Chapter 16: The Tree and the Ants

Ambrose had shut himself in his laboratory, utterly absorbed in his research on spirit golems.

Meanwhile, the land reclamation was ongoing, if awkwardly. Raul had plenty of muscle to keep people in line, but neither he nor Isabel had much talent for actual management.

Then again, that wasn't much of a problem. Most lords on this continent didn't know the first thing about governance either. As long as they had enough soldiers to keep order, things somehow worked out.

The hundred-odd freemen knew full well that if they didn't want to starve, they had to work.

Normally, clearing new land demanded enormous effort. A single family needed at least three healthy workers laboring for half a year just to free up one acre of farmland.

The three eternal enemies of new land were weeds, stones, and pests.

You had to pull weeds up by the roots or they'd grow back within days. Burning them was another option, but the lush green grass wouldn't catch on fire easily. You could use a few bottles of Flamebrew, but the expense...

Then there were the rocks scattered all over, in every size imaginable. Digging them out was exhausting enough, and if you ran into one too big to move, you had to heat it until it glowed before dousing it in water to crack it apart. The process ate up time and firewood both.

And the bugs—always the bugs—devouring crops and patience alike.

But with the help of alchemical potions, all these problems suddenly became trivial.

Following Ambrose's instructions, Isabel's vials of Basilisk Oil could turn rock brittle enough that they would crumble from a single tap. The same potion, when sprayed on weeds, drained them of moisture, leaving them dry and ready to burn.

Spray the field, wait a day, then torch it. The fire burned deep enough to kill roots and insect eggs alike, turning their remains into rich fertilizer.

When the flames finally died down, all that was left to do was till the soil.

The freemen had never seen such an effortless way to clear land. Whatever complaints they'd had before vanished all of a sudden.

In truth, there was nothing particularly secret about this method. It was simply expensive.

The potions would have cost at least a thousand gold if purchased from Alkhemia. Considering that a single gold coin could feed a grown man for a month, it was easy to see why most lords preferred cheap manual labor.

But Ambrose could brew them himself. With Isabel's work included, the whole operation cost only about a hundred gold.

Besides, as a lich, Ambrose knew that if he didn't give these humans a few tangible benefits, they'd never be happy settling on his land.

Everything was moving steadily forward: his experiments, land cultivation, and the construction of crude wooden houses. One patch of wilderness after another was being transformed into farmland. In a month or two, planting could begin in earnest.

Once there was arable land, everything else would follow naturally.

But not everyone was pleased to see a lich's domain prosper.

From above, Ambrose's territory looked like an island, one completely surrounded by human lords on all sides, with not even a sliver of open space between them.

To the west lay the largest neighboring domain, nearly half the size of Ambrose's own. Its ruler was a knight of great renown.

Twenty years ago, during the great Beast Crusade, he had valiantly slain a gryphon while clad in spiked porcupine hide armor, earning himself the title of the Porcupine Knight and a large fief as reward.

Ambrose had never had any dealings with this knight back when he was a human. But after his transformation into a lich, the man—and indeed all the surrounding lords—had cut off contact entirely.

Today, the Porcupine Knight found himself riding his warhorse to the edge of Ambrose's territory. He circled half the perimeter before pulling up his reins, his brows furrowed in disapproval.

Dressed in gleaming silver mail and a heavy cloak embroidered with a porcupine crest, he looked every bit the proud and imposing noble.

Beside him rode a man in mage's robes. Though the mage was thin, pale, and scholarly in contrast, the knight addressed him with surprising deference. "Mr. Harvey," he said, inclining his head slightly, "you can see for yourself that this lich has gone too far."

The young Harvey peered into the distance, where human silhouettes moved about, busy clearing land. There was no mistaking it. Those were people.

Quite a few of the Porcupine Knight's freedmen had fled his domain recently. He had assumed they'd run off into the wild to fight goblins or gnolls for land. Never had he imagined they had found refuge in a lich's territory, nor that the lich had welcomed them.

A lich, living peacefully with humans? Unthinkable.

After a long pause, Harvey said, "My lord, as your magical advisor, I recommend filing a petition with Alkhemia."

The Porcupine Knight frowned. "You don't think I should march on the lich directly?"

According to Alkhemia's laws, lords were forbidden from poaching one another's populace. If such an offense occurred, the injured party could report it to the city, and, if the case were proven, receive official sanction to attack. Victory would bring generous rewards, sometimes even an expansion of territory.

If he followed Harvey's advice, Alkhemia would mediate the dispute and keep the lion's share of benefits for itself instead.

It was a far less tempting option, to say the least.

Harvey replied gravely, "My lord, undead are not to be taken lightly, least of all liches. We don't even know this one's name. For all we know, the moment we step into his lands, a thousand skeletons could rise from the ground."

The Porcupine Knight's lips curled. "Then we'll unite the neighboring lords. They've all lost freemen too, and probably to this same lich, at that. In an armed militia, each man can handle three or four skeletons. Even if he does have a thousand, we'll crush them. And besides..." He leaned closer. "We could ask him for help."

Harvey fell silent. He knew exactly who "him" referred to—a powerful paladin from the Lyon Empire, currently a guest in the Porcupine Knight's estate. The man had arrived with a band of elite adventurers in tow.

To the Empire, nothing was more abhorrent than the undead. They didn't need gold to hunt a lich. An excuse was more than sufficient.

With allies like that, the Porcupine Knight's confidence made sense.

Even so, Harvey's instincts screamed at him to stay away. As a student of divination, he had learned never to ignore his intuition—and his intuition told him this lich was far more dangerous than he appeared.

"My lord," he said carefully, "if you've already made up your mind, then allow me to suggest two precautions. Yes, do rally the other lords and coordinate with the paladin. Declare war through proper channels, according to the city's laws. That way, even if we lose, we can withdraw safely and deny the lich any right to pursue us. While you prepare, I urge you to gather intelligence on him. Perhaps there's another path forward."

As an advisor, Harvey could only offer counsel. The decision was not his to make.

The Porcupine Knight nodded. "You're right. One should always know one's enemy before a battle. I'll contact the other lords. As for gathering information, Harvey, I know nothing about magic or the undead. I'll leave that to you."

Harvey inclined his head. "Of course, my lord. Though..."

"Though what?" the knight demanded.

"My lord, Alkhemia's finances are deteriorating fast. This is only the beginning. Even if you win, there's no guarantee you'll have enough gold to satisfy those alchemists' appetites."

The Porcupine Knight's expression darkened, then hardened again. "We're like ants compared to the tree that is Alkhemia. The tree will fall no matter what we do. So before it collapses, we must grow stronger."