In the eerie, dimly lit castle, the flickering candlelight cast shadows on the walls.
Ambrose, with his skeletal fingers, tore open the envelope. The crimson wax seal cracked with a sharp sound, and along with it, the magical seal on the letter was broken.
Unfolding the sheepskin paper inside, the ghostly blue flames in Ambrose's eyes flickered with a brief spark.
"Dear Master Ambrose, after careful review by the editors at *Legendary Spells* Publishing, we regret to inform you that your paper titled *Research on the Morphological Modification of Non-Human Forms in Undead Creatures* does not meet the standards for publication in *Legendary Spells* Monthly. We suggest submitting it to a magical journal with less stringent criteria."
A burst of eerie blue flame shot from Ambrose's fingertip, incinerating the rejection letter into ashes. Grumbling in frustration, he muttered, "My paper is detailed, with fresh perspectives. How could it possibly fall short? Isn't it just because it discriminates against liches and undead magic?!"
*Legendary Spells* is a prestigious magical monthly published by the thirteen legendary wizards of the Nine Kingdoms, the highest standard of magical scholarship in the world. Wizards of all races and nationalities are welcome to submit their theories for publication.
Since its founding, *Legendary Spells* has made significant contributions to the advancement of magical knowledge, publishing the foundational theories of over twenty legendary spells.
Being published in *Legendary Spells* is an honor for any wizard, and even court wizards in the Nine Kingdoms are judged by the number of papers they've published. Fewer than three publications and one doesn't even qualify for an interview.
Ambrose, once a renowned scholar with multiple successful submissions, had been rejected three times in a row over the past two years.
The reason, in his opinion, was simple: not long ago, he had been reincarnated as a lich. And the new editor of *Legendary Spells* was a staunch Light Priest who held an extreme disdain for undead creatures.
"Is there something wrong with reincarnating as a lich? There are many ways to achieve immortality!"
With a frustrated wave of his hand, Ambrose swept the ashes from the desk onto the floor. A strange-looking skeleton scuttled over and quickly cleaned up the mess.
This skeleton was a peculiar creation. The upper half resembled a human form, but its lower half had eight spider-like bone legs, allowing it to move at incredible speed. Its arms were rigid, fixed in place, and thus limited in movement, but it performed its cleaning duties with remarkable precision and speed.
Low to the ground, it could crawl up walls and under tables, clearly designed for the purpose of cleaning— a "specialized" skeleton.
This was Ambrose's "non-human form modification of undead creatures." A specially crafted, aberrant skeleton was far more practical than a slow, clumsy humanoid.
However, such modifications were costly. The expenses of early experiments had drained Ambrose's purse, and now he was beginning to regret his decision to reincarnate as a lich.
But with the price of Youth Elixirs skyrocketing—especially after Silvermoon's High Court recently banned the export of two key ingredients—Ambrose could not afford the exorbitant prices.
Legendary wizards, too, faced financial strain, and when Ambrose had ascended to legendary status, his legendary boon was "Imitative Soul." This ability allowed him to create pseudo-souls from simple materials that resembled real ones, serving similarly in magical applications.
Such a talent was wasted unless used to become a lich.
Thus, when the cost of the Youth Elixir reached five hundred thousand gold pieces per vial, Ambrose had made the decisive choice to reincarnate as a lich.
Silvermoon's High Court, with its elves hoarding the secrets of longevity, was an easy target for Ambrose's future revenge. Once he had the funds, he vowed to short-sell Youth Elixirs, driving those arrogant elves to bankruptcy.
However, the immediate problem was the rejection of his manuscript. As a reclusive, introverted legendary wizard, most of Ambrose's income came from his publications in *Legendary Spells*. Now, with multiple rejections, he was running low on funds.
While liches no longer required sustenance, undead magic experiments were still costly, and maintaining the castle required money. Even the care of his soul vessel demanded funds.
Ambrose needed to figure out a way to make money— or he'd soon be reduced to wearing a tattered wizard robe, unable to replace it.
"How to earn money?"
He sank into thought. Ordinary wizards could work as magic consultants for noble houses, earning decent wages. But for a legendary wizard, the only option was to seek employment with royal courts. Common nobles couldn't afford legendary wizards, and neither could legendary liches.
Only two of the Nine Kingdoms accepted liches, and they were far from Ambrose's location. As a newly reincarnated lich and seasoned legendary wizard, Ambrose knew that the gap between legendary figures could sometimes be wider than the gap between mortals and legends.
His skill in undead magic was not particularly advanced, so applying for a position might not even be successful. Failure would mean exorbitant costs for using the continental portal. Damn Silvermoon! It was their selfish manipulation of the portal's cost that made things so difficult.
Moreover, traveling far from home came with the risk of losing everything. Even the weakest legendary could enslave a lich.
Ambrose had considered selling his "imitative souls," but his peers dismissed it—real human slaves were worth only a few copper coins, and no one would pay three times that price for his inferior copies.
Unable to refute that, Ambrose began to believe that his "imitative soul" boon was rather useless.
"I need to consult some liches on how to make money."
Ambrose waved his hand, and a heavy magical tome flew from the desk. The cover, adorned with an intricate skull carving, was the *Necromantic Codex* sent by the Mourning Poets Society after his reincarnation. The codex contained essential knowledge about liches, including the all-important "One Hundred Taboo Practices After Reincarnating as a Lich."
There were helpful reminders in the codex, like not to open the curtains right after waking, not to use daylight spells as candles, and not to raise dogs. These tips were immensely useful to Ambrose.
But right now, Ambrose wasn't seeking these basics. Instead, he turned to the final page and, with a magical pulse from his finger, wrote the following message: "Friends, may your soul flames burn forever. I'm running low on money—how do liches make a living?"
The magical text shimmered on the page, like waves of light.
After a moment, a reply appeared:
*Withered Rose: You don't get much from your manuscript fees, do you? Since you reincarnated as a lich, you should be saving more—undead experiments are among the cheapest. *
This reply came from Withered Rose, a senior lich and an influential member of the Mourning Poets Society.
The society was shrouded in mystery. Every newly reincarnated lich received a copy of the *Necromantic Codex* from a mysterious leader. To this day, Ambrose had no idea who this leader was and had never noticed who had placed the codex by his corpse during the reincarnation ceremony.
The ritual was a vulnerable moment for any lich, and had the leader harbored any ill will, Ambrose would have long become their puppet.
The Mourning Poets Society had only a few members, communicating exclusively through the codex and using codenames.
Ambrose's codename in the society was *Diga Ultraman*.
*Diga Ultraman: Don't mention it. The new editor at *Legendary Spells* has rejected my manuscript three times. This racist jerk is pushing me to the brink of bankruptcy. Rose, how do you make money? Please share your tips.*
*Withered Rose: Oh, I heard the new editor is a Light Priest. They've already started openly discriminating against the undead—those humans are truly outrageous. I usually extract benefits from the Drow elves in the Underdark. They're a goldmine—whether it's their spiders, their collections, or their corpses.*
Ambrose sighed in response: *Rose, this kingdom, though racially mixed with occasional conflict, is under the scrutiny of the Alchemists' Council. They won't allow me to harvest other races for experimental materials.*
Before Withered Rose could offer further advice, a new message appeared from another member of the Mourning Poets Society:
*Headless Knight's Crown: Diga, my friend, I urgently need a vial of living mercury solution. If you can acquire it from the Alchemist City, I'll buy it at a high price.*
End of Chapter