Lich for Hire-Chapter 86: Negotiations with a Deity

Regardless of gender or race, what people remembered most vividly was often their first time.

It had been many and many years ago since Ambrose had crossed into this world. He had had a number of mentors: those who taught him magic, lockpicking, how to do business, how to indulge in life... Yet all of those mentors were long gone.

Immortality remained an unattainable dream for most mortals. Becoming a spellcaster was perhaps a one-in-a-thousand chance, and becoming a legend perhaps one-in-a-million. And even that was merely the threshold of immortality. Countless legends had died as a result of accidents rather than old age.

The blind, one-armed old man standing before him was the very first mentor Ambrose had met after crossing into this world.

Back then, Ambrose had known nothing of the world. Despite being a transmigrator, he did not even have a cheat or some sort of system to rely on. Three days after arriving, he had collapsed from hunger.

He had woken up to discover that this blind, one-armed old man had taken him in.

What followed was an unremarkable eighteen-year apprenticeship.

The old man wasn't particularly talkative. He had lost both his eyes and an arm in an alchemical accident. Passing by, he had seen Ambrose on the verge of starving and, on a whim, had brought him home. At the time, Ambrose thought he had encountered a reclusive master. He devoted himself wholeheartedly to caring for the old man and studying day and night.

The result, however, was a profound disappointment. Ambrose had learned little more than the bare fundamentals of alchemy from his master. At that time, his understanding of the discipline was poorer than even Isabel's.

The old man possessed no hidden treasures, no secret lineage, no awe-inspiring identity.

He was simply an ordinary alchemist crippled by his own experiments, who, in the twilight of his life, had picked up a young man who knew nothing partially as an apprentice and partially as insurance for his retirement.

The old man had a foul temper and a sharp tongue. He and Ambrose argued often. Still, he taught his student with genuine effort. Grateful that his master had saved his life, Ambrose cared for him for more than a decade until the old man finally breathed his last. That was the day that Ambrose became an adventurer. Then followed centuries of wandering hardship until his eventual transformation into a lich.

He had always believed the first years of his transmigration to be nothing more than an indelible memory. He never imagined that he would see his master again.

"So you weren't a lousy alchemist after all?! You let me support you for eighteen years..." Ambrose's voice grew increasingly agitated, until he finally roared, "Are you insane?! You old bastard! Before you faked your death, you even destroyed all the materials I'd painstakingly saved up and forced me to dig your grave with my bare hands!"

Ambrose was truly furious. Those eighteen bitter years had never felt unbearable. He had written them off as bad luck, a trial of life. He had harbored little resentment about his master's disability. But now, seeing this man alive and well, striking the pose of some hidden final boss, all that suffering instantly seemed to have become a joke.

If not for the emotional restraint afforded by lichdom, he would already have fired off three Magic Missiles straight at the old bastard's face.

The crippled old man transformed once more into the young alchemist Coin. Only then did he speak to Ambrose. "Don't be angry. I didn't fake my death. No one could have imagined that I would ascend to godhood thereafter."

"Like hell I believe you!" Ambrose was about to ignore his old master when he abruptly processed what he had just heard.

"Wait. You ascended to godhood?"

"Correct. I am the God of Alchemy, Arkham Solomon."

"You told me your name was Old Pete." Ambrose sneered.

The god smiled. "After becoming a god, that name felt far too ordinary. I changed it later to something from a little story you once told me. So, my disciple, are you interested in becoming my chosen?"

Ambrose had no interest in entertaining this lunatic. Turning his head, he said to the one-eyed tentacled chairman, "I want to make my wish."

Whether this so-called God of Alchemy was real or not, Ambrose decided he would secure his wish first.

However, the chairman seemed not to have heard him at all. His remaining eye was locked firmly on the God of Alchemy as he demanded, "So you are the God of Alchemy! Why have you never once shown us your favor all these years?!"

The God of Alchemy cocked his head. "You do not worship me. You even sought to create a new god to replace me. Should I have favored you? I am merely a senior who walked farther than you on the path of alchemy. Toward juniors who lack even basic respect, I have already been exceedingly polite."

The chairman immediately retorted, "But you cursed us! You made it impossible for alchemists to create new formulas!"

The God of Alchemy grew serious. "I do not possess that authority. That punishment came from Oguma. At the time, the Lord of Knowledge judged that alchemists had gravely overstepped their bounds. Without divine intervention, irreversible catastrophe would surely have followed. He discussed the situation with me and temporarily sealed your creativity. I agreed—because I, too, believed you had crossed the line.

"Gary Watts, surely you knew of what Alkhemia was doing back then. Those experiments went beyond the limits of morality. Even the devils of the Hells would blush in shame. My only regret is that I left you a way to undo the curse, thus leading to today's outcome."

Oguma, the Lord of Knowledge, the Namer of All Things, was a mighty god of absolute neutrality. It was said that he could even decide whether a new idea was allowed to exist in the world. Sealing the creativity of alchemists would have been trivial for him.

Even Ambrose found this absurd. Just what atrocities had these alchemists committed to provoke divine punishment from an absolutely neutral god?

The pupil of the chairman's single eye contracted sharply, as if he had been struck by a devastating blow.

