This Lich is a Better Landlord Chapter 18

Faced with Isabel's almost rhetorical question, Ambrose couldn't even be bothered to answer. He just said to her, "Has the exhaustion scrambled your brain? Go get some rest if you've got nothing better to do!"

With that curt remark, Ambrose turned and left the laboratory.

Humans were so fragile. Just a few days of overtime and she was already delirious.

Isabel watched his retreating back, wondering why her teacher had suddenly become angry.

"It seems his undead status is a sore subject for him. It makes sense. A young alchemical genius like him, ending up as a wandering spirit in a castle... it must be a painful memory he doesn't want to relive. I'm so stupid, I shouldn't have asked.

"But... even when he's angry, he's still concerned about my well-being. He's so gentle."

Isabel sighed inwardly. Kindhearted undead really did exist in this world. At the same time, she admonished herself: the next time she saw him, she would never mention anything related to the undead again.

Under the cover of night, Ambrose left the castle.

Finding Slimes was not a simple task. Although they were very weak monsters, their weakness made them excellent hiders.

The Slimes of this world didn't have the cute, jelly-like appearance of those in stories. More often than not, they looked like puddles of mud, hiding in dark corners.

Excessive light and extreme temperatures were unsuitable for Slime survival. Dark, damp environments were their ideal habitat. The humidity helped them maintain their bodily form, while the darkness was perfect for ambushing prey.

Slimes usually remained motionless, waiting for prey to come to them. Their gooey bodies could slide silently across floors, drip from walls or ceilings, and squeeze through cracks... making them incredibly difficult to spot when hidden.

When prey passed by, a Slime would launch a surprise attack. Once enveloped by a Slime's acid-filled body, most prey would be dissolved into nutrients. However, this wait-and-pounce hunting method was not very efficient. Most of the time, Slimes subsisted on a diet of dust, fungi, and even garbage.

Ambrose had never spent much time studying Slimes, so he had no idea where to look. Finding one or two might not be hard, but he was starting his research from scratch. He conservatively estimated he would need a three-digit number of specimens. This meant he couldn't just wander around aimlessly; he needed professional help.

When in doubt, post a request with adventurers. That usually solved most problems.

Following his usual routine, Ambrose flew to the City of Alchemy in the dead of night and made his way to the bustling Southern Cross Avenue.

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The weather was gradually turning colder, and winter was approaching in the City of Alchemy. On nights like these, taverns were always a magnet for customers.

Even though the tavern known as The Slag and Ember had a habit of watering down its ale, as the cheapest tavern in the City of Alchemy, it was still packed with down-on-their-luck mercenaries and adventurers.

The ten-copper-a-mug ale left the drinkers' bellies full of resentment, which they could only vent on other matters.

They slammed tables and cursed, occasionally reaching out to grope a busty serving wench who passed by. Getting a hand on a thigh meant you broke even; a hand on the rear, and you came out ahead.

This was exactly the kind of place Ambrose was looking for.

As he entered, a blast of hot air made him frown. Liches generally preferred the cold; warm environments made his bones feel uncomfortably damp.

The dwarf in the corner, warbling some mountain folk song, was sheer torture to Ambrose. I'm not asking for an elven bard, but couldn't you at least get a human? A dwarf's voice, which sounded like two rocks grinding together, was not meant for singing arias, was it?

The economy was in decline, and even the live entertainment had gotten this lazy.

Ambrose shook his head and pushed his way through the crowd to the bar.

The orc bartender, busy wiping a mug, greeted him warmly. "Young mage, haven't seen you around before. First time here? This one's on the house."

A small mug of ale, swirling with a murky yellow color, was placed before him. Even without a nose, Ambrose could sense the sour smell emanating from it—the unmistakable scent of watered-down, spoiled ale. The undead had no sense of smell or taste, but that didn't mean they couldn't distinguish scents; it was something Ambrose perceived with his soulfire.

He took a small sip, then placed a few copper coins on the bar. Only then did he say, "I need some information."

It was custom. If you wanted information, you tipped first.

The massive orc bartender placed a single finger on the coppers. Thanks to the orc's naturally thick fingers, that one press covered five coins, which he quickly swept into his own pocket.

"A generous customer. What would you like to know?"

Ambrose: ...

A miscalculation. He should have spread the coins out a bit.

With those thick fingers, the orc could cover five coppers at once. A human could manage two at most.

But he couldn't dwell on the loss. Ambrose asked, "Are there any Slime nesting grounds nearby? I need a place with a large population."

The orc bartender was a true professional. He answered immediately, "That'd be the city's vast sewer system, of course. But the sewers haven't been too safe lately. For some reason, a lot of dangerous new variants of Slimes have appeared down there."

"Dangerous variants?" Ambrose pressed. "What happened?"

"Heh, another mug, customer? Just ten coppers."

Ambrose placed the coins on the bar and warned, "I hope this information is worth the money."

The orc bartender confidently swept the coins into his pocket and gave Ambrose the intelligence he wanted. "You know about the waste produced by alchemy, right? A lot of it requires special disposal, which costs a pretty penny. Recently, the City of Alchemy has run into some... financial troubles. You probably know about that. So..."

Just like industrial waste, large-scale alchemy produced a great deal of contaminants that were troublesome and expensive to dispose of. As the orc spoke, Ambrose understood. Those madmen were dumping their alchemical waste directly into the sewers, causing the Slimes down there to mutate.

"No, it might not just be the Slimes..."

Ambrose knew a fair bit about alchemy. A list of common alchemical waste products quickly formed in his soulfire. If all that stuff was poured into the sewers, something truly terrifying was bound to emerge over time.

But now was not the time to back down. He needed to collect the Slimes as quickly as possible, before a truly monstrous creature could be born.

"Post a request for me. I need to collect... no, I need a guide who's familiar with the sewers."

Ambrose had originally planned to just pay for Slimes, but with the increased danger in the sewers came a spike in adventurers' rates. He'd rather spend some time himself, hire a guide to take him down, and catch the Slimes with his own two hands.

He might be a washed-up Legendary, but a washed-up Legendary was still a Legendary. He could easily handle ordinary monsters.

The bartender's face lit up. "Haha, well, it's your lucky day, customer. There's an adventuring party about to explore the sewers, and they just so happen to be short a mage. If you can successfully join them, you'll even save on the guide fee and earn a handsome commission to boot."

Ambrose frowned, his words coming out through gritted teeth. "You shouldn't have said that word."

The orc bartender paused. "Sorry, what was that? I don't think I used any impolite words, did I?"

Ambrose said, enunciating each word, "You shouldn't have said 'earn.' And you definitely shouldn't have said 'handsome' or 'commission.'"

"What's wrong with those words?" The orc bartender was even more confused.

Ambrose sighed. "After you said all that, I can no longer refuse."