsidian gargoyles, larger than tigers, slammed the infernal knight to the ground, pinning his limbs effortlessly.

He hadn't had a chance to take advantage of Heki Stone's gifts from long ago. Still, the gargoyles seemed too overpowered against the rather unimpressive tifling.

No matter how the tifling struggled, he couldn't move.

Ambrose walked over, smiling faintly. "You see? I kept my word. I didn't move at all." He tapped the armor. "Now then... about those valuables. This armor of yours looks quite expensive."