In a gloomy ancient castle, candlelight flickered dim and yellow.
Anbaixiu tore open the envelope with his skeletal fingers. The vermilion sealing wax cracked with a crisp snap, breaking along with the magical seal upon the envelope.
Unfolding the parchment within, the ghostly blue fire in Anbaixiu's eye sockets flickered a few times.
"Respected Master Anbaixiu: Regarding your submission, 'A Study on the Modification of Undead Creatures into Non-Humanoid Forms,' after review by the editors of Legendary Spells Publishing, it has been determined that the paper is not suitable for publication in the Legendary Spells monthly periodical. We advise submitting to a magical academic journal with lower review standards."
A burst of eerie blue flame erupted from Anbaixiu's fingertips, reducing the rejection letter to ashes. He grumbled indignantly, "My paper has comprehensive data and novel insights—how could it possibly not meet the standard! Isn't this just discrimination against liches, discrimination against necromancy?!"
Legendary Spells was the world's highest-tier monthly magic journal, co-founded by thirteen legendary mages across the Nine Kingdoms. Spellcasters of any race and nationality could publish their magical theories within its pages.
Since its founding, Legendary Spells had made monumental contributions to the development of magic worldwide, with foundational theories for over twenty legendary spells first appearing in its issues.
All spellcasters took immense pride in having papers published in Legendary Spells. Even court mages across the Nine Kingdoms used published paper counts as a benchmark—anyone with fewer than three didn't even qualify for an interview.
Yet Anbaixiu, a renowned scholar who had successfully published multiple times in the past, had now received three consecutive rejections over the past two years.
Anbaixiu believed the reason was simple: he had recently undergone lichdom transformation. Meanwhile, the new chief editor of Legendary Spells was a staunch cleric of the Light, harboring extreme prejudice against undead creatures.
"There are so many ways to achieve eternal life, what's wrong with becoming a lich?"
Anbaixiu swept his hand in irritation, brushing the ashes off the table and onto the floor. Nearby, an oddly shaped skeleton crawled over, swiftly sweeping up the ashes.
This skeleton's appearance was rather bizarre. Only its upper half possessed a normal human bone structure; its lower half consisted of eight spider-like bone legs. It crawled at incredible speed, though its arm joints seemed fixed to permit only limited movements. It looked stiff, but its sweeping was remarkably swift and precise.
With a low profile, it could scale walls and scurry under desks. Clearly, this was a "specialized" skeleton engineered specifically for cleaning.
This was Anbaixiu's "Modification of Undead Creatures into Non-Humanoid Forms." A customized abnormal skeleton suited to its purpose was far more practical than a clumsy, tottering humanoid.
However, such modifications weren't cheap either. The preliminary experimental costs alone had emptied his pockets. Anbaixiu was now having second thoughts about becoming a lich.
Yet the Potion of Youth was simply too expensive. Recently, the Silvermoon High Court had banned the export of two of its primary ingredients, driving the price of the Potion of Youth through the roof.
Even legendary mages had no surplus grain to spare. Moreover, the legendary boon Anbaixiu had obtained upon ascending to legendary status was "Mimic Soul." He could use simple materials to create something resembling a soul; it looked like one, and in practice there was little difference.
With a talent like that, it would have been a waste not to become a lich.
Thus, when the Potion of Youth surged to five hundred thousand gold coins a bottle, Anbaixiu decisively chose to transform into a lich.
To hell with the Elven Goddess's Silvermoon High Court! Those elves used their long lifespans to monopolize longevity. Anbaixiu swore that once he had money, he would short the Potion of Youth and drive those bean sprouts into bankruptcy.
Yet the issue returned to the rejected manuscript. As a stay-at-home legendary mage who rarely stepped out the door, the vast majority of Anbaixiu's income came from manuscript fees from Legendary Spells. After three consecutive rejections, he was running out of money.
While a lich didn't need to eat or drink, necromantic experiments cost money, castle upkeep cost money, and even the maintenance of his phylactery cost money!
Anbaixiu needed to figure out a way to make some coin, or else he'd end up so destitute he couldn't even afford to replace a torn mage robe.
