Anbaixiu counted the gold coins, even going so far as to draft the terms on a sheet of parchment and nail it to the tavern bulletin board as a public notarization.
Only after this elaborate display did Anbaixiu turn to the paladin. "Come on, then. Cast your Detect Evil."
The paladin warned, "If you use magic to resist and prevent detection, that will also be considered a breach of contract."
Anbaixiu replied, "If you're worried, you're welcome to seal my magic first."
The paladin shook his head. That was unnecessary; it was impossible for Detect Evil to be interfered with without his knowledge. Anbaixiu had remained supremely confident all this time, making the paladin half-believe he truly had a clear conscience.
The glow of the spell flared to life, settling over Anbaixiu.
A spell like Detect Evil conveyed its results through light. A purely good person would naturally be cloaked in flawless white radiance, while those harboring evil in their hearts would manifest black spots or dull red patches. The greater the degree of wickedness, the more intense these foul lights became.
Generally speaking, ordinary mortal malice produced a few dark spots the size of fingertips—roughly equivalent to coveting wealth or beauty without acting on it.
Cultists devoted to dark deities would find more than half of their aura turned murky, reaching a state of severe corruption that made it obvious they had committed countless wicked deeds.
Yet the moment Detect Evil settled upon Anbaixiu, an impenetrable darkness roiled outward, swallowing him whole.
Harvey: ???
The paladin: !!!
The tavern patrons: Huh?
...
Everyone thought they had fallen under an illusion. What tier of darkness was this? Even cultists were nowhere near this outrageous—could this man be an evil deity in the flesh?
The paladin was the first to snap back to reality, roaring at the top of his lungs, "You're an undead!"
If anything other than an evil god could produce such a result under Detect Evil, it could only be an undead creature.
This was not a question of whether an individual had committed evil; the undead race itself stood in fundamental opposition to all living things. To biological life, the undead were innately evil—a matter of irreconcilable class contradiction.
Thus, every undead was pitch-black under the spell, without exception.
Anbaixiu waved his hand nonchalantly, dispersing the murky blackness. "Then I'll gladly accept the five thousand gold coins."
The paladin's fury nearly condensed into tangible form. His longsword cleared its scabbard, holy light blazing along the blade.
This was the paladin's most famous technique—Divine Smite.
With a single strike, ordinary undead would be vaporized entirely, leaving not even ashes behind.
The paladin spat with venom, "Filthy undead, what right do you have to take that money?"
Anbaixiu extended a finger, pointing toward the contract on the bulletin board.
"The contract states that by taking the risk of submitting to Detect Evil, this money serves as my moral compensation. It never said I had to be pure and spotless to claim it, did it? Look at me—my identity as an undead has been exposed, and now everyone knows. For something so damaging to my self-esteem, shouldn't I receive a little compensation?"
Before Anbaixiu's voice had even faded, the tavern patrons caught on and began chiming in with loud curses.
"Right, right, right! I hate undead the most—filthy, shameless filth!"
"Exactly! The things I despise most are the undead! What good is a pile of dry bones?"
"Smash the undead! Light endures forever!"
"Ugh, drinking in the same tavern as an undead creature—I'm gonna puke!"
...
The performance was theatrical to the extreme, making the paladin's hand tremble slightly upon his hilt. It seemed he was on the verge of erupting.
Anbaixiu shrugged and spread his hands.
"See? Hasn't my reputation suffered? This money is fair compensation."
"Despicable! Shameless!"
The paladin could only repeat those two words over and over. Being too well-bred could sometimes be a flaw; he possessed barely any insults in his vocabulary, which meant his words had zero impact on Anbaixiu. Seeing that the paladin was about to unleash his Divine Smite, Harvey hurried forward to intervene.
"My Lord, in the City of Alchemy, being undead is no crime. But if you purify an undead here, you'll be breaking the city's laws."
Harvey shot him a subtle glance, prompting the paladin to notice the quiet movements of the other patrons in the tavern.
