A lich's most vital possession is their phylactery, so every lich tries every possible means to hide theirs.
Some choose to bury it deep underground; some build an impregnable vault fortified with defensive magic; others, consumed by paranoia, carry it on their person wherever they go.
Anbaixiu chose all of the above.
He had constructed a secret chamber inside the castle specifically to house a phylactery, dug a deep pit beneath that chamber to conceal another, carried one on him at all times, and made it a habit to stash several phylacteries wherever he went.
He gave one to Gareth, one to Rose of Decay, one to a student, one to a servant... his governing philosophy was simple: quantity over quality, better to have far too many than one too few.
As for which one was real—heh, that remained a secret for now. Regardless, not a single one was entirely useless.
Once he finished this busywork, Anbaixiu headed down to the dungeons and hauled out all the paladins. He bound each one tightly in chains, sealed them with magic, packed them securely into coffins, and had them transported outside the castle.
An airship from the City of Alchemy was already waiting, and his old friend Gustavo Fring had been standing by outside for quite some time.
Shifting into human form, Anbaixiu flashed Gustavo Fring a radiant smile. "My old friend, it seems you're quite impatient."
"The people from the Ryan Empire have already arrived. If you hadn't delivered the prisoners soon, I'd have had to host them for a meal. The faster we wrap this up, the sooner I can get back to my experiments."
Gustavo Fring's expression remained as grim as ever. Between his dark skin and terrifying gaze, he looked even more frightening than Anbaixiu, the actual lich.
"Oh? Arrived so quickly? Which dignitary is it?" Anbaixiu asked.
"Heh. An old friend of yours as well—the Ryan Empire's Supreme Arbiter, James Watson."
The smile on Anbaixiu's face vanished instantly. If any emotions still lingered in his heart after turning into a lich, his hatred for James Watson was certainly one of them—and an immense portion at that.
"What a pity that I couldn't let the old man carry his son's coffin in a state funeral," Anbaixiu said through gritted teeth.
Only then did Gustavo Fring crack a smile. Seeing Anbaixiu angry made his day.
This damned lich had not only spurned the council president's invitation back in the day, but now his presence was causing Gustavo to be ridiculed by his peers. Gustavo didn't believe his own alchemical skill was inferior to Anbaixiu's; they merely pursued different fields of study, and his own research simply wasn't of much help to the current grand plan.
To be mocked for a lack of intellect just because his specialization wasn't suited to the task made Gustavo itch to rip Anbaixiu's phylactery apart right this second.
Still, there was no rush. Soon enough, his wish would be granted.
With that in mind, Gustavo Fring could hardly wait. He turned to Anbaixiu and said, "Board the airship. I hope you're prepared. Operating the Wishing Machine is rather complex; we'll still need several hours of practice."
"So troublesome? I assumed one simply made a wish in front of the machine and called it a day," Anbaixiu remarked.
"How could it be that simple? This is a magnificent machine we poured countless blood, sweat, and tears into creating. To allow anyone to make a wish naturally requires a more intricate procedure. You'd better pay close attention and remember every precaution later. If anything goes wrong, don't blame me for not warning you."
Anbaixiu studied Gustavo Fring's face, unable to detect the slightest flaw in his performance.
The old bastard acted as though it were all completely genuine.
If Anbaixiu hadn't had friends gathering intel for him and hadn't dismantled their false prophecy, he might very well have blundered right into their trap.
Yet now, Anbaixiu and Gustavo Fring—two seasoned actors whose combined ages exceeded a thousand years—were dueling in masterclass performances. A shame there were no film critics around to cheer them on.
Anbaixiu brought the captives aboard the airship. The moment he entered the cabin, he realized he was trapped in an enclosed space that suppressed teleportation magic.
Noticing the shift in Anbaixiu's expression, Gustavo Fring explained, "This is the latest model, designed to prevent enemy boarding actions via teleportation magic."
Heh, as if I'd buy that. Who boards ships during aerial combat? Airship battles are fought by blasting each other directly with magitech cannons.
Perhaps he truly was anxious, for Gustavo Fring didn't care whether Anbaixiu believed him or not. He pushed the airship to the breakneck speed of a sprinting monk, tearing through the skies like lightning to return to the City of Alchemy in record time.
Shortly after the airship departed, a troop of fully armed paladins appeared outside Anbaixiu's castle.
Once again, it was the Knights of Condemnation, only their numbers had multiplied severalfold.
Furthermore, leading them was none other than Supreme Arbiter James Watson.