"How am I supposed to earn money?" Anbaixiu sank into thought. An ordinary mage could find a nobleman to serve as a magical consultant, drawing a handsome salary. But at the legendary rank, one had to apply to royal courts. Ordinary nobles couldn't afford a legendary mage, and the same applied to a legendary lich.
However, only two of the Nine Kingdoms were willing to accept liches, and both were ages away from Anbaixiu. As a novice lich and veteran legendary mage, Anbaixiu understood deeply that the gap between different legends was sometimes wider than the gap between mortals and legends.
His accomplishments in necromancy were frankly mediocre, so an application wouldn't necessarily succeed. If it failed, opening a continental portal would be a crippling financial loss. Damned Silvermoon High Court! The cost of continental portals was another thing hyped up by those bean-sprout elves!
Furthermore, traveling far from home wasn't just a matter of risking travel expenses—with one slip-up, he might lose his very self. No matter how mediocre a legend was, he was still a legend; no one would refuse the chance to enslave a legendary lich.
Anbaixiu had also considered whether he could sell his "mimic souls" for money, but fellow practitioners had pointed out that a human slave only cost several dozen copper coins and came with a genuine soul, so why pay triple the price for his counterfeit?
Their words left Anbaixiu speechless, making him feel more and more that his legendary boon of "Mimic Soul" was a useless skill.
"I need to consult on how liches make money."
Anbaixiu flicked his finger, and a heavy grimoire flew out from beside his desk. A delicate skeleton relief was inlaid on the cover. This was the Necrotic Codex delivered by the Elegy Poetry Society after Anbaixiu's transformation into a lich. It recorded much fundamental knowledge for liches, including the most vital section: A Hundred Taboos After Becoming a Lich.
Reminders such as "do not habitually open the curtains right after waking," "do not habitually use Daylight as candlelight," and "do not keep dogs" had indeed been of immense help to Anbaixiu.
Yet Anbaixiu wasn't looking up common sense right now. He flipped the grimoire to the final page, condensed magical energy at his fingertips, and wrote: "Friends, may your soulfires burn forever. I'm a bit short on cash lately. Might I ask how a lich is supposed to earn money?"
The magical script condensed without dispersing, rippling like light waves across the page.
A moment later, a new line of text surfaced.
[Rose of Decay: Aren't your manuscript fees quite generous? After transforming into a lich, you should be saving more money—necromantic experiments are the cheapest of all.]
The one signing as Rose of Decay was a senior lich and a core member of the Elegy Poetry Society.
The Elegy Poetry Society was highly mysterious. Every newly transformed lich would receive a Necrotic Codex delivered by the enigmatic president. To this day, Anbaixiu didn't know who the president was, nor had he detected who placed the Necrotic Codex beside his remains back then.
The transformation ritual was when a lich was at their most vulnerable. Had the president harbored even a shred of malice toward him, Anbaixiu would have long since become their puppet.
The Elegy Poetry Society had few members. They typically kept in touch through this Necrotic Codex, and everyone addressed one another by code names.
Anbaixiu's alias in the Elegy Poetry Society was Ultraman Tiga.
[Ultraman Tiga: Don't bring it up. The new chief editor of Legendary Spells has already rejected me three times. That racist bastard has pushed me to the brink of bankruptcy. Lady Rose, how do you usually make money? Give me some leads.]
[Rose of Decay: Ah, I heard their new chief editor is a cleric of the Light, so now they're openly discriminating against the undead. What an outrageous human. In the Underdark, I usually extract benefits from the drow. They are the finest gold mines—whether it's the spiders they raise, their collections, or their corpses.]
Anbaixiu replied helplessly: "Lady Rose, while different races live together in my kingdom and skirmishes happen occasionally, the Alchemists' Council would never permit me to capture other races on a large scale for experimental materials."
Before Rose of Decay could offer another suggestion, another member of the Elegy Poetry Society surfaced on the page.
[Crown of the Headless Horseman: Brother Tiga, I'm in urgent need of a bottle of Living Mercury Solution. If you can fetch me one from the City of Alchemy, I can pay a high price for it.]