Although Ambrose didn't treat them to drinks, he tossed a few gold coins to the dwarven bard.
This was a generous reward—so generous that Ambrose instantly became the bard's top patron of the past few years.
The dwarf's eyes lit up with joy as he respectfully offered, "Ah, my generous undead lord, allow me to sing you a lament for the departed."
But Ambrose retorted, "No need. That tip was to make you shut up."
At that moment, the previously jeering patrons erupted into cheers.
The dwarven bard glared at Ambrose in fury. This was a blatant insult—he should have thrown the coins back at Ambrose's face and stormed off. However... the amount was simply too much.
Ambrose felt a wave of satisfaction wash over him. To him, earning money without spending it was as good as having none. The thrill of playing the role of a tycoon using someone else's wealth was intoxicating.
Of course, he didn't forget his main objective. He fished out another gold coin and handed it to the orcish barkeep.
"I need a guide for the sewers. Get me the best one, and make it quick."
In this alchemical city, discarded magical reagents were directly dumped into the sewers. The longer they sat, the more mutated monsters would spawn. As their numbers grew, so too would the appearance of stronger creatures.
If left unchecked, there was a real chance that a creature within the sewers could evolve into a legendary-tier threat. That would spell big trouble.
Moreover, the sudden appearance of paladins from the Lyon Empire wasn't sitting right with Ambrose. They claimed to be on a training mission, but he suspected there was more to their story. Something big was brewing down there, and he needed to act fast before it disrupted his experiments.
Gold was a powerful motivator. After tossing that coin, by dawn, three guides of varying appearances stood before Ambrose.
The trio consisted of two men and one woman. By their attire, Ambrose could easily discern their professions.
"Let me guess—a thief, a ranger, and... little miss, are you a druid?" Ambrose asked, his curiosity piqued.
Thieves and rangers made for suitable guides, but a druid? That was unexpected.
Although the Alchemical City welcomed all races, druids were a notable exception.
Druids revered nature and believed in the balance of all things. They opposed excessive interference and sought to maintain equilibrium.
The Alchemical City, with its twisted creations like mercury slimes, epitomized the antithesis of their beliefs.
These two philosophies were fundamentally incompatible. Druids and the Alchemical City might as well have been mortal enemies. However, due to their low numbers and scattered communities, druids had never formed a unified front against the city.
Typically, druids avoided the Alchemical City altogether, steering clear of even its affiliated towns and resisting any form of interaction with its inhabitants. Their stance was almost childlike in its simplicity: "We won't play with you." The city, in turn, had never issued any directives to ban druids from entering.
Regardless, seeing a druid within the Alchemical City was exceedingly rare.
"That's right, I'm a druid. You need a guide, don't you? I've explored these sewers before. I know where the slimes are most concentrated," the young woman replied.
She appeared to be in her early twenties, with a lithe, athletic frame that perfectly embodied the wild and untamed spirit of a druid.
"Hold on. Let's take things one step at a time. I'll talk to these two first," Ambrose said.
The thief was upfront—300 gold coins flat, with the caveat that he'd only lead Ambrose to two known slime hotspots. He couldn't guarantee the slimes would still be there.
"The sewers change daily," the thief explained. "While I know those spots have had slimes in the past, I can't promise they'll still be there. Take it or leave it. And I don't fight—I'll flee at the first sign of danger."
What a blatantly exploitative deal.
Not guaranteeing slime encounters was bad enough. For all Ambrose knew, the thief could point to random locations, claim they'd housed slimes, and then vanish with the money.
This arrangement screamed scam, and Ambrose didn't even bother haggling. The guy was clearly a con artist.
The half-elf ranger seemed more reliable, but his price was steep—500 gold coins.
"500 gold. I guarantee you'll encounter at least a hundred slimes. Of course, you'll handle capturing them yourself. If we face danger, I can summon my beast companion to cover our escape, but I'll prioritize my safety," the ranger stated.
The terms were fair, but the price was outrageous. For Ambrose, anything above 200 gold was unacceptable.
He tried negotiating, but the half-elf was as stubborn as a dwarf, refusing to budge by even a single coin.
"Sir, shouldn't you at least hear my offer?" the druid interjected, her voice tinged with urgency.
"You're still here?" Ambrose asked, surprised. "Didn't you hear me earlier? I'm undead. And you—a druid—want to work with the undead?"
The druid crossed her arms and replied matter-of-factly, "Why not? This city prides itself on openness and inclusivity. When in Rome, do as the Romans do. Druids and undead can cooperate."
Ambrose wasn't buying it.
Undead creatures defied the natural order, directly contradicting druidic doctrines. That's why he'd disclosed his undead nature to the other two guides—to avoid accusations of deception later.
He fully expected the druid to storm off in protest. Instead, she stayed and even seemed eager to recommend herself. Clearly, she had her own agenda.
It was obvious to Ambrose that this druid harbored secrets, but the last thing he wanted was to get entangled in someone else's schemes. Trouble meant delays, and he couldn't afford that.
Logic dictated he should reject her outright. But then, as if she'd anticipated his thoughts, the druid uttered the one sentence he couldn't refuse.
"I won't charge you a single coin."
Her words struck like a thunderclap, reverberating through Ambrose's mind.
"What did you say?" Ambrose asked, incredulous.
The druid stepped forward, pushing past the two other guides. Leaning on the table, she declared in a firm, commanding tone, "I said, I won't charge you. I'll guarantee you find plenty of slimes, and I won't run. If there's danger, I'll cover your retreat and ensure your safety."
Ambrose stared at her, thinking, *This is like burning paper offerings in front of a tomb—trying to fool a ghost.*
A guide who didn't ask for money, promised results, and vowed to protect him in danger? Only someone dumber than a slime would believe that.
Deceiving the undead? That's just ridiculous!
*End of Chapter*