Lich for Hire-Chapter 7: Just Pay Your Taxes

A "benevolent lich" was the sort of thing that only ever showed up in stories—and usually only in the stories people made up just to balance out how many evil liches there were in the world.

By nature, liches were destined to be rejected by human society. Seven out of ten humans openly discriminated against them. That said, the opposite was true: liches viewed themselves as superior to humans.

No matter how much humanity a lich retained, the undead transformation inevitably seeped into the senses and thoughts. Sooner or later, a lich would lose all trace of human perspective. What remained was something entirely... other.

For immortal liches who wielded overwhelming magical power, humans really did seem like inferior beings.

Of course, most liches were equal-opportunity bigots. They looked down on all living races equally, and even other lesser undead as well. To them, skeletal servants were mere tools barely better than humans.

Only those with true intellect or comparable power could earn a lich's respect.

Devoid of mortal desires, liches tended toward absolute rationality, save for a few powerful emotions left over from their bittersweet memories of life.

And more bitter than sweet, at that.

It was therefore little wonder that most liches were calm and logical ninety percent of the time, but could grow completely unhinged at certain moments.

Ambrose hadn't been a lich for long. A little more of his humanity clung to him, and his strongest remaining emotion was his hatred of poverty.

Not greed for gold, no. It was a sheer, bone-deep hatred of being poor.

It was poverty that forced him to become a lich in the first place, and poverty that had kept him from buying the life-prolonging treatments he needed. He despised that feeling of knowing salvation was for sale, but still being too broke to afford it.

What he wanted wasn't piles of gold. Rather, it was the freedom to buy whatever he fancied, whenever he wanted, without having to count his coins.

That was why Ambrose had agreed to Black Rose's request the moment she paid upfront, no matter how ludicrous it seemed.

Extra pay, not lacking funds, and an advance deposit—those words were like holy chants against Ambrose, with the ability to shake his very soul.

Isabel, of course, knew none of this. She could only hope that maybe, just maybe, the fairy tales weren't lying about benevolent liches.

Ambrose could sense her shifting emotions, but he didn't care. He was already in professional mode as he pored over the information Black Rose had sent him. Something immediately felt off.

Not because the data was lacking. Quite the opposite—it was too detailed, far too much so for secondhand intelligence. This wasn't something gathered from rumors or spies. It read like the work of a high-ranking insider within the Lyon Empire.

The documents listed over three hundred defensive spells, complete with precise locations, coverage ranges, and even the names of personnel maintaining the wards.

If this intel was genuine, he could sell it to the Empire's enemies and easily make a million gold.

"How generous," Ambrose murmured appreciatively.

Still, he had no intention of betraying Black Rose.

If he did, he'd almost certainly be silenced first. And besides, the Lyon Empire would surely assume that he had duplicated the information as a safety precaution.

To be fair, he absolutely would.

Maybe someday he could sell it to the highland dwarves of Thunderhold. They hated the Lyon Empire.

As he studied the diagrams of magical arrays, his eyes lit up. There were formations here that he'd never even imagined were possible. "So defense formations can do that?" he muttered, impressed. Once he saved up enough gold, he was definitely upgrading every trap in his castle.

Lost in fascination, Ambrose didn't even notice dawn creeping up until a carriage rolled up to the castle gates.

He nudged the dozing Isabel. "Your brother's back."

She shot upright in alarm. After drinking the calming draught the night before, her tension had faded. After staying up until the middle of the night, she'd fallen asleep at the table.

Falling asleep in front of a lich... Isabel was still amazed that she'd managed such a feat.

Now wide awake, Isabel blurted out, "Master Lich, may I see Raul?"

"Of course. That's why I woke you up. Wait, hold on. What's this?"

Ambrose flicked his fingers. A ripple of light unfolded from his hand, projecting an image of the castle gates.

Raul looked exhausted, but he was still unloading something from the carriage: something heavy and... dripping. A corpse.

Isabel gasped, clapping her hands over her mouth.

The carriage was filled with bodies, their throats slit, chests torn open, faces twisted in death.

Raul's expression was dull as he hauled in the corpses one by one. He seemed to already have gone numb.

"Raul..." Isabel whispered in horror. Her mind couldn't process what was going on. How could her brother have done this?

Ambrose was just as stunned. With a quick teleportation spell, he appeared beside the siblings at the gate.

Raul froze mid-motion, then spoke quickly, desperate: "I brought the bodies back! Twelve in total, more than you asked for! Please, release my sister like you promised!"

Tears welled up in Isabel's eyes. Only now did she realize that he had killed for her. Twelve lives, just to buy her a chance to live.

She knew he had done it all for her, but glancing at the corpses, Isabel couldn't utter any words of thanks.

Trembling, Raul clutched the gem-inlaid bone. If Ambrose broke his word, he was ready to sic the skeletal monstrosity on him. It was a hopeless plan, but he'd die fighting.

Then Ambrose said something neither of them expected. "...Why did you bring me corpses? I wanted living people, not a wagon full of bodies! Raul, I said to bring the refugees to live in my domain, not as lab materials!"

Raul blinked. "What?!"

His mouth fell open. The controller slipped from his hand and clattered to the ground.

Ambrose sighed. "What exactly did you think I asked for? I was very clear thatI wanted the refugees brought here. I even had your sister brew calming draughts for them so they wouldn't panic."

"But... but you gave me this skeleton guard!" Raul stammered.

"Well, obviously," Ambrose said. "Without that skeleton guard, you'd have been captured by the lord's men before you even left the border. How else were you going to rescue anyone—by talking to the guards?"

Raul gaped. He couldn't say a word.

Ambrose went on. "You trespassed into my territory. I forgave you, healed you, even gave you strength to save your people—and somehow you think I'm a monster who slaughters humans? You never even asked for clarification, because deep down, you didn't want to. You humans... prejudice is your original sin to bear."

Raul's mind reeled. Come to think of it, the lich had never once harmed anyone nor ordered him to kill.

Could it really be that... all this had been his misunderstanding? Had his own bias caused this tragedy?

He turned to Isabel helplessly. "Is that true?"

Isabel hesitated, sensing that something was off but not able to deny it. "Master Lich did have me brew calming draughts... for living people," she admitted.

The undead certainly didn't need them.

"Master Lich," Raul asked weakly, "you really mean to let us refugees stay here? In your lands?"

Ambrose nodded. "Of course. As long as you pay your taxes."