Chapter 72: Can I Trust You?

The chest was filled entirely with phylacteries.

Each was about the size of a palm, forged wholly from mithril, layered with powerful defensive enchantments, and saturated with dense necromantic aura. From the outside, they were indistinguishable from one another. Only by breaking the wards and opening a box could one confirm what lay within.

This chest alone had cost Ambrose an enormous sum of gold. In fact, among everything in the castle, nothing was more valuable than this collection of phylacteries.

He casually selected one, sent it to Black Rose through the Necromantic Codex, and followed up with a message. [Megaman Tiga: Lady Rose, I leave my life in your hands. This is a secret between us—please do not tell anyone.]

[Black Rose: Rest assured.]

Satisfied, Ambrose closed the Codex. Then he went and dragged Harvey out of the cell where the man had been quietly reading.

Harvey had been living far too comfortably these past days. He had free access to copious notes and ancient tomes lay open to him; he didn't have to worry about food or drink; he had no chores nor responsibilities. Even the skeleton guard assigned to watch him had begun to look positively pleasant.

Being hauled out so suddenly startled him. For a moment, he thought that Ambrose was preparing for another ritual.

Instead, Ambrose placed an exquisitely crafted small box in front of him and asked, "Harvey, can I trust you?"

Harvey froze, utterly baffled.

Wasn't he a prisoner?

But refusing outright clearly wouldn't end well. After a moment of hesitation, he stiffened and replied, "My lord, what would you have me do?"

"I'm about to run into some trouble," Ambrose said calmly. "I need someone I can trust to handle a task for me. Harvey, can I trust you?"

Ambrose asked the same question again, this time with unmistakable gravity.

Harvey did not dare treat the question lightly. He answered sincerely, "My lord, although I am your captive, you have treated me generously during this time, and I have benefited greatly. If you give me an order, I will do my utmost to carry it out."

Those words were heartfelt. Harvey had never seen a patron as extravagant as Ambrose. A library like that would normally be sealed behind hundreds of locks, with access charged by the second—never opened freely for someone to read at will.

For that alone, it would have been reasonable for Harvey to address Ambrose as "Master."

Harvey also understood that such generosity would eventually have to be repaid. The prophecy ritual he had hosted before was only the beginning. After all, according to Ambrose, his food alone cost two gold coins daily.

"Good. I knew I could count on you." Ambrose handed him the silver-white box. "Take my phylactery and leave this place. Leave Alkhemia. Go as far as you can."

Harvey's eyes went wide. He had expected to be ordered to preside over another ritual. Never, in his wildest dreams, did he expect to be entrusted with a lich's phylactery.

A phylactery was the very core of a lich's existence. How could Ambrose possibly hand it over to a prisoner?

"My lord, you're not joking, are you?"

"Who's joking?" Ambrose replied flatly. "Take it with you. Find some place and bury it. Don't tell anyone. The fewer who know, the safer I am."

Harvey felt an immense weight settle onto his shoulders. Ambrose's trust had come far too suddenly and absurdly, leaving him unsure as to whether he should even accept it.

He stared at Ambrose's face, searching for some clue as to what the latter was thinking. But Ambrose's skull revealed nothing.

After a long silence, Harvey asked solemnly, "My lord, in your library, there are many tomes about divination whose author is known as the 'Elden Lord'. Many of them are unique manuscripts I've never seen elsewhere. Do you know this author?"

Ambrose hesitated, then replied awkwardly, "Ah... that's actually my pen name. Some of those works were never published. They aren't unique works, but rather my personal research notes."

Over the centuries since his transmigration, Ambrose had used countless aliases. When he first decided on the school of divination, he had chosen the embarrassingly dramatic title "Elden Lord." Later, after abandoning divination altogether, the name fell into disuse, and the remaining manuscripts were never released.

Harvey suddenly smiled. "I understand, my lord. I will safeguard your phylactery. By the Goddess of Magic, I swear to defend it with my life."

That response caught Ambrose off guard. Why had the man suddenly become so serious? Swearing an oath before a god was no small matter. Even non-paladins did not do so lightly.

"Why did you suddenly ask about my pen name?" Ambrose asked.

Harvey gave him an odd look. "You may not believe me, my lord, but I became an apprentice after I happened upon your An Introduction to Divination. Strictly speaking... you are my master."

"What? You learned divination solely from written records, without apprenticing yourself to a master diviner?"

That was shocking. Divination was notoriously difficult to learn. Even with a teacher guiding students step by step, many failed to reach any semblance of competency. Harvey, it seemed, had gotten this far through self-study alone...

Harvey chuckled. "I'm only now starting to understand why my intuition told me to charge forward alongside Allen, the paladin, during that battle. Being captured... has actually been the greatest fortune of my life."

In truth, Harvey had long suspected a potential connection. The magical structures Ambrose had used in the earlier prophecy ritual bore a striking resemblance to Elden Lord's style.

He had assumed that they were colleagues, or perhaps master and student. He had never imagined they would be one and the same.

Harvey bent at the waist and bowed deeply. "Thank you, Master. You've made me a true diviner. I will protect your phylactery with my life."

"Ah, well... There's no need to go that far..."

Ambrose felt a twinge of regret. Harvey's talent was far greater than he had realized. Killing him off would be a waste.

But Harvey had no clue about Ambrose's dilemma. He said firmly, "Master, I'll leave immediately. Once you've dealt with your affairs, you can come find me in Sarcoma."

Sarcoma—known as the Kingdom of the Golden Desert, the Land of Time, the Realm of Dreams—was a nation where humans, dwarves, and many desert races coexisted. Like Alkhemia, it was a place where the undead could walk openly.

"You were planning to run all along, weren't you?" Ambrose said dryly.

"A prisoner who doesn't plan to escape is an incompetent one," Harvey replied with a grin. "Farewell, Master."

Ambrose nodded. With Harvey's current abilities, as long as he was careful, reaching Sarcoma wouldn't be a problem.

"Oh, one more thing," Ambrose added. "Have Raul come see me on your way out."

Harvey agreed at once, then departed briskly with the phylactery. Before long, Raul arrived, trembling slightly, and bowed respectfully. "My lord, what are your orders?"

Ambrose produced another finely crafted small box and asked quietly, "Raul, can I trust you?"