Chapter 75: Self-Destruction

From the very beginning, Ambrose had never intended to play along with Alkhemia's script.

Once he knew they meant to kill him, he would never walk willingly into their trap. Multiple phylacteries were only one of many safeguards. Even this body was something he could discard without hesitation.

So the moment he tricked Gustavo Flynn away, he struck without mercy.

For the vast majority of spellcasters, Fireball was the strongest spell they could reliably wield: fast to cast, devastating in power, wide in area, efficient in cost, and highly reliable.

Across the continent, the infamous Three-Fireball Cult preached a simple creed: anyone who could cast three large Fireballs within six seconds, without bloodline talents, potions, or equipment, qualified for initiation.

The requirement sounded modest, but three Fireballs was more than enough to kill the overwhelming majority of creatures in the world. Even a legend, caught unprepared, would be grievously injured.

Ambrose cast three Fireballs. The vast chamber housing the teleportation array instantly became a sea of flames. Three alchemists and the guarding automata on either side were blown to pieces.

Only one lucky soul survived, apparently equipped with a defensive magic item that had erected a shield at the moment of impact, barely sparing his life.

But that mercy only made his fate worse. By then, Ambrose had already pulled out a burst-fire magitech rifle and emptied the magazine into him.

The magical shield shattered instantly. Bullets tore into flesh, burrowing deep before blossoming into a massive coral growth of bone. Shreds of blood-soaked meat hung from the skeletal structure, grotesque and cruel, yet carrying an eerie, unnatural beauty.

"The bone-proliferation virus really is impressive," Ambrose remarked calmly. "I have to admire you mad alchemists."

He stowed the rifle, cast Levitation, and drifted out of the inferno.

He had already learned what he needed from the documents that Gustavo Flynn had provided him. The nature of the Wish ritual had become largely clear.

One small detail in his earlier speculation had been wrong. The alchemists had not failed their Wish. Nor was it because their wording lacked clarity or precision. The real problem was simpler: they had yet to make the Wish just yet.

The entire ritual was still stuck in the preparation phase.

In plain terms, they were lacking sacrifices.

Two crucial components were missing. One of them was Ambrose himself: a legendary offering capable of providing the final surge of power needed to activate the Wish Engine. Gustavo Flynn's role had been to lure Ambrose into the ritual array and trick him into becoming that sacrifice.

He simply hadn't expected Ambrose to bail out, and then retaliate, at the very last moment.

"Greed," Ambrose muttered. "Utter greed. Alkhemia isn't short on legends, yet you refuse to sacrifice yourselves for your ideals. You instead insist on dragging others to their deaths. If one of you had jumped in, you might have succeeded. This failure is on you."

As he spoke, Ambrose began summoning skeletal servants.

The corpses of the fallen alchemists provided ready materials. Before long, several aberrant skeletons stood at his side.

They were examples of Zha'kix Type VI, an ultra-enhanced form.

Their skeletal structures had been further refined to resemble mantises, and would even provide them with short-term invisibility.

Leading these aberrant skeletons, Ambrose slaughtered his way out from Alkhemia's central tower.

He was not fleeing. On the contrary, Ambrose intended to go to the sewers himself.

Fortune favored the bold. The Wish ritual was nearly complete. Why wouldn't he seize the opportunity to co-opt it all?

Before entering the sewers, however, he needed to secure the second missing key component.

Whether the ritual would succeed would be decided by Ambrose alone.

The legendary lich's surprise attack threw the alchemists into chaos.

Ambrose carved his way downward from the teleportation chamber, killing every alchemist he encountered instantly. No matter how many automaton constructs they deployed, in narrow indoor spaces, they were no match for Ambrose and a pack of invisible skeletons.

Just as he was about to break free of the tower, a towering automaton, perhaps three meters tall, blocked his path.

An alchemist in red sat atop its shoulder, sneering. "I knew Flynn was useless. I just didn't expect him to be so incompetent he couldn't even trick you into the sewers. Tell me, when did you realize something was wrong?"

This was John Dippel, Second Seat of the Alchemists' Council. He was the very man who had savaged Gustavo Flynn at the previous secret meeting.

