Chapter 483: I Come for Peace

Deep winter had finally reached the Emerald River.

In years past, by this point, the river's surface would already have frozen solid enough to walk across.

But this year was different. Lyon's people had gone to considerable lengths—breaking the ice, lighting fires, whatever it took—specifically to keep the Emerald River from freezing over.

Scattered shards of ice now dotted the river's surface. It looked frozen at a glance, but a foot would punch straight through and into the icy waters beneath.

Angus Watson didn't only know how to lead troops. He understood perfectly well that a war between two nations was fundamentally a contest of national strength—and right now, the orcs were caught in an awkward position.

They were running out of food.

As a kingdom defined by mountainous terrain and little farmland, the orcs had always struggled with food scarcity.

The orcs simply couldn't sustain mobilizing so many able-bodied men and burning through massive amounts of food every single day for much longer.

If they hadn't seized one of Lyon's cities and gotten some supplies out of it, the war probably would have ended already.

The orcs knew this too. That was why they'd recently scrounged up a mage corps that was now casting spells from a distance to try to freeze the Emerald River over.

Blizzards and hailstorms, day after day, turned the river's surface into solid sheets of ice.

But Lyon wasn't about to make this easy for them. When it came to a war of attrition, the orcs could hardly compete with Lyon for mages.

And who said priests couldn't cast Fireball?

Both sides hurled spell after spell, all of it aimed squarely at the river's surface.

In addition, both sides now had aerial reconnaissance capabilities. Sneaking around upstream or downstream was pointless. An airship could scan the entire hundred-kilometer stretch of river in half an hour. Lyon's jetpack scouts could do much the same, just with shorter range.

Warfare entered an era of full-map visibility that neither side had any prior experience with, forcing the development of brand-new battlefield tactics.

Though Lyon currently held the advantage, the weather itself was on the orcs' side.

Angus Watson stood atop the city wall, braving the biting cold wind, his heart colder still than the northern gale.

The year's weather was simply too cold, unnaturally so. Normally, temperatures might dip to perhaps ten or so degrees below freezing at most; that year, it was hitting thirty below.

The river was freezing far too quickly. Despite all of Lyon's effort, it seemed that the Lyon troops could only watch helplessly as the water froze over regardless.

Most people had no idea why this year's temperatures had dropped so drastically. Many assumed that some kind of divine intervention was at play, but plenty of astrologers had seen this coming.

After all, an entire kingdom had simply vanished from the material plane.

Such a terrifying shift in the world's geography had never happened before. Scholars studying climate patterns had offered all sorts of predictions, one being an extreme cold snap.

Those who had predicted great droughts and massive earthquakes, on the other hand, were left looking foolish.

The change in weather was an undeniable fact. Lyon's large-scale ice-melting efforts couldn't be sustained indefinitely. By Angus Watson's calculations, Lyon could hold out for at most another ten days before the Emerald River froze over completely—and by then, trying to melt it again would likely require more manpower than they had available.

Once the river froze solid, the orcs would surely launch their decisive assault before winter fully set in.

Angus Watson could already guess what the outcome would be.

Despite heavy casualties, Lyon would succeed in defending the shore of the Emerald River and push the orc army back. That outcome, though, depended on pulling troops from other border regions—and on those other borders staying secure in the meantime.

If fighting were to break out on another front as a result, Lyon's losses would only grow worse.

Still, the final result would be the same either way: the orcs would be driven back, having vented at most some of their pent-up rage and hatred, then forced to retreat, quite possibly without even holding onto the cities across the river.

Both sides would be bloodied in a lose-lose situation.

Angus Watson had expected this outcome from the very start, and he'd been working tirelessly the whole time trying to avoid it.

The thought made him slam a furious fist into the city wall.

"Damn it. Why won't he sell me those airships?!"

Angus Watson had witnessed firsthand just how powerful Ambrose's weapons could be. Without question, the single most devastating weapon of war was his ship, the Blacktide. He'd heard the Blacktide had since been destroyed, but Ambrose surely had other warships too.

A warship with an overwhelming speed advantage could dominate the skies over an entire battlefield, striking at will while the enemy had no way to strike back.

No matter how skilled the enemy commander was, there was no way he could give every single orc wings.

With that kind of decisive weapons advantage, Angus Watson was confident he could drive these orcs back without suffering major losses.

But Ambrose simply refused to sell.

That damned lich! That shameless war profiteer!

Of course Angus Watson could guess what Ambrose was thinking: the lich wanted the two nations locked in conflict indefinitely so his weapons would keep selling at a premium.

Just those handful of jetpacks alone had already cost Lyon over a million gold, and they probably didn't cost more than fifty thousand to make.

Yet Lyon's alchemists simply couldn't replicate them. One even exploded the moment they tried taking it apart to study it, and the lich had charged them a reparation fee on top of that.

