When it cos to digging up a lich's phylactery, you need a professional.
In the field of dealing with the undead, the City of Alchemy couldn't hold a candle to the Ryan Empire.
The paladins circled the castle interior and quickly identified a suspicious altar. The skeletal remains arranged atop it clearly hadn't been moved in ages.
At the command of the leading paladin, they dismantled the altar's base. Sure enough, they discovered an exquisitely crafted phylactery. The dense aura of death radiating from it made it look like the genuine article.
However, the leading paladin rely sneered. "Keep digging."
The rookies didn't understand why, but they obeyed orders and continued. Before long, they unearthed an identical phylactery right beneath where the first one had been.
The team leader said smugly, "Hmph, the sa old tricks. These undead really lack creativity."
Just as he was about to order the team to pack up, a rookie paladin suddenly spoke up. "Captain, wait. The soil underneath... it looks like it's been disturbed too."
The captain frowned. "Hmm? Dig again!"
Sure enough, another phylactery was soon excavated.
The captain sighed with a hint of admiration. "This lich actually has so brains. He knew to play a double-reverse logic ga. No wonder so many of our comrades were tricked by him. However, no matter how cunning..."
"Captain, it seems... there are more..."
An awkward silence fell over the paladins. Then, without needing further instruction, they continued to dig downwards. This ti it was even more absurd; they found two more phylacteries, one on the left and one on the right of the sa position.
Looking at the five glaringly obvious phylacteries before him, the captain felt his scalp tingle.
His voice trembling, he said, "Phylacteries require a massive amount of souls as raw material. Even fakes need to be mixed with souls... Just how many people has this lich killed?"
Generally speaking, the baseline requirent for a lich's phylactery was one thousand human souls, with no upper limit. These souls were the key to protecting the lich's core and the source of their power.
Although slaves on the continent were cheap, five thousand people... What kind of insane, depraved undead was this?!
At this mont, a paladin asked, his voice shaking, "Captain, do you think... could all five of these be fakes?"
Cold sweat trickled down the captain's forehead, and his voice turned hoarse.
"Quick, use *Detect Evil*. Check this entire castle. Do not spare your divine spells; we must inspect every single corner thoroughly."
The paladins began their search with uneasy hearts. The search yielded terrifying results. Soon, soone found a phylactery in the ceiling. Then, behind the bookshelves, under flowerpots, inside jars of preservatives, behind paintings, inside coffins... A horrifying number of phylacteries were discovered one by one, totaling eighty-eight.
Eighty-eight phylacteries. Assuming one phylactery represented a thousand human lives, this lich had killed nearly one hundred thousand people!
This colossal number provoked many of the young paladins into frantically chanting scriptures, trying to suppress the fear and rage rising within them. The team leader, anwhile, leaned against the wall, his hands and feet ice-cold, having just discovered yet another fresh phylactery in the corner.
Madness. It was pure madness. Just how many phylacteries had this lich made, and how many more had yet to be dug up?
When Jas Watson saw the pile of phylacteries, this devout believer of the Lord of Dawn couldn't help but curse.
"To think they tolerated a lich who slaughtered a hundred thousand people living right here! The rot and darkness in the City of Alchemy are far worse than I imagined!"
Even the Ryan Empire hadn't killed this many people in its recent foreign wars. This lich's cris were heinous; he deserved to be struck down by the lightning of divine punishnt.
However, as the Empire's Supre Adjudicator, Jas Watson had seen his fair share of horrific cases, so he quickly cald down.
The number of these phylacteries didn't add up. Jas Watson vaguely recalled that this lich hadn't turned for very long. If he had slaughtered a hundred thousand people in such a short ti, the population in this region would have collapsed, turning it into a dead zone. The City of Alchemy wouldn't have just watched him butcher a hundred thousand people—did they want to keep ruling or not?
Sensing sothing was amiss, Jas Watson picked up a phylactery. His palm glowed with holy light, clashing with the dark magic on the object. With a soft *click*, cracks spread across the phylactery, and Jas Watson popped it open with ease.
Sure enough, it was empty.
"The material is indeed souls, and the intensity isn't low—probably more than a thousand souls. Wait, is this a space magic structure inside?"
Jas Watson examined the broken magic circle structure inside the phylactery. He could only make out traces of space magic, but since he wasn't an expert in that field, he could only guess at the general idea.
