This Lich Requests More Remuneration
Chapter 687 - 595: Otakus Are Not to Be Messed With

Chapter 687: Chapter 595: Otakus Are Not to Be Messed With

It was still that golden, shimmering desert, and the same tavern located in the Desolate Land.

But when Amberser arrived in his mecha, the tavern was still packed with people.

Watching the poet bustling with joy behind the bar, Amberser wondered if these customers had been kidnapped, for there wasn’t even a road outside, so how could there be so many natives from the desert coming here to drink?

Amberser, clad in heavy armor, appeared at the entrance of the tavern, attracting many curious gazes.

In the Golden Desert, wearing this type of apparel amounted to suicide.

The scorching daylight sun would turn the armor into a steaming cage, cooking the flesh within directly, and even Lizardmen couldn’t endure such suffocating heat. At night, the metal armor would fail to keep warmth, causing the body’s temperature to drop quickly and freeze solid.

Even with a cloak draped over it, gaps in the metal armor would soon fill with sand and erode severely; in just a few days, the meticulously maintained joints would jam with sand, and the lubricating oil would turn into grinding paste.

But being able to wear this heavy armor to the pub meant this wasn’t an ordinary person.

Nobody foolish could afford to spend money on drinks in this harsh desert. Seeing such a strange individual, customers mainly scrutinized him unless he showed any vulnerabilities, otherwise, nobody would do anything to Amberser.

Amberser was accustomed to these malicious stares, nonchalantly found a corner to sit down, and waited for Yeg’s arrival.

Although he didn’t understand why such an influential figure like Yeg would choose this broken-down place, Amberser had to follow the other party’s rules.

The poet quickly brought over a piping hot beverage, but it didn’t look like any drink.

"Senior, what is this?" Amberser asked curiously.

The poet excitedly said, "This is my own creation, Magic Brew. Give it a try."

Amberser skeptically stared at the concoction in the cup, a thick, tar-like mess that bubbled with colorful froth.

It looked more like a mix of oil and deadly poison.

Amberser knew long ago that the poet had unusual tastes, but this stuff... Amberser grabbed the cup and downed it in one gulp.

Heh, it’s just mecha, without any sense of taste; anything works—and it’s a show of courtesy.

The viscous liquid poured through gaps in the armor and quickly slid into the chest cavity. Originally, there was a special combustion chamber here, used to harmlessly dispose of sundries as fuel.

However, as the liquid entered, a massive energy erupted and, as if alive, burrowed into the Magic Energy Furnace inside the mecha.

A burst of hot steam emerged from the mecha. The already minimal consumed power was directly topped up, even overflowing.

Amberser had to activate the compression function to control this rampant magic power, lest it explode.

Amberser couldn’t help but say, "It’s powerful, but this stuff... living people can’t drink it."

"Of course, it’s specifically for the undead... oh, I forgot, you aren’t undead anymore," the poet said awkwardly.

Amberser replied, "No worries, give me some more, I’ll take it back for Rose to try."

The undead didn’t have taste buds; usually, only substances harmful to souls could affect the undead.

But this cup of Magic Brew seemed to act on the magic power inside the body, perhaps offering a unique taste. Amberser actually envied the poet’s attitude, who, despite living even longer than himself, could always maintain such a relaxed and joyful mood.

Seeing Amberser so appreciative, the poet casually sat at Amberser’s table and clinked glasses, then asked, "What brings you here today, looking for the old man?"

Amberser smiled and said, "My Necromancy Codex has disappeared. I need to ask the Guild Leader whether I’ve been kicked out of the Elegy Poetry Society."

"Come on, no need for riddles with me. If you cared about that, you wouldn’t have waited until now to ask. I know you’ve been resurrected for a long time. Recently, all of hell’s been talking about you. You’re about to get your hands on the authority of the First Layer of Hell, right?"

Amberser said puzzledly, "I don’t understand what you mean. Zariel is alive and well; since when has it been my turn to call the shots in the First Layer of Hell?"

But the poet said, "Hell belongs to no one, nor any deity, not even Asmodeus has more than temporary control of Hell, he does not own the Nine Layers of Hell. This is the land where sinners are exiled, and it automatically chooses the right ruler. I know what you’ve done in hell; now the soul coin system across the Nine Layers is severely affected.

"Especially Mammon’s Third Level of Hell, because of excessive war loans causing countless Devil Lords to go bankrupt, the wars in the Third Level of Hell are more lively than the Blood River. Mammon thought he was making a fortune from the war, but I reckon the Third Level of Hell will soon face major issues."

Amberser furrowed his brow and said to the poet, "I warned Mammon not to play too rough. We’re flooding the market with fake money, if he plays too rough, it would cause the entire economic system to collapse; once bad debts multiply, those in debt might opt to cut off supply altogether, which would then affect the banks’ credibility."

The poet chuckled, "Advising a devil against greed? Let alone the most famously greedy fiend in Hell? How could Mammon ever resist such exploitation?"

Amberser fell silent; he had miscalculated this point.

Mammon, the most avaricious Lord in Hell, was thus enticed by Amberser’s plan, being the first to strike a deal with Amberser.