This Lich is a Better Landlord Chapter 43

Without his feet touching the ground, Ambrose floated on a tour of his domain and found everything to be in order.

The humans who had come seeking refuge had already built their own houses. Their land-clearing efforts had borne fruit, and with the help of magical potions, they were just days away from their first harvest, which was shaping up to be a bountiful one.

The humans calculated the grain they would need to tithe and realized their lives were indeed much better than before. Gazing at the nearly ripe wheat, most of their anxieties melted away.

After the last battle, the Porcupine Knight and the other lords had suffered heavy losses. They no longer dared to trouble Ambrose and instead turned their attention to their peers. Three lords had died on the battlefield, and upon returning, the Porcupine Knight and the others must have concocted some plan, as they were now rapidly gobbling up the territories of the three fallen lords.

Ambrose didn't know what pretext the Porcupine Knight was using, nor did he know if the man would recoup his losses. He only knew that in recent days, a large number of freemen had fled their lands, heading straight for his, the lich's, domain.

The population of his domain had now surpassed three hundred, a not-insignificant number.

The sudden increase in population hadn't troubled Ambrose, because Raul had become a competent administrator.

Ambrose felt a touch of emotion. Adversity truly did forge a person. The Raul who had once fled to his territory, unable to even read, now carried the air of a human administrator, managing these several hundred people with perfect order.

The development of the domain was on the right track, requiring no concern from Ambrose.

As for the three prisoners, they weren't causing any trouble either.

Harvey was quietly reading in his cell, having made himself so at home that Ambrose was considering charging him rent. Alan and his cleric companion performed their daily prayers and prisoner workouts, their lives remarkably disciplined. After all, a paladin's word was his bond. He had said he would be a compliant captive, and he wasn't about to cause trouble for Ambrose.

Ambrose had to admire that. People who could keep their word were rare.

Next, Ambrose visited Isabel's laboratory and found that the young girl's alchemical skills had improved significantly. She could now be tasked with brewing many of the more difficult potions. Pleased, Ambrose rewarded her with an enchanted ring.

It was a piece of equipment he had 'liberated' from the Cleric of Light, but unfortunately, it had a race restriction: only humans could use it. It was perfect for Isabel. The ring had a healing spell permanently inscribed on it, usable once a day to mend external wounds and cure common illnesses. Now that Isabel was assisting her brother in managing the freemen, a healing spell was more useful than any offensive magic.

After inspecting his domain, Ambrose took out his phylactery and gave it a thorough maintenance.

Then, to his surprise, he found that he was idle.

He used to be so busy he never touched the ground, with an endless stream of experiments to conduct and a perpetual shortage of gold. But after striking a deal with Withered Rose, her first payment had arrived, and Ambrose's coffers were finally full.

However, the second phase of cultivating living quicksilver couldn't begin yet. It required a large amount of metal ore, and Ambrose would have to wait for Withered Rose to make her move before he could acquire a bankrupt mine.

This left Ambrose suddenly with time on his hands.

For a lich, this was not a good thing.

Without the limitations of the flesh, he was free from worldly desires. Ambrose had to find something to do, or he would feel a boredom and emptiness a hundred times more profound than any mortal's.

"Maybe I should go count my gold coins?"

Ambrose considered it, then decided the act was foolish.

No matter how many times he counted them, the coins wouldn't multiply. As a rational lich, he should enjoy the process of making money, and simultaneously, the process of spending it.

After some thought, Ambrose decided to go have a drink with the Headless Knight.

After all, the man had given him a meeting gift of several hundred thousand gold coins. As the host, it wouldn't be right to let his guest fend for himself every day. He ought to show some hospitality.

Casting a transformation spell on himself, Ambrose left the ancient castle and flew toward the City of Alchemy.

He hadn't been here for a while, and Ambrose had the distinct feeling that the City of Alchemy had become even more desolate. There were more shuttered shops than before, fewer pedestrians on the streets, and their expressions were grimmer. He could occasionally see people holding signs by the roadside, looking for work, with stories of families unable to afford food and elders and children to support.

"This situation isn't right. Have those alchemists still not reached an agreement with Silvermoon High Court?"

In Ambrose's estimation, no matter how mad the City of Alchemy got, it couldn't possibly maintain such insane prices indefinitely. This was trade between nations; sometimes it wasn't just about economics, but a contest of national strength. The City of Alchemy couldn't just stand by and watch its economy collapse without doing anything. What was the point of spending so much money maintaining their automaton legions if they weren't going to use them now? Were they waiting until they couldn't afford the upkeep to sell them for scrap?

Marching the automaton legions toward Silvermoon High Court, applying a little military pressure to force them to the negotiating table—that would be the correct move. Why was there no news of anything like that?

"The Alchemists' Council is usually crazy, but they're not stupid. I really don't get it."

With a heart full of doubt, Ambrose once again came to Southern Cross Avenue, where adventurers gathered, and entered The Slag and Ember tavern.

The moment he walked in, Ambrose spotted the man he was looking for.

The Headless Knight, disguised as a human adventurer, was in a drinking contest with a two-meter-tall orc. Large mugs of flaming spirits were being poured down their throats. The orc was wincing from the heat but still forced the liquor down. The Headless Knight was much more at ease, downing the head-sized mug without a change in expression, not even spilling a single drop.

After one mug, the orc was already swaying. The Headless Knight, however, had already picked up his second and drained it in one go. Amid the cheers of the crowd, the orc picked up his second mug but collapsed halfway through drinking it. The flames from the liquor spread over his body, making him howl in pain.

The onlookers were thrilled, cheering and roaring for the Headless Knight.

Ambrose was speechless. You're an undead, having a drinking contest with a living being. Isn't that just bullying?

The Headless Knight grinned like a child, slammed his mug on the table, and bellowed, "I win! Drinks are on me today!"

"Hooray!"

"Praise you, my friend!"

"Gareth! Gareth!"

...

As all the patrons chanted the Headless Knight's name, Ambrose found a quiet corner and said to the familiar orc bartender, "A mug of ale."

"Master Ultraman, it's been a while. One moment, coming right up."

The orc bartender was as graceful as ever, his pouring motion far more delicate than one would expect from an orc.

"What's the situation here?" Ambrose asked, gesturing toward the Headless Knight, who was now surrounded by a crowd.

The orc bartender glanced at the Headless Knight and sighed wistfully. "You're asking about Gareth? That old fellow is an interesting one. It's been many years since I've seen a customer with such a high tolerance and generous spirit."

"No, I mean the part about buying everyone drinks. It's the first time I've ever heard of the winner buying," Ambrose said with a hint of envy.

"How else could you call him generous? Well, technically, our boss is paying for it," the orc bartender said, nodding his head in a certain direction.

The boss?

Ambrose followed the bartender's gaze to another corner of the bar.

Sitting there was a female orc with fiery red skin, as powerfully built as a lioness. Yet the look she gave the Headless Knight could only be described as smoldering.

This... was the Headless Knight being kept by this female orc? Could the Headless Knight's legendary boon be a charm that granted a one-hundred-percent chance of being sponsored by a sugar mama?

For a fleeting moment, Ambrose pictured the catastrophic scene of a bone dragon's breath turning this entire bar to ash.