Lich for Hire

Chapter 199: The Lady of Mists' Request

The gray mist clashed sharply with the valley's birdsong and blooming flowers.

It gave Ambrose a sense of illusion and corruption, an oddly familiar sensation, almost as if he were looking at himself.

Yet the shape condensing from the mist was someone he had not seen in a very long time.

Chestnut hair tied into a long ponytail. Sun-bronzed skin. Long, athletic legs. Bright, lively eyes… The hazy memory in Ambrose's mind suddenly cleared up the moment he saw that face.

"Alina?" Ambrose said uncertainly.

Alina gave him a charming smile. "It's been a long time. What should I call you now? Which name are you using these days?"

Ambrose gave a wry smile. "Didn't you always call me a shameless bastard? Alina, what are you doing here? And what exactly have you… turned into?"

Alina didn't seem bothered by the question at all. She replied casually, "Does that matter to you? I remember you saying you'd never refuse any woman, no matter what race she was."

Ambrose fell silent for a moment, then laughed. "That's true. I really did say that."

He had said those exact words once before. The very next day, their adventuring party had encountered a hag.But Alina wouldn't joke about such a matter.

During that battle, one of her friends had died from the hag's curse. Her corpse had melted into a pool of blood.

The lighthearted tone of this conversation felt wrong. Ambrose might have made such a jest, but not Alina.

Because Alina's friend, the one who had died… had been killed by Ambrose.

Days beforehand, Ambrose had foreseen that the traitor would lead them straight into the hag's trap. But he never warned the others. Instead, at the critical moment, he simply allowed the woman to suffer the consequences of her own betrayal.

The rest of the party mourned the loss of a companion, never realizing how vicious that woman truly was. Alina had remained completely in the dark and had cried for days over that so-called "friend."

Ambrose had, naturally, considered revealing the truth. The problem was that he had no proof beyond what he had seen in a divination. Even if he had warned everyone in advance, the outcome of falling into the hag's trap would not have changed. Worse, the traitor would have become far more cautious.

A diviner had to know which prophecies could be spoken aloud… and which had to remain secret. Ambrose had chosen the latter. He kept silent and dealt with the problem himself.

The result had been perfect: the traitor died, the hag died, and everyone else survived unharmed. They even made a handsome profit from the ordeal.

All things considered, the real Alina would never joke about that incident so lightly.

Ambrose began to suspect that this Alina was a fake.

The woman he knew had died centuries ago. Given her devotion to the Oakfather, her soul should have ascended long ago to the divine realm. Even if something unusual had happened afterward, the soul of a druid could not possibly linger intact for hundreds of years.

The gray figure before him did not feel like a ghost or undead spirit. It felt more like some kind of fiend, an evil entity. Most likely, it had somehow read Ambrose's memories and emotions, then constructed the image of an "old acquaintance" from them.

Testing that theory would be simple.

"You suddenly appear in my dream just to reminisce with an old friend?" Ambrose began.

Alina walked toward him and wrapped her arms around his neck, as if she were about to give him a passionate reunion kiss. But suddenly, her eyes widened in shock. Her body instantly collapsed back into gray mist.

The mist retreated, gathering again in the distance. This time it did not take Alina's shape. Instead, it simply stared at Ambrose with a pair of glowing eyes.

Ambrose's palm shone with brilliant radiance: pure holy light, identical to the kind Arthur Lyon himself could unleash.

This was a dream. If Ambrose could imagine dragons into existence, then manifesting holy light surely posed no difficulty at all.

No matter how it had entered his dream, once it merged with the dream's illusions, it had to obey the dream's rules.

And holy light was devastatingly effective against dark powers like this. The blast had shattered its form instantly.

The gray mist spoke in a low voice. "You're quite ruthless. What if I really had been your old lover?"

Ambrose replied calmly, "Alina would never be harmed by holy light. She was naive and kind—reckless sometimes, but never evil. And she would never talk about a friend's death in such a joking tone. You're a terrible imitation. Honestly, you'd have been more convincing if you'd disguised yourself as my teacher. That man could say absolutely anything and no one would find it strange."

The mist's glowing eyes narrowed into thin slits, as if it were furious, only to start laughing in satisfaction moments later.

"Haha! Excellent. I chose well. Not only are you a brilliant liar, you're also wise enough to see through lies. Azoth was right. If I waited patiently, I would be able to make a return someday. You are exactly the person I've been searching for."

Ambrose waved a dismissive hand. "Don't talk like I've already agreed to work for you. I don't even know who you are or what you want."

Though outwardly dismissive, Ambrose felt deeply uneasy about the situation.

The cloud of mist had just mentioned Azoth, the Lord of Spells, subordinate deity to Mystrix, Goddess of Magic. Mystrix typically only answered the prayers of exceptionally gifted spellcasters. Ambrose had never heard even a whisper from her, not even after reaching the legendary rank.

Azoth, however, was far more generous. Many magicians and wizards, after realizing they lacked the talent to earn Mystrix's favor, instead turned to worship the Lord of Spells.

