It was time to settle accounts. Ambrose had all but occupied the entire city of Sandshadow.

Even Allen couldn't refute that. Had the Silvermoon Knight not intervened, the citizens would have descended into complete panic. Once the power of faith ran dry, Sandshadow would have fallen for good.

"So," Ambrose began calmly, "everyone in Sandshadow is my prisoner. That's not in question, is it?"

The Silvermoon Knight snorted coldly. "I've already prepared three million gold coins for you. I even rounded it up."

Fewer than a hundred paladins, and roughly two thousand soldiers—he didn't even owe Ambrose three million gold in all. The Silvermoon Knight had chosen to be generous. Better that than have this money-grubbing lich raise objections.

He simply didn't have the energy to haggle with Ambrose anymore.

Ambrose let out a frosty laugh. "Three million gold? Are you sending off a beggar? That's not the price we agreed on."

The Silvermoon Knight snapped, "You're a lich. Can't you do math? How would you get a number higher than three million?!"

Ambrose shot back immediately, "We agreed that militia count as regular soldiers at one thousand gold per head. What's the size of Sandshadow's militia?"

"One hundred and eighty-seven!" the Silvermoon Knight replied without hesitation.

He had guarded this city personally. He knew the figures by heart.

Ambrose chuckled. "You people of Lyon really know how to bargain. Your official registry lists a little over a hundred, but when the war began, the number defending the city was far greater. What about those charging the holy light formation? Don't they count as militia? They were participating in the war. And you're telling me they're civilians?

"Sandshadow's population is close to fifty thousand. One thousand gold per person is at least fifty million in all. Add the original three million, and that's fifty-three million gold."

The Silvermoon Knight nearly choked.

Despite a fit of violent coughing, he could only glare at Ambrose. He couldn't refute him.

By the unspoken rules of continental warfare, that was indeed how things were calculated.

The fundamental principle that war must not involve civilians required that civilians not take part. Paying taxes or delivering supplies could still barely pass as civilian behavior. But once you picked up a weapon and stood on the city walls, it would be sophistry to claim that you were merely a civilian after the city fell.

The same logic applied to the holy light formation, a full defensive system protecting the entire city. Anyone who fueled it could no longer be considered a civilian.

But, calculated this way, the Lyon Empire would bleed heavily. In other wars, the elderly and children were never counted as militia. Sandshadow had just endured conflict; there were at most twenty thousand able-bodied adults in the city. Yet this lich had based his calculations on Sandshadow's total population.

The Silvermoon Knight wanted to argue, but he simply lacked the strength to do so.

Allen stood there dumbfounded. So his cautious decision to mobilize the entire city for defense had actually meant handing gold straight to the lich?

His head buzzed. In the span of a single day, what useful action had he taken? He had been led by the nose the entire time. Every response he'd made had been anticipated. He had become the lich's perfect accomplice in extorting the Empire.

A stronger wave of guilt washed over him. He could barely think. Fear of Ambrose carved itself deep into his soul.

This lich was terrifying.

The Silvermoon Knight finally gave up arguing. "The Empire will send professional negotiators to settle this with you."

Ambrose replied firmly, "Delaying payment incurs penalties for breach of contract. Remember, you swore before the Holy Light. And look where we are: this is the Temple of the Lord of Dawn. Your god is watching."

No sooner had he spoken than the statue of the Lord of Dawn within the temple burst into radiant light, as though responding to the lich's challenge.

At the sight of the divine manifestation, everyone immediately knelt, even the Silvermoon Knight.

Ambrose: "..."

Was the Lord of Dawn really that petty?

It was just fifty million gold. To Lyon, that was hardly more than a drop in the ocean. Was He manifesting personally over this? Talk about being narrow-minded.

Ambrose cleared his throat. "Well... a discount isn't entirely out of the question."

One had to give the gods their due respect—this was, after all, the Lord of Dawn's turf. A discount was the absolute limit, though. Even if Aion himself descended, that was the best he'd get.

When it came to lifelong obsessions, a lich had no room for reason.

The Silvermoon Knight no longer wished to exchange another word with Ambrose. He simply asked Ambrose to leave the Temple of Light.

A divine sign from the Lord of Dawn meant something important was afoot.

After accepting the bows of the paladins and walking out of the Temple of Light unscathed, Ambrose could arguably be called the foremost undead in history.

No one knew what the paladins discussed inside the temple. Soon enough, however, Allen reappeared before Ambrose. The shame and despair from earlier were gone. He now seemed calm, composed—almost radiant.

"Master Megaman," Allen said evenly, "regarding the fifty-three million gold you requested, we will arrange for immediate payment. Please wait."

There was no resentment in his tone, no self-reproach. He seemed... transformed, as if bathed in an inner light.

