Chapter 291: Mission Impossible
"Reunite the elves and the drow?"
For a moment, Ambrose couldn't quite process what Catherine meant.
With a helpless sigh, she explained, "It's the will of the gods. They intend to entrust the drow domain to me and make me their racial deity. But... they don't believe I'm capable of governing the drow properly."
Ambrose answered without hesitation, "The elven gods have excellent judgment."
Catherine shot him a glare. The pout on her face made Ambrose immediately lower his head.
When her expression shifted like that, her charm practically doubled. Even his soul trembled under that look. He had to shut down part of his perception just to stay composed, or this negotiation would go nowhere.
Truth be told, the gods' response had hit Catherine hard.
She had ruled as elven queen for years, yet the message from the elven gods was clear: if she couldn't secure Ambrose's help, she might as well not accept the divine authority at all.
In other words, she wasn't capable.
The response stung her deeply, but she couldn't deny it. Compared to this lich, she often felt painfully inadequate. And after everything they had gone through together, her trust in Ambrose was second only to her faith in the gods themselves. If he said something could be done, it would be done.
If this deal went through, the drow would be reunited with the elves.
For the elves, that was a matter of immense importance, far outweighing her personal pride.
"So," Catherine asked, "will you agree to the deal?"
Ambrose thought for a moment, then said seriously, "Can you resolve the Lord of Dawn's grudges against me, instead?"
To him, Shara, Loss, Levitra, and Tiamat, even combined, were still less terrifying than the Lord of Dawn.
If the four goddesses were to come after him, he still had a chance to struggle, and perhaps to scheme his way into eliminating the weakest among them. But if the Lord of Dawn showed up with that hammer of his—
One blow would kill him. He'd have no chance to resist.
Catherine rejected the request instantly. "That's impossible."
"Don't decide for them," Ambrose pressed. "At least ask."
She shook her head again. "They anticipated you'd say that. The elves will not make an enemy of the Lord of Dawn."
"So even the entire drow race isn't worth risking his displeasure?" Ambrose asked.
"I don't speculate on the gods' reasoning," Catherine replied. "But the answer is no."
The implication only reinforced Ambrose's understanding of the Lord of Dawn's power and status. Even the elven pantheon—led by a god second only to Aion—was unwilling to offend him.
Ambrose sighed inwardly. He really should've treated Allen a bit better. If that boy ascended one day, maybe he would've put in a good word for him.
...Then again, the Silvermoon Knight had died because of him. That old man was probably already in the Lord of Dawn's divine realm. Ambrose felt his future growing grimmer by the second.
Fortunately, being undead made it easy to discard such thoughts. Ambrose quickly refocused. "Fine. Let's talk about cooperation," he said. "What exactly do you mean by ‘reuniting with' the drow? Once you fuse with the divine authority, you'll naturally form a mental connection with every drow. Why would you need my help?"
Racial gods were a special class of gods.
Faith-based gods drew power from believers. The more numerous and devout the followers, the stronger the god. The Lord of Dawn was the perfect example.
Conceptual gods derived power from the scope and influence of their domain. The God of Alchemy, for instance, hadn't been weakened by the destruction of Alkhemia itself, but by the decline of alchemy's reputation and relevance.
Racial gods were different. Their power depended on two things: population and influence. As long as drow existed, they would generate power for their racial god, regardless of their personal beliefs. Even if a drow worshipped the Lord of Dawn, that wouldn't stop the flow of racial power.
Influence worked similarly. If humanity had a true racial god, given their population and dominance, that deity could easily surpass even the Lord of Dawn.
But humanity was too fragmented, and no such god had ever emerged.
There were plenty of human supremacists recorded in history that preceded even the Dragon Tyrant, but nothing came of them in the end. None managed to ascend into the god of humanity.
There was a certain god, Seth, who claimed dominion over humanity, but Ambrose hadn't heard of anyone ever worshiping him or any records of him over a centuries-long lifespan. He seemed more like a fictional character a novelist had made up.
Other races didn't have that problem. Even slimes had a racial god.
The drow's goddess had been Loss. Now that her authority had been stripped away, whoever claimed it would inherit that power.
This was exactly what confused Ambrose. Wouldn't Catherine just need to fuse with the drow's divine domain to achieve her stated objective?
Catherine shook her head. "I can't fuse with it directly. My nature is fundamentally incompatible with the drow. Our cultures and habits—everything is at odds with one another. If I try to forcefully influence the drow through divine authority, there are only two possible outcomes. Either the drow are completely destroyed... or Loss will be able to reforge her racial authority anew."
Ambrose frowned. "It's that complicated?"
He had assumed racial domains were the most valuable type, not anticipating the severe drawbacks Catherine had brought up.
Catherine sighed. "That might just be my limitation. If you fused with it, you'd probably be fine."
Ambrose immediately sensed something off. "Wait, what do you mean by that?"
Catherine smiled smugly. She had finally scored a small victory in their verbal spars.
Time spent back at the Court of the Silver Moon had done her good. Reflection had sharpened her. She wasn't quite the same person who had once adventured alongside him. Ambrose was right.
She had to process and digest her experiences in order to learn from them. What she needed wasn't new adventures—but rather time to reflect and consolidate.
The present Catherine was very confident that she could now be a competent adventurer even without Ambrose around.
On his part, Ambrose hadn't expected such growth from Catherine. She'd learned to bite back, that was for sure.
"Fine, back to business," he said. "So because your nature clashes with theirs, forced fusion would lead to extinction. What's the solution? Don't tell me you want me to change the drow's nature and turn them into kind, innocent people?"
Catherine nodded, completely serious. "That's exactly it."
Ambrose stood up immediately. "I can't do it. Farewell."
"Wait! Don't go!"
She grabbed his hand in a panic, but Ambrose was even more decisive.
Crack. His hand detached cleanly at the wrist.
Catherine stared blankly at the skeletal hand she was still holding.
After a brief struggle—one that nearly cost Ambrose a leg as well—she finally dragged him back into his seat.
Breathing heavily, she demanded, "Why are you running? Is there anything in this world you can't do? You're just trying to drive up the price. I saw right through you!"
Ambrose calmly reattached his arm. "This time, I'm not negotiating. It's genuinely impossible. Change the nature of the drow? How did you even come up with that? You'd have better luck making all the paladins of Lyon break their oaths—that, at least, I might be able to consider. But the drow? Do you even understand what they are?"
Catherine answered firmly, "They were elves who followed the Spider Queen in rebellion. Our creator exiled, punished, and turned them dark as a mark of their innate evil. Now that their racial authority has returned to the elves, the creator believes it's time to guide these lost kin back."
Her tone was reverent. By "creator," she meant the elven god Choralan, the progenitor of all elves.
"Exactly," Ambrose said coldly. "Their dark skin reflects their inherent cruelty. And over the years, they've refined their bloodline. Any flawed offspring are sacrificed to the Spider Queen.
"On average, drow are even more beautiful than high elves. Every survivor has exceptional magical talent. They become priests and mages, elites across the board. If not for their low numbers and suppression by the elven gods, humans wouldn't dominate the continent."
Catherine remained unmoved. "So what? No matter how strong they are, surely you aren't afraid. You've already outmaneuvered their goddess."
Ambrose let out a dry laugh. "When I say ‘flaws,' I don't just mean appearance or intelligence," he said. "To the drow, kindness and innocence are themselves flaws. For countless generations, they've sacrificed any among them who showed such traits. What runs in their veins now is nothing but cruelty, deceit, and violence. And you want to make them ‘good'?" He shook his head. "Even the Lord of Dawn couldn't do that. How do you expect a lich to succeed?"
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