Chapter 9: The Godforsaken City
Ambrose had lived three completely different lives.
In his first, he had been a science student with a meaningless diploma. He had been lost, aimless, and perfectly content to bury every trace of ambition beneath layers of cheap entertainment. When death finally came for him, not a single frame of the reel of his life was worth remembering.
Then, he found himself thrown into another world, one chaotic and dangerous, but exhilarating beyond measure. Young and brash, he was convinced he was the chosen one. Three years to make it to the rank of legend, then ten to godhood—how hard could it be? He'd started out as an adventurer, dreaming of glory, until reality smacked him in the face. Even as a so-called legendary magician, he was, frankly, a fraud.
They say that a man grows up the moment he realizes he's not the center of the world.
Ambrose was no exception. As he grew old and gray, still a broke "legend," unable to afford even a single vial of a Potion of Youth, he finally understood the truth. He was nothing more than a slightly luckier speck among countless others. Being a transmigrator didn't make him any special.
So what if he was a legendary magician? He was still poor. In fact, he might as well stop being human altogether.
And thus, Ambrose became a lich.
Honestly? It wasn't so bad. Without a heartbeat, and with a half-functional brain, Ambrose stared absently at his reflection in the mirror. Then, he slipped out of his dark, death-tinged robes into something more casual as he prepared to head into town for supplies.
Passing another of his laboratories, he noticed Isabel hard at work brewing a potion.