In a grim, ancient castle, candlelight flickered with a dim, yellow glow.
Ambrose’s skeletal fingers broke open the envelope. The vermilion wax seal shattered with a crisp snap, and with it, the magical ward protecting the letter.
As he unfolded the parchnt within, the eerie blue soulfire in his eye sockets pulsed.
"Dear Master Ambrose, your submitted paper, 'A Study on the Morphological Modification of Undead Creatures into Non-Humanoid Forms,' has been reviewed by the editors of Legendary Incantations Publishing. We have determined that it is unsuitable for publication in our monthly journal. We suggest you submit your work to a magical academic journal with less stringent requirents."
A wisp of the sa blue fla erupted from Ambrose's fingertip, turning the rejection letter to ash. "My paper is backed by solid data and presents a novel perspective," he snarled, his voice a dry rasp. "How could it not et their standards! This is nothing but discrimination against liches and necromancy!"
Legendary Incantations was the most prestigious magical monthly in the world, jointly run by thirteen Legendary Mages from across the Nine Great Kingdoms. Spellcasters of any race or nationality were welco to publish their magical theories within its pages.
Since its inception, Legendary Incantations had made monuntal contributions to the advancent of magic worldwide. The foundational theories for over twenty legendary spells had first appeared in the journal.
Every spellcaster dread of having their work published in its pages. Even the Nine Great Kingdoms used it as a benchmark for appointing court mages; fewer than three published papers, and you wouldn't even get an interview.
Yet Ambrose, a renowned scholar who had successfully published many tis before, had just been rejected for the third ti in two years.
The reason, Ambrose believed, was simple. Not long ago, he had transford into a lich. The new editor-in-chief of Legendary Incantations was a devout Cleric of Light with an extre prejudice against the undead.
"There are so many paths to immortality. What's so wrong with becoming a lich?"
Ambrose waved a hand in frustration, sweeping the ashes from his desk to the floor. A strangely shaped skeleton skittered over and quickly swept them up.
The skeleton's form was rather bizarre. Its upper body was a normal human torso, but its lower half consisted of eight spider-like bone legs, allowing it to move with incredible speed. Its arms, however, seed to have their joints fixed, capable of only limited, stiff movents, yet its cleaning actions were swift and precise.
Low to the ground and able to climb walls and crawl under tables, it was clearly a "specialized" skeleton designed for housekeeping.
This was Ambrose’s "morphological modification of undead creatures into non-humanoid forms." A specialized, purpose-built skeleton was far more efficient than a clumsy, shuffling humanoid one.
Of course, such modifications weren't cheap. The cost of the initial experints alone had drained his coffers. Ambrose was beginning to regret his transformation into a lich.
But the Potion of Youth was just too expensive. Recently, the Silvermoon High Court had banned the export of two of its main ingredients, causing the price to skyrocket to absurd heights.
Even Legendary Mages didn't have unlimited funds. Besides, the Legendary Boon Ambrose had received upon his ascension was "Simulated Soul." He could create soul-like constructs from simple materials that looked and functioned almost identically to the real thing.
With a talent like that, it would have been a waste not to beco a lich.
So, when the price of a Potion of Youth hit five hundred thousand gold coins a bottle, Ambrose decisively chose undeath.
To hell with the Silvermoon High Court and their elven goddess. Those elves were leveraging their long lifespans to create a monopoly on longevity. Ambrose swore that if he ever got rich, he would short the Potion of Youth market and bankrupt those damn bean sprouts.
But for now, the problem was the rejection letters. As a Legendary Mage who was also a shut-in, Ambrose’s primary source of inco was the author fees from Legendary Incantations. With his papers being rejected, he was running out of money.
A lich didn't need to eat or drink, but necromantic experints cost money. Maintaining this castle cost money. Even the upkeep on his phylactery cost money!
Ambrose needed to find a new source of inco, or he’d soon be too poor to even patch the holes in his robes.
"How am I supposed to make money?"
Ambrose sank into thought. A typical mage could find work as a magical advisor to a noble family for a handso salary. But at the legendary level, one needed to seek employnt with a royal court. A common noble couldn't afford a Legendary Mage, and the sa went for a Legendary Lich.
Of the Nine Great Kingdoms, only two were willing to accept liches, and they were both a great distance away. As a newly-turned lich and a veteran Legendary Mage, Ambrose knew all too well that the gap between two Legendary Mages could be even greater than the gap between a mortal and a legend.
His expertise in necromancy was only average, so there was no guarantee he'd succeed if he applied. If he failed, the cost of opening a continental portal would be a staggering loss. Damn the Silvermoon High Court! It was those bean sprout elves who had driven up the portal costs in the first place!
Besides, leaving his holand wasn't just a matter of travel expenses. A mont of carelessness could cost him his unlife. Even the weakest Legendary Mage was still Legendary, and no one would pass up the chance to enslave one.
Ambrose had also considered selling his "Simulated Souls," but his peers were dismissive. A human slave with a genuine soul cost only a few dozen copper coins. Why would anyone pay three tis that for a fake?
He had no answer to that, which only reinforced his belief that his Legendary Boon was a useless skill.
"I need to look into how other liches make money."
Ambrose flicked a finger, and a heavy to flew from a nearby shelf to his desk. Its cover was adorned with an exquisite skeletal relief. It was the Codex of the Undead, a gift from the Elegy Society after his transformation. It contained a wealth of basic knowledge for liches, including the crucial "One Hundred Taboos After Becoming a Lich."
Reminders like "don't habitually throw open the curtains upon waking," "don't use the Daylight spell as a candle," and "don't keep dogs" had proven genuinely helpful.
But Ambrose wasn't looking for common sense right now. He flipped to the last page and, gathering magical energy at his fingertip, wrote: "Friends, may your soulfire burn eternal. I've fallen on hard tis recently. Any advice on how a lich is supposed to make money?"
The magical text shimred on the page, glowing but not fading.
A mont later, a new line of text appeared.
[Withered Rose: Don't you make a lot from your author fees? You should be saving more money after becoming a lich. Necromancy is the cheapest school of magic.]
The one signed Withered Rose was a senior lich, a key mber of the Elegy Society.
The society was mysterious. Every newly transford lich received a Codex of the Undead from its enigmatic leader. To this day, Ambrose had no idea who the leader was, nor did he sense anyone placing the codex next to his corpse during his transformation.
The ritual of transformation was when a lich was at their most vulnerable. If the society's leader had harbored even a sliver of malice, Ambrose would have beco their puppet long ago.
The Elegy Society had few mbers. They communicated through the Codex, and everyone used a codena.
Ambrose's call sign in the society was Tiga Ultraman.
[Tiga Ultraman: Don't get started. The new editor-in-chief at Legendary Incantations has rejected three tis. The racist bastard is driving to bankruptcy. Lady Rose, how do you make your money? Care to share so tips?]
[Withered Rose: Oh, I heard their new chief is a Cleric of Light. So they're openly discriminating against the undead now. Humans are so unreasonable. Down here in the Underdark, I usually squeeze so profit out of the Drow. They're the best gold mines, whether it's their spiders, their treasures, or their corpses.]
Ambrose replied with a sigh, "Lady Rose, the kingdom I reside in has a mix of races, and there's occasional conflict, but the Alchemists' Council won't let capture other races for experintal materials on a large scale."
Before Withered Rose could offer new advice, another mber of the Elegy Society appeared on the page.
[Crown of the Headless Knight: Brother Tiga, I'm in urgent need of a vial of Living Quicksilver Solution. If you can get one for from the City of Alchemy, I'll pay a high price.]
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