Under the dim candlelight, the young mage was scribbling furiously.
"Poor Alan has suffered yet another round of brutal torture, yet even at death's door, he still stubbornly prays to the Lord of the Dawn. I cannot help but be moved by the steadfastness of his faith, yet I am also forced to wonder what, in the end, this faith has brought him.
"As fellow captives of the lich, he alone endures agonizing torture, while I, a mere apprentice mage, am even permitted to write home to my family..."
William Harvey covered several full sheets of parchment with his sweeping prose, then handed the essay—titled *My Paladin Friend Alan: A Modest Inquiry into the Impact of Faith on the Youth*—over to Anbaixiu.
Anbaixiu scrutinized the contents, nodding with considerable satisfaction. "Not bad," he told Harvey. "Your prose is quite decent. Have you ever considered switching careers to write novels?"
The young mage offered an awkward yet polite smile, then asked cautiously, "Master Ultraman, can a story like this really be published in *Legendary Spells*?"
Anbaixiu had instructed Harvey to fabricate a story from a first-person perspective, narrating how the pious paladin Alan, driven by his unyielding faith, had actively provoked a powerful lich, only to suffer even more brutal torment after being captured because of that very same faith.
At an expansive twenty to thirty thousand words, the piece slyly insinuated throughout that Alan's faith was by no means genuine, but merely the product of childhood family indoctrination—a brainwashing that molded him into a fanatic of the Lord of the Dawn. It pointed out how the fanatical old father's twisted, hyper-strict training regimen had warped a promising youth into a religious madman.
In short, the central thesis boiled down to this: James Watson, that old bastard of an editor-in-chief of *Legendary Spells*, had forcibly brainwashed his son, violating the continent's universal value of freedom of belief, twisting the teachings of the Lord of the Dawn, and turning a man into a religious lunatic.
Harvey felt that once this piece was submitted, his name would be permanently blacklisted by *Legendary Spells*, followed promptly by a legion of paladins marching straight to the castle gates—not to crusade against Master Ultraman, but to march William Harvey himself onto a pyre.
Anbaixiu cheerfully consoled him, "It certainly won't make it into the main issue of *Legendary Spells*, but the supplement should have no problem at all. Congratulations, young mage—you are now a contributor to *Legendary Spells*."
The main publication of *Legendary Spells* was devoted to cutting-edge magical research, whereas the supplement leaned toward entertainment. Pieces of "nonfiction literature" such as *My Years Drifting in the North of Silvermoon High Court*, *My Eighty-Year-Old Loli Elf Wife*, and *The Overbearing Prince of the Ryan Empire* were exceedingly popular, and the supplement often outsold the main journal itself.
Anbaixiu couldn't very well send a direct ransom note to the Ryan Empire saying, "Your paladin and cleric of light are in my hands. Cough up millions of gold coins in ransom right now, or I'll kill the hostages."
If he did that, the Ryan Empire would undoubtedly post an official bounty on Anbaixiu and dispatch an army to wipe him out, and the City of Alchemy wouldn't even have a reason to stop them.
Therefore, Anbaixiu needed a much more subtle method to notify James Watson: *Your son is in my hands!*
Having Harvey write such an essay was a roundabout way of notifying him through *Legendary Spells*. If James Watson didn't want to lose his son, he would pay the ransom out of his own pocket rather than burn all bridges.
Throughout the piece, Harvey adopted a bystander's tone to repeatedly emphasize the ransom amount and the condition that the prisoner would be freed upon payment. Surely the editor-in-chief was no fool and would understand Anbaixiu's message.
Even though Harvey knew full well that misfortune awaited him once the article saw daylight, as a captive, he had virtually no room to refuse. He could only pray that Anbaixiu would keep his word and not make things difficult for him.
Besides, judging by the past few days together, this lich was far more benevolent than imagined. Even the paladin and the cleric of light hadn't suffered any abuse; at most, they were locked up and forbidden from wandering around. The gruesome tortures described in the essay were complete fabrication.