At the nearest table, two lizardfolk warriors had already gripped the hafts of their battleaxes. Farther off, a drow elf was winding a hand crossbow. Even the dwarven singer who had been wailing like a banshee set down his lute and drew a shortsword. Most absurd of all, the orc bartender brought out a crate of empty glass bottles, placing them where they could be grabbed most conveniently.
A glance around revealed a room full of enemies.
When you discriminated equally against all non-human races, you had to endure the hostility of every single race in return. Faced with paladins of the Ryan Empire, they would rather stand alongside an undead.
Paladins were hardly popular in the City of Alchemy to begin with, and now they had fallen straight into the trap Anbaixiu had laid. If they made a move here, the entire tavern would likely join in to take advantage of the chaos.
Strong as the paladin was, he could never fend off being swarmed by dozens of adventurers in such cramped quarters. He could only watch in frustration as Anbaixiu stowed the gold coins away, before reluctantly sliding his longsword back into its scabbard.
"Indeed, venturing out on this journey of experience was the right choice. Back in Ryan, I might never have had the chance to learn this lesson. Thank you, Master Ultraman Tiga. The next time we meet, I shall honorably purify your soul with my blade."
Leaving behind those words, the paladin led his companions out of the tavern.
Knowing when to yield and cooling off so quickly—this paladin was quite something after all.
The tavern patrons cheered as though celebrating a triumphant battle, sending off the trio with whistles and jeers. Just as he reached the tavern doors, Harvey turned back and cast a searching glance at Anbaixiu.
He harbored a faint premonition that this undead disguised as a human might very well be the master of that ancient castle. There was no concrete evidence—merely the pure intuition of a Divination wizard.
If his guess proved correct, today was not entirely a loss. At the very least, when he asked the paladin to help deal with the lich, the chances of his agreeing would be far higher. Perhaps they would meet again very soon.
Anbaixiu also watched Mage Harvey with curiosity. Though the young man claimed to be a mere magic apprentice, Anbaixiu's intuition told him he was far from simple—perhaps even more worthy of caution than the paladin. His hunch lacked evidence as well, stemming from the lingering instincts of a former Divination wizard.
Before transforming into a lich, he had advanced to legend as a wizard of the School of Divination. It was only a pity that the legendary boon he obtained had nothing to do with divination whatsoever.
With the three travelers gone, the tavern remained as lively as ever. A drow elf called out playfully, "A few words, and you squeezed five thousand gold coins out of a paladin! You're bound to end up on the Ryan Empire's wanted posters, undead."
A lizardman nearby chimed in, "Yeah, since you won't be living long anyway, why not bring out some coin and buy everyone a round?"
"Five thousand gold coins is enough to treat the whole house for a month!"
"Too right! Bring me ten mugs first!"
The clamor rose from all sides, but Anbaixiu did not hesitate for a second. "Don't even dream of it! You—you just said drinking with an undead made you want to puke! And you—you cursed me as filthy and shameless! And you over there, saying even dogs wouldn't touch a bag of bones! Me, buy you drinks? You'd be better off praying to the God of Wealth to rain gold coins!"
"Wait, no! I never said that! Don't you slander me!"
The drow elf who had earlier asked what good a pile of bones was protested loudly. Drow were supposed to be the ones conning others—since when did they get framed and swindled in reverse? This was absurd.
The drinkers grew furious. Hadn't they just played along with his performance? How could he turn around and act like he didn't know them?
"Stingy, damned undead, conning even us!"
"Was this part of your calculations too? Utterly shameless!"
"Keep your gold to buy a coffin!"
"The undead truly have no hearts!"
"We should have let him taste Divine Smite earlier!"
"You piece of—!"
"Bastard!"
...
The stream of curses grew increasingly foul, but Anbaixiu paid it no mind. What a joke—did this bunch of extras really believe a legendary mage couldn't handle a single paladin?
A flock of fledgling brats trying to match wits with an old monster of several hundred years were vastly overestimating themselves.
Chapter 21