Lich for Hire-Chapter 34: The War Begins

Ambrose's voice was cold and venomous. His every word dripped with the theatrical menace of a storybook villain. The problem was, no one believed him.

Even the paladin seemed taken aback. The lich's tone might be threatening, yet somehow it sounded like he was actually protecting the humans.

One of the other lords standing beside the Porcupine Knight shouted furiously, "Who are you trying to fool? I saw my people plowing fields under your command! Don't think that just because you're a lich, you can steal another lord's peasants!"

Ambrose replied indifferently, "You humans let your sheep graze for themselves, don't you? I'm feeding these captives. If I don't let them farm, am I supposed to hand-feed them instead?"

"Damn undead!" the Porcupine Knight roared, though he had no real argument left.

Was this how it would end? After all the expense of mustering this army, could he not even find an excuse to strike?

They had planned for every possibility... except this one. Their cause for war was crumbling before it even began.

Even so, the Porcupine Knight's main fear wasn't about starting the battle, but rather about finishing the lich off. If they couldn't do so, Ambrose could easily report their unlawful aggression to Alkhemia. Then they would be the ones branded as troublemakers.

Fairness and truth meant little. All Alkhemia needed was an excuse to punish a few overeager border lords, and these men had just offered one on a silver platter.

The Porcupine Knight could already see it: his house fined, his lands stripped, the lich's domain seized by decree and returned to the city.

It would be a disaster for all sides, one that was entirely unacceptable.

Just then, his court magician, Harvey, stepped up quietly beside him. "My lord, an unforeseen issue has popped up," he whispered. "I suggest we withdraw for now. We'll need another approach."

The knight scowled.

Withdrawing would be akin to wasting a fortune. Every extra day the army camped out here bled him of food and coin. To come here, fight no one, and leave empty-handed? It was unthinkable.

Harvey could see the hesitation in his liege's eyes. As an advisor, he should have been offering bold plans. But the moment Ambrose appeared, a shiver had gone through his mind. His honed diviner's senses were screaming at him like alarm bells.

Danger. The lich was lethal. Stay, and ruin would follow.

"My lord," Harvey urged again, "if we continue this standoff, war will break out. I fear the outcome will not favor us."

Before the Porcupine Knight could answer, the paladin suddenly spoke.

"Sir Knight, perhaps this is when mercenaries may prove their worth. Allow me to lead the charge."

He couldn't let evil stand unchallenged. A lich flaunting his unholy power before him—how could a servant of the Light ignore it?

The Porcupine Knight's eyes lit up. That was exactly why he'd courted these imperial paladins: to slay the lich for him.

If they could destroy Ambrose outright, who would care who fired the first shot?

"Paladin," the knight said, "are you truly confident you can handle him? If he escapes, we'll all pay the price."

"Rest assured," the paladin said confidently, "we know how to deal with the undead. A lich's true weakness isn't his bones, but rather his phylactery. As long as it's hidden in that castle, he won't flee. Once we breach the fortress, I will find the phylactery and end him for good.

Now, give the order."

"Very well. In the name of House Jais, I command you to destroy this evil! Harvey, aid the paladin with all your magic."

The knight's voice rang with authority. Harvey sighed inwardly. He could only obey.

Moments later, three riders left the formation: a paladin in full armor, a priest of light, and a young apprentice mage. They advanced slowly toward the hovering lich.

The paladin didn't even consider an ambush. He raised his sword high and declared, "Evil undead, in the name of the radiant dawn, I shall purify your soul with holy light!"

With that, he charged.

The army surged behind him. A thousand soldiers thundered forward, a living tide of iron.

Ambrose blinked, mildly surprised. He'd underestimated their resolve. But that was fine. He had been running low on experimental material, after all.

With a flick of his staff, the ground trembled. Countless skeletons clawed their way up from the earth, forming ranks at his silent command.

Daylight did nothing to them; they marched without hesitation, clattering in unison.

Seeing such frail, staggering undead, the paladin only grew more confident.

Holy light flared from his armor, flooding the field in brilliance. His weapon blazed, and even his warhorse gleamed with sanctified radiance.

He crashed into the skeletal ranks. Their brittle bones shattered before they even touched him, purified to dust by the brilliance of the light.

Ordinary skeletons were no match for a paladin of the Lyon Empire. They couldn't even slow him down.

In moments, the paladin was nearly upon Ambrose himself. The lich rose higher into the air with a murmur and a casual wave, flight magic lifting him effortlessly.

The paladin didn't falter. He'd seen plenty of flying undead before. Raising his weapon, he shouted to his companion, "Now!"

The priest of light began his chant, voice ringing with divine authority. "In the name of the Lord of Dawn, I command thee: kneel before the holy light!"

A beam of radiant force shot toward Ambrose.

It was the priest's most common divine art—Compulsion.

The spell, imbued with the will of a god, compelled the target to obey: to kneel, drop his weapon, and flee the battle.

When powered by a benevolent deity, it couldn't force self-harm, but the indirect effects were more than potent enough.

Imagine a warrior forced to fall prone before his enemy's blade. The spell couldn't kill, but the sword very well could.

If Ambrose were caught by the spell, he'd plummet from the sky, crash hard, and then be decapitated before he could rise again.

Even a lich needed time to reform, and the paladin would easily be able to storm his fortress and find his phylactery by then.

"Heh." Ambrose chuckled. "Underestimating me, are we?"

A red flash shimmered across his bones. The divine light struck him—and rebounded. The Compulsion spell slammed into the priest instead, nearly knocking him off his horse.

Spell counters were part of every magician's repertoire. With the right preparation, a single counter could unravel even powerful divine magic.

The priest didn't panic, though. The paladins and clerics of the Lyon Empire had fought countless undead before; nothing Ambrose had yet done was unexpected.

In truth, the spell had only been bait to draw the lich's attention.

Now came the real strike.

The priest unfurled a scroll and chanted swiftly.

In less than a second, a pale blue barrier flared into being, encasing Ambrose like a crystal dome.

It was an anti-magic field.

All magic was suppressed within its domain. Spells unraveled, enchantments failed, and summoned creatures vanished. Even enchanted gear became nothing but dull steel.

Ambrose's flight spell would collapse. He'd fall helplessly, unable to cast again.

That was the theory, at least.

In practice, the lich didn't fall. He simply vanished.

The paladin's heart sank. "A projection! Damn it!"

An instant later, a wave of sickly green light erupted from the direction of the castle. The spell rained down upon the charging soldiers like a shower of tainted meteors. Their screams rose in a chorus as flesh dissolved and bones were bleached white. In moments, the field was littered with corpses and skeletons.

From the castle gates, Ambrose's voice echoed in a calm, disdainful, and amused tone. "Too young, too reckless. Tell me, what kind of lich would face a paladin in person? Do you think I built an entire magical fortress just as decoration?"