Chapter 33: Who's Paying Whom?

Outside the castle, a ragtag army had gathered despite the chilly winds.

Winter was coming, and the soldiers were shivering in their threadbare coats.

Ambrose paid little mind to this motley band, which had been assembled hastily by a few nearby lords, and instead fixed his attention on the paladin standing at the front.

It had been more than half a month since they'd parted at the tavern.

Ambrose hadn't expected a paladin of the Lyon Empire to be associating with these petty lords. It felt rather beneath his dignity.

This time, Ambrose made no pretense of being human. He had appeared in the castle clearing in the skeletal guise of a lich.

No sooner had he manifested than the Porcupine Knight rode forward and addressed him with righteous fury: "Filthy lich, I am Sir Aldrich Jais. You have bewitched my people with foul sorcery. If you don't return my subjects today, as a noble of Alkhemia, I shall declare war on you!"

Sir Aldrich was unusually confident for the occasion. Despite facing a lich hovering in the air, he thundered his accusation without a flicker of fear.

He had no need to worry—he was flanked by thousands of troops, advised by a court magician, and accompanied by a paladin of the Lyon Empire.

Paladins could easily suppress the undead, after all.

With a paladin at his side, what had Sir Aldrich to fear?

Ambrose inspected the assembled men with cool interest. "Is the Lyon Empire about to interfere in Alkhemian affairs? War, you say?"

The paladin's voice was grave. "Master Megaman, there's no need to pin crimes on me. I am in Alkhemia as an adventurer. Being hired to wage war against the undead is within the provisions of Alkhemia law. I must thank you for the lesson you imparted last time: observing local laws is indeed important."

"Oh? You must've been busy these last few weeks. You managed to dig up most of my background, I suppose?" Ambrose asked.

The paladin shook his head. "We ought to have done so, but mortals live too briefly. Even the lords around me only know that you became an undead less than a century ago. Beyond that, I could find no records of your background."

"Honest to a fault," Ambrose remarked.

It was hardly surprising. Such was the gulf between the long-lived and the fleeting lifespan of mortals. In a world where living to thirty or forty was the norm, Ambrose had a habit of occupying his castle for decades at a stretch.

After two generations of mortals, the story would become naught but a legend: ‘There's a terrible lich in that castle,' or ‘No, I heard it's a handsome vampire.' In a short time, a single truth would disintegrate into a dozen conflicting tales.

None of the lords present could claim an ancient lineage. Uncovering Ambrose's past was like researching someone who'd lived several dynasties ago.

Had Ambrose not used a familiar alias—Megaman Tiga—at the tavern, the paladin might never have known the castle belonged to him.

Even in Alkhemia, few knew the full extent of Ambrose's history; one paladin did not possess enough status to uncover deeper secrets from the city's circles. The minor lords were even less qualified to do so.

The paladin said, in a tone of genuine conviction, "Honesty is our creed. Even when facing the undead, I will keep to it faithfully."

Ambrose considered this, then silently revised the plan he'd been preparing.

"Time is money," he told them. "Cut the speeches. You've come for my prisoners, yes?"

Prisoners?

Sir Aldrich hesitated, sensing a trap, but could only repeat himself. "Return my people and make lawful restitution, and we can avert war."

The minor lords had not only come for the hundred or so escaped freemen, but also in hopes of squeezing some coin from Ambrose to bail them through the crisis.

To them, the storied great houses were surely absurdly wealthy. Here was a man who had lived centuries and didn't maintain a sprawling household. He had to be overflowing with treasure himself. A modest sum of gold from his coffers might well be enough to weather them through this crisis.

Money was the key.

What Sir Aldrich did not expect was that Ambrose was thinking the very same way.

Floating a few feet above the ground, voice as emotionless as bone, Ambrose said, "Human, do you think you can avoid rightful payment with your wily lies? Bewitched your people? Ha! Your men trespassed onto my grounds and caused me damage. By Alkhemia's rules, you owe me compensation."

A hush descended. They had prepared for many possibilities: for Ambrose to speak with haughty contempt and strike at them, or perhaps to be cowed and choose to negotiate. They had thought through various tactics.

But none of them had expected Ambrose to lie outright and then turn the accusation back on them.

After a long moment of sputtering, Sir Aldrich snapped, "Quibbling won't do. If you didn't bewitch them, how did they wander into your domain of their own accord?"

𝑓𝑟ℯ𝘦𝓌𝘦𝘣𝑛𝑜𝓋𝑒𝓁.𝑐ℴ𝓂

Ambrose chuckled and countered, "That's on you. Weren't they your subjects? They broke into my lands and set off my warding traps. Who's to say it wasn't on your orders?"

Then, producing a memory crystal, Ambrose projected the image of Raul forcing his way into the castle and triggering the trap.

Sir Aldrich grew furious. "This is a lie! I never ordered such a thing. How do we know this isn't falsified?"

Ambrose waved the objection off. "It's easy enough to verify. Paladin, can you affirm whether that memory crystal is a forgery?"

The paladin's laugh was cold. "Master Megaman, I won't be fooled twice. Memory crystals are hard to fake, but if you had ensorcelled that human, you could have ordered him to stage the scene and record it. Testing the crystal's ‘authenticity' is meaningless."

"You really are getting wiser," Ambrose said with a smile. "I suppose I must charge tuition, then."

The paladin's face was hidden behind his helm; only the tightness of his grip betrayed his inner turmoil. Being publicly humiliated and swindled by Ambrose back at the inn would forever be a wound to his pride.

Ambrose gave him no chance to answer. He instead turned back to Sir Aldrich. "It's plain, isn't it? I have evidence your men trespassed, whereas you only have conjecture.

"Whatever reasons your people had, trespassing represents a provocation. You lords will pay for your subjects' deeds.

"According to your code of law, ransom for a skilled freeman starts at thirty gold. But your men damaged my wards, which cost three hundred gold. They stole and damaged my skeletal automata; the repairs cost two thousand gold.

"If you want your people back, pay for the damage I sustained. Otherwise, I shall extract their souls—and their bodies, and everything else they have to offer—as materials for my experiments to make up for my losses."