Anbresh carefully counted the coins, even pulling out a piece of parchment to write the terms of the contract, pinning it to the tavern's notice board for notarization.
After completing all the formalities, he finally addressed the paladin, saying, "Now, go ahead and cast your evil detection."
The paladin cautioned, "If you use magic to resist, rendering the detection ineffective, it would be considered a breach of contract."
Anbresh calmly replied, "If you are not reassured, you may seal my magical powers first."
The paladin shook his head, deeming it unnecessary. He knew the effect of the detection wouldn't be obscured by any means. To his surprise, Anbresh still exuded such confidence that the paladin began to believe that perhaps his conscience was clear.
The spell's light flared and fell upon Anbresh.
The evil detection spell works by shining light to discern its target. A pure-hearted person would radiate unblemished white light, while someone with evil in their heart would be marked by dark or red blotches. The darker the mark, the greater the evil within.
Typically, a mere human's fleeting malicious thoughts would manifest as small, finger-sized black spots, representing little more than idle fantasies of greed or lust. Cultists of evil gods, however, would have dim, tainted light—showing signs of truly vile actions.
But when the evil detection spell fell upon Anbresh, a thick, impenetrable darkness enveloped him, completely shrouding his entire form.
Harvey: ???
Paladin: !!!
Tavern patrons: Huh?
…
Everyone assumed they had fallen victim to an illusion. What kind of darkness was this? Even cultists didn't exude such an extreme level of evil. Could he be a god of darkness in disguise?
The paladin was the first to react, roaring, "You're an undead!"
If there's anything, besides an evil god, that could cause such a result in the detection, it could only be an undead being.
This wasn't a question of whether the individual had committed evil deeds, but rather, undead beings were inherently the opposite of all living things. For all creatures, undead were the embodiment of evil itself—a cosmic contradiction.
Thus, all undead were marked by pure blackness, with no exceptions.
Anbresh nonchalantly waved his hand, dispersing the darkness, and said, "I'll gladly accept my five thousand gold."
The paladin's fury was palpable, and his longsword was drawn, holy light gathering on its blade.
This was the paladin's signature move—the Divine Cleave.
One swing would reduce an ordinary undead to ash, not even leaving bones behind.
With seething anger, the paladin spat, "You vile undead, what gives you the right to take this money?"
Anbresh calmly pointed to the contract pinned to the board.
"The contract clearly states that I take on the risk of the evil detection. This money is my moral compensation. Nowhere does it say I have to be pure and spotless to receive it, does it? My undead nature is now exposed for all to see. Surely, a little compensation for such a blow to my dignity is warranted?"
As Anbresh finished speaking, the tavern patrons immediately reacted, loudly voicing their agreement.
"Exactly! I hate undead the most—filthy, shameless things!"
"Right, what are these skeletons even worth?"
"Let's wipe out the undead! Light shall endure!"
"Ugh, drinking in the same tavern as an undead. I'm going to throw up."
…
The over-the-top theatrics had the paladin's grip on his sword trembling, clearly on the verge of losing his temper.
Anbresh shrugged and spread his hands.
"You see, my reputation has been tarnished. This money is merely compensation."
"Despicable, shameless!" The paladin repeated, lacking any creativity in his insults. His poor vocabulary only made his anger less effective against Anbresh.
As the paladin seemed ready to unleash his Divine Cleave, Harvey hurried over to intervene. "Sir, in Alchemy City, being undead is not a crime. But if you attempt to purify an undead here, you'll be breaking the laws of this city."
Harvey gave the paladin a meaningful glance, drawing his attention to the actions of the other patrons in the tavern.
At nearby tables, two lizardmen had already grabbed the handles of their axes; a drow elf was stringing his crossbow; even the dwarf singer, who had been wailing a moment ago, had put down his lute and drawn a short sword; and, more absurdly, the orc bartender had placed several empty bottles in prime positions for easy access.
The entire tavern seemed ready for a confrontation.
When you equally disdain all non-human races, you must also accept the enmity of all these races. Now, faced with a paladin of the Lyon Empire, they would rather stand alongside the undead.
Paladins were not well-liked in Alchemy City, and Anbresh had expertly led him into a trap. If he attacked, it would surely provoke the entire tavern of adventurers.
While the paladin was strong, he could hardly handle an ambush from dozens of adventurers in the confined space of the tavern. He could only watch helplessly as Anbresh pocketed the coins, his sword reluctantly returning to its scabbard.
"Indeed, leaving the Lyon Empire to train was the right choice. I might never have learned such a lesson if I stayed. Thank you, Master Ultraman. The next time we meet, I will purify your soul with my sword's light."
With those words, the paladin and his companions left the tavern.
Anbresh was impressed by the paladin's ability to let go and remain calm. This was a person of some caliber.
The tavern patrons cheered, as if they had won a victory. Whistles and jeers rang out as the paladin exited. Just before leaving the tavern, Harvey turned and gave Anbresh a lingering glance.
He had a strange premonition—this undead, disguised as a human, might very well be the master of that ancient castle. There was no solid reason for his feeling, just a simple intuition from his training as a former prophecy mage.
If he was right, today wouldn't be such a bad day. At least it would increase the chances that the paladin would agree to deal with the lich. Perhaps they would meet again soon.
Anbresh too looked at Harvey with curiosity. Though he claimed to be a magical apprentice, Anbresh sensed that the young man was no simple mage. In fact, he seemed far more noteworthy than the paladin. This feeling, too, was based on a gut instinct, much like his own foreknowledge as a former prophecy mage.
Before he was reborn as a lich, he had advanced to legendary status as a prophecy mage—though sadly, the legendary boon he received had little to do with the prophetic arts.
As the paladin and his companions departed, the tavern's lively atmosphere didn't die down. A drow elf mischievously remarked, "You got the paladin to spend five thousand gold on you with just a few words. You undead might just be on the Lyon Empire's wanted list."
A nearby lizardman chimed in, "Well, you're not going to live much longer anyway. Why not spend that money now and buy us all a drink?"
"Five thousand gold would be enough to buy drinks for the whole tavern for a month!"
"That's right, I'll take ten drinks first!"
Laughter and jeering spread throughout the tavern, but Anbresh didn't hesitate. With firm resolve, he said, "Not a chance! You—didn't you just say you'd vomit from drinking with an undead? You—called me filthy and shameless! And you—what did you call me, a mere skeleton, good for nothing? Now you want me to buy you drinks? You're better off praying for a gold coin shower from the god of wealth!"
"No, I didn't mean it like that! Don't slander me!"
The drow elf, who had just insulted Anbresh, vehemently defended himself. He couldn't believe he was the one being falsely accused.
The other patrons were equally enraged. "We were just helping you put on a show, and now you turn on us?"
"Greedy undead, tricking us all!"
"This was all part of your plan, wasn't it? Shameless!"
"Save that gold for your coffin!"
"Undead truly have no hearts!"
"We should've let you feel the Divine Cleave!"
"XXX!!"
"XXXXX!!!"
…
The insults grew more intense and vulgar, but Anbresh remained unfazed. What a joke. Did they really think that a mere group of amateurs could outwit a centuries-old lich?
A bunch of children, comparing their wits with a thousand-year-old monster. It was nothing short of absurd.
End of chapter.