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 so 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 overti and she was already delirious.
Isabel watched his retreating back, wondering why her teacher had suddenly beco 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 mory 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 sa ti, she admonished herself: the next ti she saw him, she would never ntion anything related to the undead again.
Under the cover of night, Ambrose left the castle.
Finding Slis was not a simple task. Although they were very weak monsters, their weakness made them excellent hiders.
The Slis 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 extre temperatures were unsuitable for Sli survival. Dark, damp environnts were their ideal habitat. The humidity helped them maintain their bodily form, while the darkness was perfect for ambushing prey.
Slis usually remained motionless, waiting for prey to co 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 Sli would launch a surprise attack. Once enveloped by a Sli's acid-filled body, most prey would be dissolved into nutrients. However, this wait-and-pounce hunting thod was not very efficient. Most of the ti, Slis subsisted on a diet of dust, fungi, and even garbage.
Ambrose had never spent much ti studying Slis, 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 specins. This ant 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.
————
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 custors.
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 rcenaries and adventurers.
The ten-copper-a-mug ale left the drinkers' bellies full of resentnt, which they could only vent on other matters.
They slamd tables and cursed, occasionally reaching out to grope a busty serving wench who passed by. Getting a hand on a thigh ant you broke even; a hand on the rear, and you ca 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 environnts made his bones feel uncomfortably damp.
The dwarf in the corner, warbling so 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 ant for singing arias, was it?
The economy was in decline, and even the live entertainnt 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 ti 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 sll emanating from it—the unmistakable scent of watered-down, spoiled ale. The undead had no sense of sll or taste, but that didn't an they couldn't distinguish scents; it was sothing 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 so 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 custor. 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 Sli nesting grounds nearby? I need a place with a large population."
The orc bartender was a true professional. He answered imdiately, "That'd be the city's vast sewer system, of course. But the sewers haven't been too safe lately. For so reason, a lot of dangerous new variants of Slis have appeared down there."
"Dangerous variants?" Ambrose pressed. "What happened?"
"Heh, another mug, custor? 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 so... financial troubles. You probably know about that. So..."
Just like industrial waste, large-scale alchemy produced a great deal of contaminants that were troubleso and expensive to dispose of. As the orc spoke, Ambrose understood. Those madn were dumping their alchemical waste directly into the sewers, causing the Slis down there to mutate.
"No, it might not just be the Slis..."
Ambrose knew a fair bit about alchemy. A list of common alchemical waste products quickly ford in his soulfire. If all that stuff was poured into the sewers, sothing truly terrifying was bound to erge over ti.
But now was not the ti to back down. He needed to collect the Slis as quickly as possible, before a truly monstrous creature could be born.
"Post a request for . I need to collect... no, I need a guide who's familiar with the sewers."
Ambrose had originally planned to just pay for Slis, but with the increased danger in the sewers ca a spike in adventurers' rates. He'd rather spend so ti himself, hire a guide to take him down, and catch the Slis 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, custor. 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 handso 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 'handso' 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."
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