Chapter 298: Letter from the Lich
In the imperial capital of Lyon, James Watson was once again buried in work inside the Tribunal.
Lately, his workload had grown heavier—but not because Lyon itself had become more chaotic.
On the contrary, ever since the emperor used the Draconic Armaments to make the spectators younger, the people of Lyon had become more united than ever. The unrest caused by the death of the Silvermoon Knight had quietly dissipated.
In the minds of the people, the Draconic Armaments was the true imperial artifact, one that would never weaken simply because its wielder aged.
James Watson's increased workload stemmed from something else entirely: resignations.
Many of the Tribunal's core staff, people he had personally trained over the years, had left. Believing the rumors of Allen's treason and outraged at their High Inquisitor, they had chosen to resign in protest.
The new recruits were far less capable, leaving Watson no choice but to make do.
As a result, much of the burden fell onto him.
If that were all, it would have been bearable. The more pressing problem came from the young emperor of Lyon.
Ever since donning the Draconic Armaments and flying around the capital, the emperor's prestige had soared to unprecedented heights.
People had expected him to be like his predecessors, occupied solely with producing heirs. But now that he had proven capable of "bearing responsibility," public support rallied behind him.
And with that support, the emperor now had the leverage to pressure James Watson.
The young emperor had long disliked the old man. Since his ascension, the High Inquisitor had constantly criticized him without showing him the slightest respect.
Technically, the emperor had the authority to replace the High Inquisitor. But by Lyon tradition, the position could only be filled by a legendary priest. Therein lay the problem. There were naturally several such individuals in the empire, but most were Watson's students.
The rest held him in deep respect.
In other words, even if the emperor wanted to replace him, no one would be willing to take the position.
The High Inquisitor had committed no wrongdoing. He had worked diligently for decades, and his contributions were undeniable. Replacing him arbitrarily would only invite public condemnation. Anyone who accepted the role would be cursed by the people of Lyon.
At least, that had been the case before. Things were different now.
Allen's "treason" had sparked widespread criticism against Watson. Worse still, he had refused to apologize publicly, insisting that Allen had committed no wrongdoing in retiring under Lyon law.
His reputation had suffered greatly.
Given the emperor's growing prestige, if he called for a replacement now, there would undoubtedly be those willing to step forward.
Under such complicated circumstances, morale within the Tribunal had deteriorated further. Few were willing to devote themselves fully to their work.
James Watson labored alone late into the night before finally dealing with the last document.
Rubbing his stiff, aching shoulders, he cast a healing spell on himself. He had once heard that repeated use of healing magic in a short time diminished its effectiveness, and he was now experiencing the truth of that claim firsthand.
Only after loosening up did he finally have time to look through his personal correspondence.
The first letter was a formal inquiry from the elder druids of the Emerald Dreamwood. The druids were concerned about the reappearance of the Draconic Armaments and had written in a personal capacity to ask about it.
Watson composed a polite response, offering nothing of real substance.
The second letter was from his eldest son, currently stationed at the border. He had served in the army for over twenty years, though his talent had yet to carry him into the legendary realm.
Once, that son had been James Watson's pride. But his letter was filled with invective against his younger brother, Allen. Because of Allen, he had suffered discrimination within the army and had even been forced to publicly distance himself from his family. He knew his father didn't blame Allen, and had written to explain his actions. He claimed that he had done so out of necessity while subtly accusing his father of having indulged Allen too much.
Watson closed his eyes in pain.
This was the outcome he had most wanted to avoid. He couldn't bear his eldest son's moral decline. It was a mark of Watson's own failure.
James Watson knew that, if he ever raised the banner of rebellion, his eldest son would stand against him.
And yet he had no choice but to do so. Lyon had already fallen into corruption, after all.
He chose not to reply. The beliefs instilled in both father and son were too deeply rooted in their beings. Words would change nothing. It would be better to let him choose his own path.