Yes, a reparation fee.

The jetpacks weren't theirs. They were all technically rentals, with the rental fee calculated by flight time. Each jetpack came fitted with a device tracking its activation time and billed by the minute, in gold.

The longer this war dragged on, the more gold this lich raked in.

The undead were undead, after all: they had no morals, no mercy, nothing but naked self-interest. This lich, for all that he was paraded for saving the world, was no exception.

Angus Watson found himself agreeing more and more with His Majesty. His own brother never should have gotten tangled up with this lich in the first place. Allen had clearly fallen far too deep under this lich's influence. The entire Watson family was ruined, all because of him.

Just as Angus Watson's fury was peaking, a shadow suddenly fell across the city wall.

Angus Watson instinctively looked up, assuming the orcs had launched another large-scale ice storm. He was just about to warn the soldiers below to take cover when he realized the thing blocking out the sun overhead wasn't a brewing storm cloud at all, but rather several massive airborne warships.

"Is that the lich's Blacktide? No, wait, this thing's even bigger than the Blacktide!"

Angus Watson's first thought was that the orcs had somehow paid whatever price necessary to get that lich to sell them warships after all.

Surprised as he was, Angus Watson didn't panic for even a moment. He hurried back inside the fortress while barking orders to his attendants along the way.

All jetpack scouts were to return immediately. Ground forces were to take cover or stay in constant motion. No one could afford to become a sitting target for those warships.

At the same time, Angus Watson opened up the magic mirror and immediately got in touch with the very lich he'd just been cursing out moments ago.

The instant Ambrose's skull appeared in the mirror, Angus Watson said at once, "Do you think Lyon can't afford your prices, Master Megaman? Are those penniless orcs somehow able to buy your warships while we Lyon folk supposedly can't?"

Ambrose chuckled. "Relax, my friend. When did I ever sell warships to the orcs? I only leased out a few small reconnaissance airships. None of them are armed."

"This is a battlefield. I don't have time to play games with you right now, Master Megaman. What are those massive warships doing in the sky? Don't tell me they're here for sightseeing."

Angus Watson's fists were clenched.

Early in the war, the Blacktide had appeared several times. Each appearance had cost Lyon dearly. If those ships overhead packed anything close to the Blacktide's firepower, there'd be no point fighting at all—it was better to abandon the city and flee. At least then, they might escape before the defensive barrier shattered entirely.

"You're genuinely mistaken about this, Angus. These ships aren't ones I sold to the orcs, and I haven't brought them here to attack Lyon either. Quite the opposite, actually. I've come today in the name of peace."

High above, at that very moment, Ambrose sat in the cockpit of his new flagship, gazing out at the empty space surrounding him, feeling a touch wistful.

Damn that lunatic goddess for destroying his Blacktide.

That ship had been the real deal. These newly built vessels were little more than empty shells by comparison, none of them properly outfitted with weapons or carrier craft. Even all of them combined weren't worth as much as the Blacktide.

They were bigger, sure, and intimidating to look at, but the moment anyone actually called his bluff, his act would fall apart instantly.

Still, he was here precisely to bluff. For that purpose, these airships would do just fine.

Seven colossal warships sailed across the sky, blotting out the sun itself. They were more than enough to leave both the orcs and Lyon's forces below too terrified to act rashly.

Angus Watson wasn't the only one rattled. The orcs, too, reached out to Ambrose, asking whether he'd taken Lyon's gold.

Both sides had arrived at the exact same suspicion, which spoke volumes about just how deeply Ambrose's reputation had embedded itself in everyone's mind.

Through the magic mirror, Ambrose said to Angus Watson, "I haven't come today to wage war. I've come to teach Lyon and the orcs how to shake hands and make peace. Angus, I'd like Lyon and the orcs to agree to a temporary ceasefire. Continuing this fight will only spill more innocent blood."

Angus Watson froze, certain he must have misheard.

Wasn't this lich supposed to be profiting off this war? The conflict was sinking into a quagmire, exactly the moment he stood to make the most gold. Why would he be the one calling for it to stop now?

A flurry of thoughts raced through Angus Watson's mind in that instant, but he still couldn't make sense of Ambrose's motives. "Master Megaman, what exactly are you trying to accomplish here?"

"Simply maintaining world peace. Isn't that what I've always been doing? Back when the dwarves and elves went to war, I personally mediated and prevented a full-scale conflict, saving a million lives in the process. When the githarks invaded from the astral plane, I was the one who ended their invasion. Even that great battle in the depths of the ocean came to a swift close, thanks to me..."

Ambrose delivered this speech with such matter-of-fact conviction that it left Angus Watson deeply unsettled.

