Lich for Hire-Chapter 51: Haggling

Ambrose wasn't exactly friends with Flynn. Their only real connection was an alchemical debate more than a decade ago, one that had led Ambrose to a startling realization: among humans, there were people who looked even scarier than he did as a skeleton.

Gustavo Flynn wasn't ugly. On the contrary, his features were well-defined, the sort of dignified handsomeness that came with age. 𝗳𝚛𝚎𝚎𝘄𝕖𝕓𝕟𝕠𝚟𝚎𝕝.𝗰𝕠𝐦

But his skin was dark, and when his face went slack—utterly devoid of expression—he radiated a natural, oppressive authority. There was even a rumor that once, without saying a single word, he had stared an alchemist into a fatal heart attack.

Couple that with Flynn's near-fanatical strictness toward alchemy, and it was said that many alchemists who had worked under him would have their legs turn to jelly at the mere sound of his footsteps.

Privately, plenty of people whispered that Gustavo Flynn was a lich in human guise. Otherwise, how could he possess such an innate aura of terror?

When Ambrose named his price of twenty million gold, Flynn countered without hesitation. "Five hundred thousand."

"Eighteen million."

"Eight hundred thousand."

"Seventeen million, nine hundred ninety thousand."

"Now you're just being difficult."

"You're the one slashing two digits off in one go. Who's being difficult?"

......

The tug-of-war continued in front of the castle. Alkhemia was flat broke. Ambrose certainly wasn't expecting his initial offer of twenty million gold, but there was no chance he'd ever drop the price below one million. At that point, he might as well turn Allen Watson into an undead.

A paladin devoted to the Lord of Dawn had a very valuable soul. Ambrose had seen others offering high prices for paladin souls via the Necromantic Codex. If the soul was tortured until it transformed into a vengeful wraith, that would only make it even more valuable—it'd fetch a price of seven or eight hundred thousand gold, easy.

"You should know very well that we don't have tens of millions of gold right now," Flynn said, his face still expressionless, though impatience had crept into his voice.

Ambrose shot back without yielding an inch, "And you should know just as well that offering a few hundred thousand is an equal waste of my time."

Flynn replied blandly, "In my opinion, a mere paladin isn't even worth a hundred thousand. I came today only as a formality so that we can say we tried. Whether this deal goes through is irrelevant to me."

Ambrose burst out laughing. "Oh, stop pretending. A single paladin may not matter to you, but the goodwill of the Lyon Empire certainly does. Whatever's festering down in your sewers, you're barely keeping a lid on it now, aren't you?"

That finally wiped the calm from Flynn's face. His expression darkened. "How much do you know?" he asked coldly.

"Not much. But I know enough to be certain it's already beyond your control. Otherwise, when the Court of the Silver Moon started jacking up prices on magical materials, you'd have had the time to negotiate with those high elves. Instead, you didn't. You've already decided to seek outside help, and the Lyon Empire is your chosen partner. Allen Watson, that paladin, is the perfect opening gambit.

"So, Master Flynn, stop trying to be a penny pincher. When it comes to money, I won't budge even if the God of Alchemy himself comes at me. Show me some sincerity."

Flynn fell silent for a long while, then sighed with something like resignation. "No wonder the chairman personally invited you to join the Alchemists' Council. A genius like you... If you'd accepted back then, perhaps..."

Ambrose shook his head vigorously. "No need to reminisce. Even if the old chairman had come knocking in person, I still wouldn't have joined. I'm not insane, and I have zero interest in blaspheming the gods. Now hurry up and make an offer, or I'll turn that paladin into a zombie. He's nearly eaten me into bankruptcy these past few days."

Flynn's face twitched. This lich was truly shameless.

"You know I wasn't exaggerating about Alkhemia's financial difficulties," Flynn said stiffly. "We simply cannot give you twenty million gold."