Even if he could tell it was space magic, Jas Watson couldn't figure out the significance.
What was the point of creating a magic circle to expand the capacity of an empty phylactery? Did he just have too much money to burn?
Although he couldn't make sense of it, Jas Watson wouldn't give up. He ordered the paladins to continue searching the area thoroughly, commanding them to leave no stone unturned until every last phylactery was found.
anwhile, the airship had entered the City of Alchemy.
As Ambrose entered this magnificent city of knowledge, the magical patterns on the city walls, unchanged for years, began to glow. Simultaneously, the Undead Queen, who was visiting under the guise of diplomacy, was respectfully escorted out of the city. Inside, all the automatons were mobilized, beginning to patrol every corner of the tropolis.
Ambrose didn't see this grand spectacle because the mont he entered the city, he was whisked away to the Council Tower. Placed before him was a massive pile of docunts.
Gustavo Flynn told him that these were the operating procedures for the Wish Engine. He was to study them carefully and familiarize himself with the process. Once he was done, he could make his wish.
Although Ambrose knew this was a trap, he also knew there was real information buried in this pile of docunts.
As scholars who had made a na for themselves in the City of Alchemy, they wouldn't dare try to fool him with complete garbage. It had to be a mix of truth and falsehood, enough to look convincing.
Gustavo Flynn likely didn't expect that Ambrose had already seen the rough structure of the sewers and guessed the truth about the Wish Engine. Therefore, these docunts undoubtedly contained extractable data that would bring Ambrose closer to the truth.
How this *Wish* ritual operated, where its weak points were, and which part had malfunctioned to cause the destruction of the City of Alchemy in the future—Ambrose couldn't wait to find out how his head ended up falling off.
Upon opening the docunts, Ambrose smiled. He had guessed correctly. The alchemists had stuffed parts of the *Wish* ritual into the files. Although they were concealed by a large amount of misleading information, they couldn't fool Ambrose, who already knew the outco in advance.
While Ambrose was diligently conducting his research, Gustavo Flynn was getting anxious waiting.
It was agreed that the phylactery would be found within two hours at most, but it had been nearly four hours. Those paladins were too unreliable. Although the phylactery wasn't the linchpin of the entire plan and could be ignored if necessary, Gustavo Flynn felt uneasy without a trump card to hold over Ambrose.
In the end, Gustavo Flynn never received the phylactery because Ambrose walked out of the library first, holding the docunts.
Ambrose smiled at Gustavo Flynn and said, "I've morized it. Can we make the wish now?"
Gustavo Flynn frowned. "So soon? Are you sure you rember everything? This process cannot allow for any errors."
"Don't worry. You and I both understand the significance of precision in alchemy. I wouldn't joke with my own life—oh, I just rembered, I'm a lich. I won't die as long as my phylactery is safe."
Ambrose's last sentence was like stomping on Gustavo Flynn's toes and grinding the heel in. It nearly made him jump. However, the veteran actor maintained his outward calm and said to Ambrose, "Very well. Since you can't wait, I will take you to witness the greatest masterpiece of the City of Alchemy."
Gustavo Flynn led Ambrose to a massive teleportation magic circle. It looked like a Continental Teleportation Array, capable of spanning tens of thousands of kiloters at its maximum range.
But Ambrose knew very well that this was a sham. The teleportation array would send him directly into the sewers.
Therefore, the mont the teleportation array was about to activate, Ambrose cast *Misty Step*, jumping out of the array at the very last second.
Gustavo Flynn, with a look of shock on his face, vanished into the teleportation array. He ended up sending himself into the sewers alone.
The alchemists in charge of the array didn't react in ti. *How did the lich suddenly jump out?*
Before they could make a move, Ambrose spoke up. "Oh my, I'm terribly sorry. I suddenly felt a call of nature and needed the restroom."
The alchemists outside the magic circle looked bewildered. One of them even foolishly asked, "Don't the undead lack that function?"
As soon as the words left his mouth, a massive fireball erupted from Ambrose's fingertips, blasting the alchemist's body into powder. The raging flas also shattered the giant teleportation array into pieces, completely cutting off any possibility of Gustavo Flynn's return.
Ambrose blew on the small fla lingering on his fingertip and said to the dead alchemist, "You knew too much."
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