A lich, standing before a paladin, casually claiming credit for maintaining world peace... Was the entire world going mad? What was even more maddening was that, for the moment, he couldn't think of a single way to refute the lich's words. At least half of what this lich was saying happened to be true.

Damn it. Somehow, this lich had really become a savior of the world.

Wait, no, something was off here. He'd nearly gotten swept along by this nonsense.

Angus Watson caught himself right away. "Master Megaman, what exactly did you just say? You're planning to stop this war?"

Ambrose sighed. "The grievances between the orcs and Lyon may be impossible to fully untangle. Your two nations have hated each other for a thousand years now, but I still don't wish to see so many innocent lives sacrificed needlessly. So, here I am. I'm hoping both sides will accept my mediation."

Angus Watson: "..."

For this lich to claim he didn't want to see innocent lives sacrificed was about as believable as a tiger claiming it had gone vegetarian. The nerve of him, to come up with something like that!

Still, at least this lich hadn't shown up to drop undead bombs on Lyon. Angus Watson allowed himself a small measure of relief.

"Master Megaman, what exactly do you mean by 'mediation'? Are you saying you can get the orcs to withdraw and return the land that rightfully belongs to Lyon?"

Ambrose glanced at Angus Watson. Of the three Watson brothers, Angus might just be the dumbest one after all. This supposed great general was immediately demanding that the orcs cede territory. How could someone so greedy be a paladin?

Fortunately, Ambrose had already done his homework. "Angus, according to the historical record, the land along the Emerald River originally belonged to the orc empire in the first place. You only seized it some two hundred and seventy years ago. And it's not just the cities across the river, either. Even the very city you're standing in right now once belonged to the orcs."

The Lyon Empire had expanded outward relentlessly over the centuries, gradually encroaching on its neighbors' territory bit by bit. That was exactly how it had ended up with the vast territory and enormous population it boasted today.

But this particular debt was now so old that land occupied for centuries had naturally just "become" Lyon's.

Angus Watson replied, his expression unmoved, "The orcs first violated our original non-aggression treaty, which is what provoked Lyon's counterattack in the first place. This land has belonged to Lyon for a long time now. And if you want to bring up ancient history, Master Megaman, then I'll simply point out that it was Lyon who helped establish the orc empire to begin with."

"True enough. The great holy king Arthur Lyon helped every race establish their own kingdoms, hoping every people could live freely, equally, and with dignity. And what has Lyon done in the seventeen centuries since? Your fanatic racism and religious fanaticism have run wild, causing you to savage your neighbors at every turn. If Arthur Lyon were alive today and saw what you've become, just imagine how disappointed he'd be..."

Ambrose didn't even get to finish before Angus Watson cut him off, furious.

"How dare you invoke that name?! I am warning you, in no uncertain terms, that the holy king's name is not yours to speak, Master Megaman. I respect your knowledge and your accomplishments, but he is no rhetorical prop for you to use in your little performances. That would be blasphemy. That would be a declaration of war against the whole of Lyon!"

Ambrose looked at Angus Watson's furious expression, genuinely surprised the man turned out to be such a devoted follower of Arthur. He'd assumed Angus would be more like that Leonine General: ruthless, pragmatic, and with little patience for tradition.

Yet Ambrose remained calm in the face of Angus's anger. "Deep down, you know exactly what the truth is. Lyon is out there waging war and staining the Emerald River with innocent blood. Meanwhile, I, an undead, am the one trying to save the world, sacrificing my own profits to spare a few more lives. Angus, between the two of us, who exactly is committing blasphemy against your holy king?"

Angus Watson clenched his jaw. He didn't have a ready answer for that question, but that didn't mean he was convinced by the lich's argument.

"Master Megaman, you and I both know perfectly well that wealth is all that occupies that heart of yours. Whatever you do, whatever guise you wrap it in, your soulfire burns with nothing but the stench of gold. So let's not waste any more of each other's time. What exactly do you mean by this 'mediation' of yours?"

Ambrose found himself reflecting, almost wistfully, that Angus Watson wasn't just older than Allen. His worldview was far more mature too, and not something that could be dislodged by a few clever words. So Ambrose didn't bother wasting any more time either. He got straight to the point. "I'm planning to host a summit. I intend to invite the elven king, the archdruids, the dwarven king, the orc king, and your own emperor of Lyon to attend.

"Let me emphasize once more: I have come for the sake of world peace. I'll be inviting every monarch to this peace summit, to settle everyone's disputes once and for all. My goal is simply to put an end to war, so everyone can live their lives in peace."

With that, Ambrose transmitted a small, elegant box through the magic mirror to Angus Watson.

"Deliver this gift to your emperor. It's the invitation I've prepared for him. Once he sees what's inside, I think he'll come to appreciate my good intentions."

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