Sensing Flynn's tone soften, Ambrose immediately pressed on. "I know. I'm not trying to make things hard for you. How about this: ten thousand magical automata with enhanced firepower. I'm willing to count that as ten million gold. Fair?"

Flynn exploded in anger. "So you can pocket ninety million gold in profit? You've got some nerve!"

Even the lowest-grade magical automaton cost three thousand gold. The enhanced-firepower models were premium goods that went for no less than ten thousand gold each. Ten thousand of them would cost a hundred million gold, all to offset a mere ten million. This was worse than daylight robbery.

"You said you had no money," Ambrose replied calmly. "Goods are all I can ask for. Alkhemia's magical automata are its bestsellers, after all."

Flynn answered flatly, "No matter how poor we are, we won't sell magical automata as scrap. Don't even dream of it. Besides, you don't even have the workforce to maintain them. Buy that many and they'll just be oversized decorations."

"Alright," Ambrose said magnanimously. "For the sake of our friendship, I have a win–win proposal. You won't spend a single gold coin. You won't give me any physical goods. And I'll still hand over Allen Watson."

Flynn frowned. "You... want alchemical formulas?"

Ambrose gave him a thumbs-up. "Smart. Isn't that perfect? You don't have to pay a thing. Just copy over some data, and you'll get a crucial political bargaining chip in return. But I don't just want potion formulas."

He produced a sheet of parchment. After he drew a small circle over it with his finger, the parchment folded itself into a small bird, flapping its wings as it flew into Flynn's hands.

Flynn unfolded it, his frown deepening with every line.

"Bone-proliferation virus extract, magitech airship blueprints, living mercury formula..." He looked up sharply. "Do you have any idea what you've written here? These formulas and schematics together are worth more than ten thousand golem puppets!"

The list was densely packed, filled with over a hundred items in total.

Ambrose shrugged. "But you're not paying in materials. You're just sharing knowledge."

"Knowledge is the most valuable thing of all!"

"Relax. I won't resell them," Ambrose said reassuringly. "We can sign a contract. I guarantee they're for my own research and use only."

Flynn sneered. "You won't sell the formulas, but you'll sell the products. You think I don't know what you're planning?"

Ambrose didn't deny it. "Of course I'll manufacture goods to sell. But Alkhemia has countless laboratories. In terms of production costs, do you really think you'd lose to a little workshop like mine? If we're both selling finished products, you should be confident in a price war."

Flynn didn't answer. Alkhemia could absolutely crush any competitors, but they didn't want to. A monopoly would give them ten times the profit. Why introduce a competitor and force prices down? Even if Ambrose couldn't meet the full market demand, handing over their formulas and schematics was like giving away a golden goose.

Yet Flynn had no better option. At this point, the only valuable thing Alkhemia possessed was knowledge accumulated over countless years.

This lich was as troublesome as ever. Back when the chairman had personally written to invite Ambrose into the Alchemists' Council, Flynn had thought his praise excessive. Now, in hindsight, perhaps if they'd dragged him in at any cost, Alkhemia wouldn't be trapped in its current crisis: besieged from within and without.

"Fine," Flynn finally said. "You can choose three formulas from this list."

He'd given ground, but only grudgingly. Ambrose wanted over a hundred formulas and schematics; he would only receive three.

"Can't you show a little sincerity?" Ambrose protested. "There are one hundred thirty-two items here. I'll round it down for you. How about one hundred thirty?"

......

And so, the two of them plunged back into another round of haggling.

In the end, Ambrose sold Allen Watson to Alkhemia for the price of thirty formulas and schematics. He even forcibly saddled Flynn with the Iron Slag tavern and wrung out two extra formulas on top of that.

Flynn was anything but happy about the conclusion of the deal—especially about that wretched tavern—but he could only grit his teeth against the immovable force that was Ambrose.

"Once you deliver what I want, I'll release the man immediately," Ambrose said.

But Flynn shook his head. "No. There's no need to rush. As for Allen Watson, I'll need you to help me put on a little performance."