"You even created seven towers to humiliate us!"

"Humiliation? Or reminder? That depends on how you choose to see it."

The God of Alchemy spoke with open disdain as he adopted a lecturing tone. "Those seven towers represent the seven most common errors in alchemy, mistakes foundational to nearly all experiments. Over the years, haven't your apprentices made such basic errors far less frequently?

"Of course they have. If they wake up daily to the sight of seven garish towers, they'd naturally avoid such foolish mistakes during their experiments. And yet you chose to see my boon as a humiliation.

"Small-minded being, do not presume to judge a god's intentions with mortal thinking."

Ambrose found this phrasing oddly familiar. Wasn't that exactly the argument that the chairman had used against Dippel? It sure came back to bite him fast.

Seeing that the chairman on the verge of snapping, Ambrose hurriedly called out, "Ignore him! His mouth is vicious. Arguing with him is pointless! Hurry up and grant my wish!"

Before the chairman could respond, the God of Alchemy snapped his fingers.

The world fell silent. Not merely silent—the very flow of air had frozen. Time itself had stopped. This was true temporal stasis, invoked personally by a god.

In that instant, the entire city of Alkhemia was frozen in time, including the fierce battle raging aboveground.

Only Ambrose and the God of Alchemy could still move.

"Alright. Now we have time to talk," the God of Alchemy said, conjuring a table and chairs from nowhere. Tea had already been prepared. He gestured for Ambrose to sit. "My disciple, don't you want to catch up with your master?"

Gritting his teeth, Ambrose sat opposite him and said coldly, "Do I have a choice?"

The God of Alchemy poured him a cup of tea. "Don't be like that. You're my best disciple. When I first met you, I was drawn to your clear eyes untainted by magical knowledge."

Ambrose shot back mercilessly, "Give me a break. You were already blind when you met me. And isn't that just a roundabout way of calling me stupid?"

"See? That's what makes you clever—you immediately spotted the flaw in my words."

The god sighed, then spoke with heartfelt regret. "But let me correct you on one point. You were never stupid—just greedy. You wanted to learn everything, to know everything, and in the end, you mastered nothing. I never doubted you would become a legend. But look at what you've done—what use is this boon of yours? If you had focused on alchemy back then, you might already have become a divine subordinate of mine."

Ambrose felt not the slightest bit moved. He let out a dry laugh. "You're one to talk. Back then, I was so poor I could barely afford food. You misled me into believing that sticking to alchemy alone would leave me begging on the streets! If I hadn't learned magic or resorted to thievery, we'd both have starved to death!"

The more Ambrose thought about it, the more upset he felt. Back then, his master hadn't seemed particularly knowledgeable about alchemy. How had he become the God of Alchemy? He clearly had had many secrets, but Ambrose doubted his master would give him any answers. As such, there was no reason to dwell on matters.

"Understand this, Master: I was never your believer. Don't try to wrap me up in divine nonsense. You taught me the basics of alchemy, and I supported you for over a decade. By any calculation, I'm the one who lost out. So spare me the wounded expression. I don't owe you anything. Let's get back to the point. What exactly do you want?"

Now that he was a lich, the sordid affairs of his life were irrelevant. What mattered now were concrete benefits. Ambrose only wanted to know why the God of Alchemy had appeared. Was he here to stir up trouble, or to harvest the fruits of others' labor?

The God of Alchemy sighed. "Relax. I know you want the effect of the Wish ritual. We haven't seen each other in years—I would hardly shortchange you. This Wish is yours. The other gods have already agreed. You needn't worry."

Ambrose immediately caught the key detail in his master's words. "Other gods?"

The God of Alchemy took a sip of tea. "Gary Watts was mad, but his intellect had indeed reached the level of divinity. Devising a plan to turn himself into a divine artifact capable of casting Wish—and actually succeeding—astonished the pantheon. But did you think the gods would simply ignore that success?

"Wish is a pseudo-divine spell that bridges the chasm between mortals and gods. An artifact that can cast Wish without limit—the gods would never allow such a thing to remain in mortal hands."

After some thought, Ambrose found himself in full agreement.

"The Nine Kingdoms would tear each other apart over such an artifact. No one would escape. No matter how ugly the resulting war became, whoever seized it would wield incredible power. If I possessed such an artifact, every legend on the continent would try to hunt me down and tear me apart," Ambrose began.

The God of Alchemy nodded. "Exactly. I knew you'd understand. Legends united could even slay a weaker god. That's why I came today to seal this artifact away. Otherwise, the entire continent would be consumed by war. Before sealing it, though, letting you make one wish is hardly a problem.

"Well? Not bad, right?"

Ambrose scowled. He said flatly, "Is that it? It's not as if I got all this for free. I schemed and labored for ages, and the Wish ritual was mine to begin with. You show up, declare you're taking it away, toss me a single Wish, and call that doing me a favor?"

The God of Alchemy's expression stiffened. "I knew you wouldn't give up the artifact so easily. But, my dear disciple, I think you're mistaken about one thing. This arrangement was collectively decided by the gods. Do you really believe you can defy their will?"

Ambrose smiled. "Collectively decided? Surely only the lawful gods came to this conclusion. There are far more than a few gods who would love to see the world burn."