The third letter filled Watson with inexplicable anger the moment he saw the signature.
Tarasin the Endless—what kind of name was that? He didn't recognize it, but the handwriting was unmistakable.
What did that gold-grubbing lich want this time?!
A new bout of irritation swept away his earlier gloom. Watson tore open the letter and found two sheets of parchment inside. The first was a magical contract bearing Allen's handprint.
"Two hundred thousand gold?! That damned lich!"
Watson ground his teeth in fury. This time, he had no choice but to pay.
He might have been able to avoid paying ransom when Allen was kidnapped, but this was a formal contract. He had no proof Allen had been coerced into signing it, and an anti-magic longsword was indeed worth that price.
As for a father repaying a son's debt, that was customary across the entire continent. Nobles were representatives of their houses; a debt incurred by one was a debt incurred by all.
Allen's actions affected James Watson, as well as his eldest brother at the frontier. Thus, Allen's debt was James Watson's responsibility. No one could dispute that.
Despite knowing that this was surely part of the lich's scheme, Watson had no choice but to deal with it.
He had upheld the law his entire life. Even when dealing with a lich, he would not betray his principles.
Two hundred thousand gold... he could afford that much.
After reading the contract, Watson turned to the second sheet of parchment and was immediately stunned.
The Spider Queen had been harmed by that lich and stripped of four divine domains?
His first instinct was disbelief, but he knew Ambrose's habits well.
The lich might lie, but never about things so easily disproven.
Whatever the details, the Spider Queen had indeed lost her divine authority.
But how? How had a mere lich accomplished such a feat?
The disparity between them was absurd. The Spider Queen was no minor deity easily slain by mortals.
Watson quickly abandoned the line of thought. He had no time to dwell on it. According to the letter, the elven gods might go to war with the Spider Queen's pantheon. A divine conflict of that scale could become the spark for global chaos. He had to prepare.
Only after laying out all this information did Ambrose finally ask about the Draconic Armaments. Watson hesitated for a long moment before sighing and picking up his pen.
This was an exchange of information. Ambrose had provided critical intelligence, and Watson had no choice but to reciprocate. Otherwise, there would be no such exchanges in the future.
The lich had conspicuously omitted where the four divine domains had ended up, a clear signal that he had more secrets to trade.
If Watson wanted to know more, he would have to pay with information.
In truth, Watson didn't know much, only that the royal family had suddenly agreed to display the Draconic Armaments and that the young emperor had donned it and flown over the capital, bestowing blessings upon his people.
However, he did note one detail. Before the emperor wore the armor, one of the elderly "hibernators" had appeared in the palace. He then spent a long time with the young emperor in a sealed chamber.
The subsequent use of the Draconic Armaments was almost certainly connected to that old man. Beyond that, Watson could uncover nothing. Royal affairs were strictly confidential, and even succession itself was decided solely within the royal family.
After all that, Watson added one more line: "Due to the morale boost from the Draconic Armaments, the Empire will soon launch a campaign against the tiflings."
He paused. Did this... count as revealing state secrets?
Strictly speaking, no. This was only his own deduction, after all. The empire had long kept him at arm's length. This was especially true for the newly appointed Minister of War, who openly despised him.
The reason was simple: when the Silvermoon Knight died, only Allen had been allowed at his side. The minister, the Silvermoon Knight's own grandson, had been denied even a final farewell.
Since then, and especially after Allen's departure, the minister had repeatedly lashed out at Watson in court. Their hostility ran deep.
Even so, was giving this information to Ambrose not tantamount to treason?
Watson's pen hovered over the page. Ink pooled, staining the parchment dark before he realized it.
At last, he made his decision. He crossed out the final line entirely, sealed the letter, and set it aside.
No justification could excuse breaking his principles.
Even if he believed Lyon had fallen into corruption, he was still its High Inquisitor. To knowingly violate the law would only drag the empire deeper into the abyss.
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