Ambrose frowned. Had this brat actually gained something from all this?

Had the Lord of Dawn bestowed him some favor?

"Allen," Ambrose asked suspiciously, "did you receive divine grace?"

Allen smiled politely. "Fate itself is a gift from the gods, whether good or ill. If you're asking whether the Lord of Dawn blessed me, the answer is no. I received no divine power..."

Ambrose raised a hand quickly. "Enough. I get it."

The lad had clearly achieved enlightenment.

Many such instances were recorded in history. When devout believers glimpsed the true visage of their god, some collapsed in faith, while others attained a deeper understanding.

Whatever the Lord of Dawn had said, Allen had stepped into another realm entirely.

As for what he had gained, Ambrose couldn't tell. But he was surely on the Lord of Dawn's ledger now.

Holy Light, open your eyes and see who actually won! Since when did losers get rewarded?!

Ambrose felt irritated. After all his careful scheming, Allen ended up the biggest beneficiary of this whole ordeal. Having a god as a backer really was convenient.

He sighed. Why did the undead have no reliable god backing them? Who was Valarun, anyway?

There were few dependable dark deities. Ambrose much preferred Oguma, Lord of Knowledge, who was powerful and well-aligned with his talents. Unfortunately, Oguma cared little for faith and favored bards who strummed lutes and played flutes all day.

Ambrose had great aptitude for magic. He had not a shred of talent for singing, dancing, and composing.

And there was no point trying to pass off songs from his previous life as original works. Oguma had the right to review any idea before it came into being. Deceiving the Lord of Knowledge was impossible.

Among the remaining gods, none could compare to the Lord of Dawn's mighty divine power.

The gods Ambrose admired didn't want him. Those extending invitations were the likes of the Goddess of the Night or the Mistress of Pain, hardly appealing prospects. It was no different from an arranged marriage.

After lamenting the hardships of the undead, Ambrose sighed and stored the small mountain of gold in his private space.

To be fair, the Lyon Empire truly was wealthy. He received the full sum within half an hour.

With payment secured and the Silvermoon Knight's letter of introduction obtained, his next destination was the Emerald Dreamwood.

Before the teleportation array, Ambrose shook hands warmly with the stern-faced Silvermoon Knight. "Take care of your health," he said cheerfully. "If you ever want another drill, call me. I'll give you a five percent discount next time!"

The Silvermoon Knight replied with equal sincerity, "It would be best if you never came again."

For a paladin to abandon even basic courtesy showed just how deep a shadow Ambrose had cast.

The teleportation array flared to life. In a flash, Ambrose and Catherine arrived in another city bathed in sacred radiance.

The moment Ambrose appeared, holy light gathered above his head like a cascading waterfall. This was no Sandshadow-level power.

This was the imperial capital of Lyon: the City of Dawn.

A mere fraction of the faith accumulated over millennia would be enough to obliterate Ambrose's body.

It didn't matter that he was a legendary lich, or that he possessed the power of the Golden Throne. None of that would withstand power that brushed against the divine.

Fortunately, the Silvermoon Knight had made arrangements. As the Holy Light activated, the paladins stationed outside the array joined forces to dispel the lock upon Ambrose. The vast radiance scattered across the sky in resplendent streams, leaving Ambrose's soul trembling.

One misstep, and he would have been resurrected from his phylactery.

A paladin clad in silver-white heavy armor addressed them. "Please remain here. The second teleportation will commence shortly."

This was Lyon's imperial capital. No matter the reason, a lich could not be allowed to wander freely. Ambrose would wait at the array until the next teleportation sent him directly away.

He inwardly cursed his bad luck. He'd hoped to take a look around and perhaps leave the City of Dawn a small "gift." Instead, he couldn't even step beyond the teleportation platform.

Worse still, dozens of fully armed paladins stood around him, glaring. If he so much as twitched suspiciously, they would likely invoke the Holy Light and treat him to the full force of a Sacred Slash.

"This is excessive," Ambrose complained. "I'm a friend of Lyon, not a wanted criminal."

The paladin remained unmoved. They had all been given strict orders: unless absolutely necessary, do not speak a single word to the lich.

Do not respond. Do not respond. Absolutely do not respond!

This was an undead whose lips were coated in poison. Every word from his mouth was blasphemy.

Ambrose tried a few more remarks, only to be met with silence. Some enchantment must have been added to their armor: Catherine, standing beside him, was ignored just as thoroughly.

After a moment's thought, Ambrose took out the Necromantic Codex and wrote into the group chat, [Megaman Tiga: I'm currently in Lyon's imperial capital. I just stepped out of the teleportation array and have been blocked at the gate by a bunch of paladins. Friends, I'd like to wander the city a bit. Any ideas?]