Ambrose did not recognize him. He merely smiled faintly, as if about to speak.

The next instant, sparks flared across the automaton's body.

The mantis-like skeletons flickered in and out of visibility as they crawled over the construct, closing in on Dippel. At the same time, Ambrose hurled a Fireball straight at him. It was a perfect pincer attack.

Yet the automaton shuddered, and a translucent force field unfolded. The invisible skeletons were flung away, and the Fireball was cleanly blocked.

"What a shame," Ambrose said. "An improved magic shield, integrated into an automaton. Solid craftsmanship."

Dippel, clearly enraged that Ambrose attacked without even greeting him, snapped, "Ill-mannered lich, have you forgotten how to speak?"

Ambrose shrugged. "Do you pray before meals? Sorry, I don't."

Dippel gaped from the mockery. His eyes bulged with fury.

As Second Seat of the Council, it had been many years since anyone dared show him such disrespect.

"I'll turn your bones into a lab specimen!"

He slapped the automaton beneath him, and the massive machine raised the cannon mounted on its arm.

Ambrose had no time for more banter. Several shells roared toward him.

These were no cheap knockoffs like the ones that Ambrose had made himself. Each shell was packed with alchemical compounds, with power rivaling—or even surpassing—Fireball.

Ambrose had once wanted an enhanced magical automaton himself. The one before him seemed to be a model that was even more advanced.

Ambrose was forced to evade with Mist Step. The shells detonated where he had stood, blasting a crater into the floor. As soon as he stabilized, Ambrose fired a bolt of lightning at the automaton.

The shield weakened the current, but enough energy got through to send sparks flying. The automaton's arm sagged, apparently damaged.

Before Ambrose could celebrate, Dippel slapped the automaton again. Golden light surged over the damaged section, repairing it instantly.

"Weak divine power... your legendary blessing allows you to repair technology?" Ambrose laughed loudly. "You're weaker than I am."

"Is that so?" Dippel replied coldly. "Then witness the power of magitech."

At his command, steam erupted from the automaton's legs as it charged Ambrose at terrifying speed.

Ambrose prepared to cast Mist Step again—but his body suddenly locked up.

The ring on Dippel's finger flared with searing red light: a spell of Hold Monster.

Ambrose's fragile body could not withstand the impact of a machine weighing several tons. A sharp crack rang out as his skeletal form shattered, his bones scattering across the ground.

Yet Dippel did not smile. He didn't sense the lich's soulfire snuff out.

"Is this Feign Death? Can undead use that spell too?!"

Ambrose did not answer him. With his body shattered, the stasis spell dissipated. His bones drew together and reassembled into their original form.

Dippel moved to repeat the tactic, only to freeze. A strange noise echoed from the automaton. Its engine shuddered violently.

Dippel was forced to invoke his legendary power once more. Any construct he created could be repaired instantly.

The engine stabilized. The automaton lifted its leg to rejoin the fight—and a screw popped loose from its foot. The machine lurched, losing its balance.

"What's going on?!" Dieppel cried, then instantly realized. "It's divination. He's replacing my futures!"

Diviners were rare even among the Nine Kingdoms. Dippel had never imagined their power could be this terrifying, that they could seek out highly unlikely events, like malfunctions, and amplify them into certainty.

Screws and springs began popping free with a metallic clatter, as if the automaton were about to fall apart. Dippel was forced to repair it again and again. The two legends were locked in a battle of attrition.

But Dippel had no patience for Ambrose. He produced a device resembling a remote control and pressed it. Hundreds of automata surged in from all directions, encircling Ambrose.

Smirking, Dippel crowed, "Let's see how many futures you can replace."

Ambrose sighed. Truly, one should never fight a spellcaster on his home ground. Dippel's advantage was overwhelming.

"Surrender," Dippel called out. "You've already lost."

Ambrose remained perfectly calm. Folding his arms, he said, "Are you stupid? I'm a lich."

A vast torrent of dark magic erupted from his body, flooding hundreds of meters in every direction like a tidal wave.

Ambrose had chosen to self-destruct.