Chapter 267: O Cursd Fate |
"You want to consult that lich?" The old elven king was certain he had misheard.
This was an internal discussion among elven royalty. And Catherine wanted to bring in that lich?
What exactly had Catherine experienced on her tour of the world, to turn instinctively to such a being?
"I know it sounds strange," Catherine said calmly, "but if you've ever spent time with him, you'd understand. He's the best there is at negotiation. He knows how to balance everyone's interests. I believe he can resolve this."
Her trip with Ambrose had taught her one crucial thing: self-awareness.
She finally understood that she had never been a truly capable ruler. She was too naïve and too idealistic, like a girl who had never quite grown up. Faced with something of this scale, her instinct was to seek help from the one person who always seemed to have an answer.
Her trust in Ambrose had been built piece by piece, through miracle after miracle.
A lich who could make paladins kneel, who had turned the Ragetide Kingdom into his personal playground, who could sway druids with a few casual words… If anything, his tongue must have been blessed by the gods themselves. There was nothing he couldn't handle.
The old elven king glanced helplessly at his grandson, hoping for opposition. After all, this meant consulting an outsider. What about the dignity of the elves?
The old king gave up completely. This grandson of his was beyond saving.
With Alderien's support, Catherine finally relaxed.
But a new problem arose: how were they supposed to contact him?
Long-distance communication had always been an issue. Catherine didn't possess anything like the Necromantic Codex.
"That's easy," Alderien said. "Send an urgent letter and have him come directly to the Court of the Silver Moon."
Inviting a lich into the Court of the Silver Moon… that was likely a first in the history of the elven kingdom.
But the old elven king no longer had the energy to argue. Whether improvised or not, Alderien's reasoning held. Age had clouded his judgment with emotion. He could no longer remain objective.
He would let go of the reins. Alderien was king now, after all.
Catherine's handwritten letter reached Ambrose quickly. With the Court sparing no expense, the express delivery crossed the desert in just one hour. Unfortunately, it couldn't be delivered to him directly. It had to pass through Heki, who was on the surface, and was only then handed over.
By the time Ambrose received it, two hours had passed.
Fortunately, the sun was still up.
After reading the letter, Ambrose hesitated briefly before deciding to go.
Arthur Lyon's heroic spirit had to be dealt with anyway. He might as well take this opportunity to negotiate a price with Lyon.
With the Court acting as mediator, James Watson wouldn't dare attack him.
Switching into a standard skeletal body, then disguising himself as a black-haired human youth, Ambrose stepped into the teleportation array. No point inviting discrimination by showing up with a skull.
After several transfers, he finally arrived at the Court of the Silver Moon.
The moment he stepped out, he felt the dense vitality in the air. It was no mystery why elves lived for so long, or why they were so beautiful. Beyond racial traits, environment was a big factor.
The Court was saturated with vital energy. Even humans living here could remain healthy and live past a hundred.
Led through elegant corridors by several elven maidens, Ambrose soon arrived before a magnificent palace.
Immediately, he came across Catherine. She hadn't changed. She was as breathtakingly beautiful as ever, and just as stunning as he remembered. Even the undead might feel their hearts stir when standing before her.
Fortunately, Ambrose had built up some resistance during their travels together, and managed a composed greeting.
Catherine, however, was visibly more emotional. Since returning, she often found herself reminiscing about their adventures, which had been some of the most vivid memories of her life.
After a brief exchange of pleasantries, she brought Ambrose to a reception chamber where the young elven king Alderien was waiting.
Alderien had been eager to meet this lich to see what kind of person could inspire such admiration in Catherine.
But the moment their eyes met, his expression twisted.
His pupils shrank. His face contorted slightly. His hands gripped the hilt of his sword.
"You!" His words, forced through clenched teeth, were so thick with resentment that even the naïve Catherine noticed something was wrong.
Ambrose frowned. Something felt off. Had the elves tricked him here in order to kill him?
"Your Majesty, is something the matter?"
Catherine was about to inquire as to what was wrong when Alderien interrupted, "Catherine, allow me to speak with this lich alone. This is a very serious request."
Though confused, Catherine could sense his unusual intensity. Something was clearly wrong. She had no choice but to step out.
As the door closed, Alderien immediately stepped forward, glaring at Ambrose without regard for etiquette.
"…Have we met?" Ambrose asked.
Alderien leaned in and whispered, "In the Unholy Kingdom's town of Redriver…"
"Redriver?"
A distant memory stirred. That had been before he became a lich.
Back then, youth potions were cheap, and one bottle afforded him thirty extra years.
In that place, he'd had quite an… encounter with a drow elf. They'd tussled in the bed, then on the floor, after which point he had killed her in "self-defense."
It was nothing particularly memorable, if not for the fact that she'd been a chosen of Loss.
But what did that have to do with this elf?
"Did we meet two hundred years ago?" Ambrose asked.
"Four hundred," Alderien replied through gritted teeth.
"Four centuries… I'm afraid I don't remember." It was far too long ago. Back then, he'd only just started out as a divination mage.
"You don't remember?!" Alderien's voice trembled. "I had thirty gold coins—all my savings! You cheated me out of everything! I starved for half a month!"