When the City of Alchemy had spoken with Anbaixiu, they claimed returning the paladins was doing the Empire a favor. But when speaking with the Ryan Empire, that favor included Anbaixiu's castle.
The City of Alchemy was responsible for luring Anbaixiu away from his castle. With the legendary lich absent from his wizard tower, the Ryan Empire would personally step in to utterly destroy this den of evil. That, too, was part of the deal.
James Watson stood before Anbaixiu's castle, his expression frosty as he issued the command: "Destroy the evil before us. Purge all filthy undead."
The paladins shouted in unison, raising their longswords as Holy Light converged into a brilliant expanse.
As the paladins charged toward the castle mounted on celestial warhorses, the castle's automated defense systems triggered, raining down a deluge of necrotic energy from above.
Yet the necromantic spells fatal to ordinary folk were reduced to a gentle breeze beneath the paladins' layers of defensive wards, having virtually no effect.
This was precisely what made the Ryan Empire so terrifying: their divine spells were ideally suited for large-scale legion warfare. The greater their numbers, the more formidable their combat strength became.
The skeleton golems stationed around the castle's perimeter posed no threat either; before they could even draw near, the power of Holy Light cleansed them.
They advanced like a hot knife through butter. The castle gates were battered down, traps at the entrance were detected in advance and completely paved over with a stone-shaping spell... Deprived of a directing mind, the defenses operated only mechanically, their efficacy drastically diminished.
The paladins swept forward unopposed, completing their conquest in under ten minutes.
The paladin reporting back bowed respectfully to James Watson. "Lord Supreme Arbiter, we have completely taken the castle. However... we suffered some casualties."
As he spoke the final sentence, the paladin looked somewhat embarrassed.
James Watson frowned, his voice sharp with interrogation. "Casualties? A mere magical castle without its lich, guarded by nothing more than skeletons, and you're telling me the Knights of Condemnation suffered casualties?"
He sounded as though he had heard something utterly preposterous.
For a legion of paladins adept at mass warfare and armed with an arsenal of healing miracles, taking losses in a fight like this was an absolute disgrace.
"My Lord, we encountered several bizarre types of skeletons. They had grotesque designs, wielded magitech weapons, and their ammunition was extraordinarily peculiar..."
The paladin gave a detailed account of what had happened, causing James Watson's frown to deepen.
The initial advance had been exceptionally smooth; ordinary undead and magical traps could barely hinder the paladins. The true danger lay in the aberrant skeletons that ambushed them without warning. There were skeleton snipers with only their upper torsos, mounting magitech rifles while hanging upside down from ceilings, as well as skeleton tanks wedged into wall recesses, exposing nothing but their gun barrels.
Every attack by these monstrosities caught them completely off guard. Even more horrifying, the moment their projectiles broke the skin, the victim's bones would begin to grow uncontrollably. Several paladins who sustained mere grazes ended up screaming in agony as proliferating bone tore them apart from within.
Worse yet, no healing magic had any effect against these ghastly symptoms. It was as if this were not a magical curse at all, but some dreadful force they had never encountered.
Fortunately, such skeletons were few in number. Once their positions were identified, a direct Divine Smite was enough to obliterate them. The hulking skeleton tanks took only a few extra Divine Smites, and being too massive and clumsy to dodge, they served as little more than sitting ducks.
James Watson had not anticipated that Anbaixiu possessed such vile methods. Could there truly exist necromantic magic in this world that Holy Light could not cleanse?
The paladin continued his report: "My Lord, there are many human slaves outside the castle, presumably our compatriots enslaved by the lich."
James Watson waved his hand dismissively. "As per standard protocol, give them sufficient food and grant them their freedom. We cannot bring them along with us this time."
"However, My Lord, inside the castle, there is also a cleric of light. He claims to be your son's attendant."
James Watson's brow furrowed. Why was there another cleric of light? Hadn't all the hostages already been handed over to the City of Alchemy?
"What is his condition? Is he badly injured?" James Watson asked.
The paladin hesitated for a moment before answering, "He appears completely unharmed, and doesn't seem to have lacked food or water. He looks... remarkably healthy."
James Watson fumed, "How could he possibly be unharmed?!"
The article had clearly stated that Alan endured inhumane torture every single day—an account that had brought old James Watson to bitter tears. How could this cleric of light be completely unscathed?
Infuriated, James Watson bellowed, "He must have betrayed his faith! Interrogate him mercilessly! And dig up that lich's phylactery without delay!"
Chapter 73