This Lich is a Better Landlord Chapter 9

Ambrose had lived three distinctly different lives.

In his previous life, he was a science student who had coasted through college to get a diploma, felt lost about his future, and buried his ambitions in cheap entertainment. It was only at the moment of his death, when his life flashed before his eyes, that Ambrose realized it had all been a montage of trivialities.

Then, the heavens gave him another chance. He crossed over to this chaotic but consistently exciting other world. Filled with youthful arrogance, he believed he was a born protagonist, destined to reach Legendary status in three years and godhood in ten. From his first days as an adventurer, Ambrose was driven to do great things, only to discover that even after reaching the Legendary realm, he was just a subpar one at that.

They say a person truly grows up when they realize they aren't the center of the universe.

The same was true for Ambrose. When he found himself old and frail, still a mediocre Legend, and unable to even afford a Potion of Youth to extend his life, he understood he was just one of the countless souls in this world who'd gotten a little lucky. Being a transmigrator wasn't all that special.

So what if he was a Legendary mage? He was still a poor bastard. In that case, he might as well stop being human.

Becoming a lich wasn't so bad, after all.

Thanks to the fact that his heart no longer beat and his brain had more or less ceased functioning, Ambrose only felt a brief moment of dissociation as he looked at his former self in the mirror. He swapped his dark-energy-infused robes for ordinary clothes and prepared to leave the castle to go shopping.

He passed by another laboratory where Isabel was concocting a potion.

Basilisk Oil. It was a potion that could reverse petrification. Using this potion as a primary ingredient mixed with some cheaper components created an effective rock softener. Diluted with water, it was perfect for clearing uncultivated land.

However, brewing Basilisk Oil was no small feat for an alchemy apprentice.

Ambrose, worried that Isabel might waste too many ingredients, stopped to watch for a few moments. He couldn't help but speak up. "Your fundamentals are solid, but the flame temperature is wrong. The flask is positioned too low. An insufficient reaction temperature will lead to an incomplete reaction, resulting in a poor-quality potion and wasted materials. The outer flame is the hottest part. Didn't your master teach you something so basic?"

Isabel jumped, startled. She turned to see an unfamiliar young man standing at the laboratory entrance, her expression one of surprise.

"You..." Isabel was about to ask if he was one of the newly recruited freemen, but she quickly realized. "You know alchemy too?" she said, excited. "What's an outer flame? In my master's lab, I always used fixed equipment. I've never seen equipment that can be freely adjusted..."

Ambrose chuckled dismissively. "An old-fashioned way of keeping secrets. Afraid the apprentice will surpass the master."

Many alchemists valued their techniques more than their own lives. They were unwilling to teach even the basics, and customized equipment was the simplest and most effective way to maintain secrecy.

Fixed heights, fixed flame temperatures, fixed ingredient ratios... because it was all customized, the apprentice could only perform mindless, repetitive operations. The success rate for specific potions was high, but the fewer failures an apprentice experienced, the less they learned.

It was just like the assembly-line workers from Ambrose's previous life. They performed simple, repetitive tasks and learned almost no real skills. Without their customized equipment, many apprentices couldn't even brew the most basic potions.

The fact that Isabel could still produce a Calming Draught in a different laboratory already made her a rather decent alchemy apprentice.

"Alchemy is more than just following a recipe. Ambient temperature, humidity, even air circulation are all key factors. Every step in your notes actually represents a reaction principle. If you don't understand these, you'll be an apprentice for the rest of your life."

Ambrose walked into the laboratory, readjusted the height of the flask, tweaked some of the ingredient proportions, and then smoothly produced a bottle of Basilisk Oil of nigh-perfect quality.

Isabel watched Ambrose's effortless movements, her eyes wide with admiration. The black-haired youth before her seemed to be even younger than she was, but his understanding of alchemy far surpassed her own. His explanations were even simpler and easier to understand than her master's.

Isabel wanted to ask him more, or at least his name. But as soon as she set down the bottle of Basilisk Oil, she turned back to find he was already gone.

Isabel froze for a moment, then suddenly felt a chill run down her spine.

This lich's castle... it couldn't be haunted, could it?

Her mind instantly concocted a story: the ghost of a genius young alchemist who had died in the castle, his resentful spirit lingering, appearing whenever he saw someone else performing an alchemy experiment. The more she thought about it, the more terrified she became. She could feel her back drenched in sweat. This castle was terrifying in every conceivable way.

Isabel could only hope that what the Lord Lich had said was true—that after the land was cleared, they could move out of the castle and build houses elsewhere.

Wearing the face of a young man, Ambrose walked out of his castle, cast a flight spell on himself, and soared into the sky.

After flying for about half an hour, covering a distance of fifty or sixty kilometers, he finally saw the abstractly shaped city—the City of Alchemy, Alchemia.

The city rose from a vast plain, its tall stone walls embedded with vast quantities of magical metals, etched with tens of thousands of alchemical runes. It was rumored that the city itself was a giant alchemical product, capable of transforming into a colossal mechanical construct in times of need.

That was definitely an exaggeration. If the entire city turned into a mechanical giant, its residents would be crushed to death long before any enemy arrived.

Still, the runes certainly held immense power. After all, before the economic crisis, Alchemia was hailed as the wealthiest city on the continent.

The reason the city was described as abstract wasn't because of the runes on its walls, but because, when viewed from the sky, one could see seven magnificent alchemical towers lined up in a row. These towers looked as if they were constructed from various colored gemstones, making them incredibly—blindingly—garish under the sun.

The seven towers varied in height, color, and even architectural style. The only thing they had in common was their twisted, ugly aesthetic. Even Ambrose, who had no artistic sense to speak of, found the towers exceptionally hideous. No, it would be more accurate to say they were abstractly ugly.

This wasn't just Ambrose's opinion. The City of Alchemy had won the "Ugliest City in the Nine Great Kingdoms" competition for several years running. Even The Alchemists' Council itself couldn't stand it.

But they couldn't change it, because it was a "gift" from a god.

Once, The Alchemists' Council had attempted to create a god, a blasphemous act. The God of Alchemy had descended to deliver their punishment. Not only did he curse them to never make another breakthrough in alchemy, but he also sculpted these seven towers for them.

Anyone with even a basic knowledge of alchemy could tell at a glance what the shapes of the seven towers represented.

The one that looked like a pile of green dung was the sludge left behind when a healing potion is brewed at too high a temperature. The one that resembled a red, glandular tumor was the curdled substance that forms when a Potion of Bear's Strength is improperly mixed... and so on. The seven towers represented seven types of alchemical products, and also seven of the most classic and common types of experimental failures.

The god had used these seven towers, symbols of failure, to nail the city of Alchemia to the pillar of shame for all of history.

But their shame had nothing to do with Ambrose. He entered the city through the main gate in his human form, using the most normal method possible. It wasn't long after he entered, however, that Ambrose sensed the City of Alchemy had changed a great deal.