"…Ah."
Ambrose felt a flicker of awkwardness. This was clearly one of his former victims.
Still, even with that detail, he couldn't recall the encounter clearly. Thirty gold coins barely registered in the long list of people he'd conned.
Yet Ambrose's forgettable encounter with Alderien was indelible to the latter.
Four centuries ago, Alderien had just begun adventuring. Talented and confident as he was, everything had gone smoothly—until he met this black-haired, black-eyed stranger in Redriver.
Ambrose's features were like those of no other race across the continent. Struck by curiosity, Alderien chatted him up. They talked and drank. Within hours, Ambrose had convinced him they were kindred spirits, closer even than family.
Then came the lesson.
Ambrose had taken all his earnings from adventuring… and even borrowed money in his name.
Alderien didn't even know when he'd signed the papers.
Within a single day, he was ruined. Disgraced and mocked, he was taken for a disreputable elven brat, even perhaps a disguised drow.
This was a severe insult among elves, one that might prompt a duel to the death.
Yet Alderien could not refute those claims. It was, after all, his signature on the forms, even if he had received none of the accompanying money.
In the end, Alderien spent an entire month repaying his debts before returning to his parents, forced to admit that he had underestimated adventurers. The experience had taught him to be far more cautious—his first real step toward maturity, though the price he paid had been painfully steep.
"Why did you deceive me?! I thought we were friends! I thought you were my very first true companion!"
As the elven king confronted Ambrose, his eyes reddened. That had been the first, most precious friendship of his youth.
He had remembered that face for his entire life. What he once thought was just a bittersweet memory of his younger days now came rushing back in full force. Seeing Ambrose again, he realized his grievance and anger hadn't faded in the slightest. He almost wanted to cut the lich down where he stood.
Listening to Alderien recount the incident in such detail, Ambrose gradually recalled fragments of it as well.
With a wry smile, he explained, "Your Majesty, I remember now. To you, it might have seemed like a pleasant conversation between an elf and a human. But from my perspective… you were the one with ulterior motives."
"How was I the one with bad intentions?!" Alderien snapped.
"Do you remember the first thing you said to me?" Ambrose replied calmly. "You mocked my ragged clothes and assumed I must be doing poorly. Then you told me to follow you, that you'd ‘take care of me.' Honestly, anyone who's been an adventurer knows exactly what that means. You were looking for a fool to use as cannon fodder."
Ambrose didn't scam people indiscriminately. He had principles. As a rule, he didn't act unless provoked.
At the time, Alderien was a newly risen adventurer with some reputation, and as an elf, he naturally carried himself with pride. When he spoke to Ambrose, it was with the unconscious arrogance of someone in a superior position.
Alderien might have lacked experience, but Ambrose certainly didn't. By then, he had already spent years wandering as an adventurer.
When a seemingly capable adventurer approached a complete stranger and said, "Stick with me, I'll protect you," in such a domineering tone, there could be but one explanation: he needed a pawn, or a mark.
Ambrose had seen countless people like that. So he played along… and then took the gold and vanished.
The exact details were fuzzy to him now. It had been nothing more than a passing episode in his long career.
Who could have imagined that the elf he scammed back then would one day become the elven king?
Ambrose couldn't help but reflect on the absurdity of his life. His first master had been the God of Alchemy. A drow he casually killed had been Loss' chosen.
An elf ranger he casually scammed had become the elven king… At this point, he almost wondered if even the Silvermoon Knight had once held a grudge against him, only for him to have forgotten it.
What cursed fate!
Still, Ambrose felt no guilt whatsoever. Instead, he spoke with complete composure. "Your Majesty, four centuries ago, you were an adventurer, and so was I. Perhaps it was a misunderstanding, but I only have one life.
"I was a nobody, constantly worrying about survival. Maybe I misjudged you at the time. If you insist on holding it against me, I will offer you an apology.
"But to be frank, if it happened again, I would make the same choice." His voice remained steady. "Because I could never be sure whether your so-called kindness hid something darker. That's simply the reality of an adventurer's life."
This was the tragedy of the weak. Back then, Ambrose had been nothing more than a nameless drifter who could die in the wilderness at any moment. Perhaps there had been countless misunderstandings like this in his life, but it was precisely his caution and suspicion that had kept him alive until now.
These were the sins of his past. He would not deny them, but neither would he regret them. For someone at the bottom of society, he often had no real choices.
If the elven king truly wished to pursue the matter, Ambrose wouldn't mind destroying this body and starting over. Changing bodies was trivial for him now.
After hearing that apology, Alderien fell silent for a long time. Then he finally said, "You're right. That's how adventurers are. I only came to understand that later." His expression hardened. "But this time, don't expect me to stand on your side. I'll do everything I can to help Lyon and make sure you don't get a good price for that heroic spirit."
Since political justifications didn't really matter, then surely his personal feelings mattered more.
Alderien made his choice without hesitation. He would take his revenge and make Ambrose bleed for the thirty gold that had caused him so much misery as a child.
Ambrose looked at the still-young elven king and scoffed inwardly.
When it came to business, he was unbeatable.