Harvey had even asked Anbaixiu why he bothered making it up instead of just applying actual torture.
Anbaixiu's response at the time had astonished him.
"Why bother with torture? I'm so busy running experiments every day that I don't even have time to sleep. Where would I find time to torture them? Besides, what good does torturing the two of them do? I can't kill them to harvest their souls, and if I injure them, I have to spend money treating their wounds. Am I insane to waste both time and money on them?"
The answer sounded perfectly reasonable, yet Harvey couldn't shake the feeling that something was off. Could an undead lich truly refrain from torturing a paladin purely out of cost considerations?
Who would ever believe that if told?
Still, Harvey did not press the matter. His life as an apprentice mage in the ancient castle was quite comfortable. He had his own private room and could occasionally read books.
If not for the aberrant skeletons constantly keeping watch over him, Harvey felt it wasn't all that different from being at home. If he ran his mouth and provoked this supposedly benevolent old lich, the consequences would vastly outweigh any benefit.
Anbaixiu put away Harvey's manuscript, mailed it off to *Legendary Spells* as swiftly as possible, and then dived back into his laboratory.
Anbaixiu hadn't been boasting; he truly was swamped. The combat recordings of the living mercury still required editing, the living mercury experiments needed concluding touches, and, most importantly, he had to organize all the detailed data and documentation to send over to Rose of Decay, that wealthy undead patron, to see if he could get her to settle the final balance.
In Anbaixiu's view, the living mercury had already met all of Rose of Decay's specifications.
Its magic resistance was sufficient to shrug off most magical traps, and since living mercury was not undead, it would bypass the Ryan Empire's undead detection systems entirely. Paired with its shapeshifting body, it could breach defenses through city wall drainage culverts or scale the walls directly.
Given sufficient numbers, living mercury might actually be able to breach the Ryan Empire's ramparts.
Provided, of course, that the Ryan Empire's legends didn't intervene. Otherwise, a few broad-area offensive spells would easily overwhelm the living mercury. They merely possessed high magic resistance, not total immunity.
After toiling for half the day, Anbaixiu finally packaged the data and dispatched it to Rose of Decay via the Necrotic Codex.
The wealthy lady seemed to be online at all hours, replying almost instantly.
[Rose of Decay: So fast? I assumed it would take you another month or two just to produce a preliminary blueprint.]
High-tier undead were not easy to design, let alone an undead combat unit specifically tailored against the Ryan Empire—demanding such a thing was as wishful as ordering beef noodles without noodles and asking for a bowl filled entirely with beef.
[Diga Ultraman: Standing on the shoulders of giants naturally makes results easier to achieve. I drew inspiration from Master Morgan's soul puppet design and modeled this new type of construct after it. It should meet your requirements.]
[Rose of Decay: Master Morgan? What a coincidence. I'm his student.]
Anbaixiu had not expected such a coincidence. No wonder Rose of Decay wanted to target the Ryan Empire—Master Morgan had perished after being hunted down by paladins of the Ryan Empire. She was seeking vengeance for her mentor. Such devotion was truly admirable.
[Diga Ultraman: For Master Morgan's sake, I can give you a discount.]
[Rose of Decay: Oh? How much of a discount?]
[Diga Ultraman: Half a percent off.]
The wealthy patron fell silent for a long while before replying.
[Rose of Decay: You'd better not give any discount at all. If my teacher knew his name was worth so little, he'd probably rise from the dead just to smash your phylactery.]
[Diga Ultraman: Very well. Respect is held in one's heart; it should not be measured in gold coins.]
[Rose of Decay: ...]
The wealthy lady sent no further messages, likely diving into a thorough examination of the materials Anbaixiu had transmitted.
Just as Anbaixiu was eagerly awaiting his client's feedback, another new message popped up on the Necrotic Codex.
Yet the person messaging him this time was someone entirely unexpected.
[Crown of the Headless Horseman: Brother Diga, can I come crash at your place for a few days?]
Chapter 39