Lich for Hire

Alkhemia had once been the wealthiest place on the continent. Those who lived there carried a certain air of pride. Whether they were merchants, scholars, or even factory workers tightening screws in alchemical workshops, they all strode through the streets with their heads held high.

Whenever they saw someone an "outsider" like Ambrose, their gazes would instinctively turn condescending, as if they were looking at some country bumpkin who had come to take advantage of the city's riches.

But today was different. The people on the streets kept their heads slightly lowered. No one lingered to chat, and every passerby walked with urgent, almost anxious steps.

The rows of once-bustling shops stood half-shuttered, and "For Rent" signs dotted the doors that were firmly closed.

"Don't tell me Alkhemia is really going bankrupt…"

Ambrose frowned. In recent years, the prices of magical materials had been rising sharply while exports dwindled.

Yet even so, the city had managed to stay afloat. How had things deteriorated so much in just two years? No wonder they had imposed such heavy taxes—perhaps they really were standing on the edge of collapse.

He didn't waste time sightseeing and headed straight for that ugly green tower ahead. It was an eyesore that looked suspiciously like a blob of failed potion sludge. Locals, with their peculiar sense of humor, called it the "Green Tower of Healing."

Ugly though it might be on the outside, its interior was surprisingly elegant.