This Lich Requests More Remuneration

Chapter 59: Chapter 59: The World’s Manual Chapter 59: Chapter 59: The World’s Manual Creating two high-order undead was not a good choice at the moment.

The materials were not only expensive, but time was also an issue.

Many people have misunderstandings about the undead, thinking that a skeleton resurrection spell can simply pull up a skeleton from a corpse and that this counts as a real undead.

In reality, skeletons created by such spells can last for at most one day; they cannot be considered true undead but are more like temporary puppets.

They are completely controlled by the spellcaster, and even their souls are incomplete.

To create a true undead that can last for a long time and has a will of its own, especially high-order undead that retained most of their normal cognitive abilities, that would take a lot of effort.

Firstly, it was crucial to check whether the souls of the two individuals were still present.

Amberser wasn’t worried about Hasting, as this double-crossing thief probably didn’t have much faith. After death, his soul would linger in the body for a long time, suffering greatly.

The problem was with the Half-Elf Ranger. Most elves worshipped the Elf God, and those deities treasured elven souls greatly. Generally, they were taken straight to the Elven Divine Nation upon death, with little delay.

Trying to intercept an elf’s soul might easily enrage that group of vengeful Elf Gods, a situation more trouble than it was worth.

However, after Amberser’s inspection, he found Hales’s soul was indeed present.

“Don’t believe in that group of stingy Elf Gods? Very good, very good, that saves a lot of trouble.”

A low curse echoed in the sinister laboratory, like ancient shadows whispering in the depths of the abyss. The temperature of the laboratory suddenly dropped, and frost covered everything in sight at a visible rate.

A faint blue glow drifted out of the Half-Elf’s corpse, seemingly struggling to leave, but was frozen in place by the omnipresent chill, and could only hover stiffly in mid-air.

Amberser drew countless magic lines with his hands, weaving them into dreamlike patterns, imprinting them into the soul.

After completing the complex ritual, Amberser said to the Soul Fire, “Now, you should be able to speak. Hales, can you hear my voice?”

The Soul Fire trembled and emitted a faint sound.

“Pain…”

“It’s just phantom pain from your soul having lost a body to adapt to. You think your limbs are being cut off, but you don’t feel pain anymore. Keep thinking, focus on your most vivid memories; it will help you gather your will.”

The Soul Fire shuddered, and its voice came through again, albeit haltingly, but much clearer than before.

“Mom… Mom… Don’t die… Mommy…”

Amberser was not surprised; each adventurer’s experiences could fill the stories of several sentimental writers, but only the tales of heroic figures were worthy of being turned into ballads and spread far and wide.

Hales’s soul called for his mother for a long time before he regained some semblance of rationality.

“I… What’s happening to me… so dark… so cold… where is this place?”

Amberser replied, “Darkness and cold, like pain, are all illusions. The soul observes the world differently. You need time to slowly adapt. I have temporarily sealed your ability to perceive the outside world; otherwise, your soul might not withstand the pressure and collapse.”

Without eyes, nose, or ears, a soul’s way of perceiving the world is more akin to reading an exhaustive, terrifyingly detailed manual.

Previously in a tavern, Amberser drank his wine without tasting the sour, spoiled flavor, but his soul had long since marked the cup with keywords such as “diluted,” “sour,” “nauseating,” and a host of others.

Imagine taking out a Gold Coin, and suddenly tens of thousands of words explaining just its contours and shape flood in—such a volume of information could burst a feeble soul.

A poetic Undead once wrote, “The world opened up to me, yet I feebly closed my eyes.”

An Undead’s life is spent whittling down their perception of the world, lightening the soul’s burden. For instance, blocking out unnecessary information to avoid missing more critical parts.

This is only an initial adaptation problem to consider; next comes the practice of driving one’s undead body with the power of the soul.

The soul commands the body, and the body, in turn, affects the soul.

Why do ghosts’ forms resemble their living appearance? It’s because the soul continuously adapts to changes in the body.

This is also why Undead primarily assume human form; it’s much easier to adapt to a body that one is originally accustomed to.

Only Amberser, who has mastered Pseudo-Soul technology, can effortlessly alter the appearance of the Undead, for he can directly create a Pseudo-Soul in the desired form, significantly reducing the time for the soul to merge with the body.

Amberser hadn’t yet created a suitable Undead body for Hales, so he temporarily sealed his soul, allowing only verbal communication and no other way to sense the outside world; otherwise, Hales might scream in madness for months before slowly adapting.

Once Hales had calmed down slightly, Amberser continued to ask, “Was it the Paladins who instructed you to infiltrate the castle?”

The soul of Hales trembled again, saying with a tone of terror, “It was you, Master Ultraman! I remember now, the Headless Knight was your puppet, you’re the one who killed us!”

If Headless Bro were created by Amberser, he’d have crafted an army and gone to flatten the Laine Empire, hanging that old fellow James Watson on the pyre.

“Answer my question, Hales, did you come to my castle under the orders of those Paladins?”

Hales replied, “Yes, my brother and I just wanted to swindle a little money from them, but they forced us to sneak into the castle. We only intended to have a quick look around and leave.”

Hales’ voice was filled with regret—it was just a trial by adventure, and indeed, it became a journey to the afterlife.

Amberser asked in detail about the Paladins but didn’t gain much; the siblings didn’t have much contact with the Paladin named Masstar, only knowing him as a Dark Knight committed to a vow of revenge.

“Dark Knights are a bit of a nuisance, these types of Paladins have no limits,” Amberser muttered to himself, while Hales took the chance to plead, “Master Ultraman, my brother and I were wrong, but please show mercy and spare my brother. I am willing to serve you, whether you turn me into a Skeleton or a Zombie, but please spare Hasting.”

Amberser asked out of curiosity, “You seem to have a strong bond with your brother, but how are you, a Half-Elf, and he, a pure human, brothers? Are you half-brothers on your father’s side or your mother’s side?”

“Our father was a slave trader. Hasting’s mother was a human slave, and my mother was an Elf slave… anyway, in the end, we killed him and escaped,” Hales responded.

Another tragic story, but Amberser had no interest in probing further.

He considered the brothers’ utility—all this caution from the Black Knight called Masstar was annoying. Why couldn’t he be a fool like Allen, rushing forward shouting about Holy Light?

He needed to shake up this Paladin, preventing him from continuing his calm scheming.

After some thought, Amberser had a rough idea, and then said to Hales’ soul, “Speaking of which, you handle pets quite well. How about trying to be reincarnated as a Lich?”