Though Azoth's divine domain was relatively modest, his backers were formidable: Mystrix herself, and her ally Oguma, the Lord of Knowledge. Those two backers effectively governed all knowledge and magic in the world. Because of that, Azoth held incredible power. Ordinary gods did not casually speak his name, let alone mortals.

So what exactly was this cloud of mist? Not only had it dared to mention Azoth directly, it even sounded familiar with him. Was it a deity, too?

Ambrose searched his memory for deities associated with mist or fog, but none seemed to match what lay before him.

Or could this entity simply be bluffing by invoking Azoth's name?

The mist suddenly emitted a shrill, agitated screech. "Stop doubting me! The fact that I can appear as someone familiar to you proves I can sense your thoughts. You want to know who I am? I can tell you, but you must promise to become my chosen champion and avenge me!"

"Avenge you?"

That struck a chord in Ambrose's mind. After a moment of hesitation, he asked, "Are you… the Lady of Mists?"

The gray fog trembled slightly. Its voice softened. "I didn't expect anyone to still remember my name."

The Lady of Mists, Leyla, was also known as the Mother of Illusions or the Lady of Deception. She had once been the goddess of liars and illusionists, patron of all tricksters. Even those who did not worship her often prayed to her at critical turning points in their lives, hoping she would stay far away and not interfere.

Because of the peculiar nature of her divine domain, Leyla had very few followers. She never had a proper church. After all, a liar would hardly want others to know they were a liar. If a group openly gathered to worship the Lady of Deception, they would essentially be announcing their own dishonesty.

Though her followers were few and her divine power weak, Leyla never cared. She disliked conflict and competition, preferring instead to play harmless pranks on mortals from time to time. She was a chaotic neutral goddess.

Perhaps it was precisely because of her moderate nature that she ultimately fell victim to betrayal. Her own ally, Cymric, Prince of Lies, had deceived her and even usurped her divine domain.

"According to the records, you should be dead," Ambrose began cautiously. "And even if you somehow survived… the Lady of Mists never tells the truth. Yet you're speaking plainly, and you also reek of evil. What happened?"

Because of her divine domain, Leyla had once been incapable of speaking the truth. Even when she did not intend to deceive, she could only express herself through blatantly false statements that sounded like sarcastic mockery.

If this truly was the Lady of Mists, then everything she had said earlier would have been a lie. And if she wasn't, then she was nothing but a complete fraud.

The gray mist trembled again, then spoke sharply, "That's right. I could never tell the truth before, not until Cymric's sword pierced my body and stripped away my divinity. I am no longer a goddess. I am merely a fragment of a soul. Truth and lies no longer bind me. Azoth helped me. He allowed me to sleep beneath this land, waiting for the chance to awaken again. As for the evil you sense… that is Cymric's curse. There is no god more malicious than he is."

The explanation sounded… somewhat reasonable. But Ambrose had no intention of believing it entirely. "A chance to awaken?" he asked. "You want to reclaim your divine domain?"

"Yes!" Leyla said, hatred dripping from her voice. "Cymric and Mask will both pay the price for what they have done!"

Ambrose remained unmoved. A fallen deity reduced to a fragment of consciousness and memory, wanting revenge against a god? That was pure fantasy. Cymric, the Prince of Lies, was a greater deity on the same level as the Lord of Dawn.

"Lady of Mists, I sympathize with your misfortune," Ambrose said calmly. "But revenge is beyond my ability. I'm only a lich. I'm hardly qualified to declare war on the Prince of Lies. Besides, isn't Azoth a servant of the Goddess of Magic? Wouldn't it be easier to ask Mystrix to avenge you?" Even Ambrose's former master, the God of Alchemy, would be committing suicide if he tried to fight Cymric.

Leyla shook her head. "The Goddess of Magic will not involve herself in such grudges. You know her doctrine well enough. And you underestimate yourself. Haven't you encountered quite a few deities recently? Haven't several of them extended olive branches to you?"

Leyla was right, but the deities who had done so were a bunch of questionable minor goddesses, none of them reliable.

Something big seemed to be approaching. Even these obscure deities were scrambling to find chosen champions. The greater gods were surely making their own preparations. Who knew how many prodigies within the Nine Kingdoms would soon rise to prominence, blessed by divine favor as they began their journey to ascension?

"Your destiny is unusual," Leyla continued seriously. "I can sense it. If you are willing, you can help me."

Ambrose gave a helpless smile. "Lady of Mists, your former domain had nothing to do with destiny. That lie is a bit too much, even for you."

Leyla chuckled softly. "Destiny is merely a lie that cannot be disproven. Aren't you also trying to deceive destiny? Otherwise, why would you come to this forest seeking the power of dreams? The essence of dreams, after all… is also deception."

Ambrose raised a finger and wagged it impatiently. "My lady, you must really be in a weakened state if you can't understand what I'm actually saying. What I mean is simple. What exactly do you want me to do for you?" He smiled faintly. "And more importantly, what do I get in return?"

"If we're discussing a potential cooperation, show me some sincerity. If the benefits are good enough, I might even be willing to stake everything and clash with a greater god."