Ambrose was highly proficient in Shapeshifting. Not only was his appearance flawless, even his voice was indistinguishable from Monge Greywater's.

But impersonating a stranger required time and practice. In his haste, Ambrose had overlooked a fundamental aspect of Monge's established persona.

The Ragetide Kingdom was poor and remote, with little talent to speak of. The high-grade magic scrolls Monge needed for his voyages were all prepared by these court mages. 𝑓𝑟𝑒𝘦𝓌𝑒𝑏𝑛𝑜𝘷𝑒𝘭.𝒸𝘰𝑚

He had just fought the Silent Sea Pirate Company and suffered a crushing defeat. Days later, he suddenly claimed he had lured their captain here alone through clever scheming. The story simply didn't add up.

Though the three court mages were technically "employees," this war might very well drag them into danger. The battle raging outside certainly didn't sound like something an ordinary legend could cause. The destructive force alone far exceeded their expectations. Who would feel at ease after hearing Monge Greywater's vague excuses?

If something went wrong and they were forced into the fight, wouldn't that put them in grave danger?

One of the court mages spoke gravely to Ambrose. "I require an explanation for this state of affairs. Otherwise, I must refuse to participate in this war."

Ambrose searched Monge's memories. It took him a few seconds to recall the man's identity.

"Master Tharok," he began calmly, "you question why I haven't disclosed any details of my plan. I would instead turn the tables on you: who cares? My plan succeeded. We have no time to waste! Why are you stalling for time?"

Tharok frowned. The Monge Greywater before him felt like a different person entirely.

"What nonsense are you spouting?" Tharok snapped. "I am a court mage of the Ragetide Kingdom. Everything I do is for the good of the kingdom."

Ambrose gave a cold laugh. "Last year, you requisitioned large quantities of alchemical materials from the kingdom: imp devil fungus, Namira rotcap, fly agaric, bubblegrass and more, nearly thirty tons in total. Even an apprentice alchemist could refine over five thousand bottles of paralysis and decay potions from that amount. Yet how many did you end up submitting to the kingdom? Merely fourteen hundred, two hundred of which I personally commissioned and paid for."

Paralysis potions were primarily used in whaling. They were injected into specially hollowed harpoons to quickly immobilize whales before suffocation. The potion was expensive: if a crew missed more than three times, it would be operating at a loss.

But without it, deep-sea whales could capsize most fishing vessels or drag them off course, putting entire crews in mortal danger.

Decay potions, properly diluted, were essential for removing barnacles from hulls. The substance was highly corrosive to ships, but manually scraping barnacles also damaged the hull. Mutated varieties could even spray toxic fluids when disturbed, causing months of severe illness, or instant death upon contact.

Thus, decay potions were a daily necessity for the kingdom's maritime survival.

Finding a supply for those two potions alone accounted for a significant sum of the kingdom's public expenses.

Tharok's face flushed crimson. "You—what are you talking about? Do you claim to understand alchemy better than I do?!"

Monge Greywater did not understand alchemy, but Ambrose did. And what did Ambrose obsess about? Gold. He had paid particular attention to Monge's memory of privately purchasing paralysis potions, and had even mocked how thoroughly the Ragetide Kingdom was being fleeced.

He hadn't expected that memory to prove useful.

The Ragetide king glanced at Ambrose in astonishment. "Monge, since when were you a student of alchemy?"

Ambrose chuckled lightly. "The kingdom's magical equipment and potions are absurdly expensive, and their output is pitifully low. I occasionally inquire with outsiders about such matters. Even accounting for the elves raising material prices and transport costs, the numbers simply do not add up.

"Master Tharok, if you want details, why don't we go over the specifics today? Let us visit your mage tower and observe your refining process firsthand."

Seeing Ambrose's confidence, Tharok dared not agree.

What alchemist didn't skim materials from their patron? Could he even call himself a proper alchemist if he didn't do so? He had merely assumed no one in Ragetide understood alchemy well enough to notice, and perhaps gone a bit too far.

When had Monge Greywater begun suspecting him? They had cooperated perfectly well in the past. Politicians truly had filthy hearts. His supposed friendliness must have been solely performative.

Tharok fell silent. The Ragetide king looked suitably impressed. "Monge, you seem like a different man these days. I'm glad I did not misjudge you."

The Ragetide Kingdom sorely lacked such meticulous talent. They could afford to hire alchemists, but they lacked people capable of analyzing such subtle discrepancies.

Ambrose nearly flinched at that praise. Had he overacted?

Just as he was preparing to tone it down, another court mage stepped forward.

"Why are we digressing? Your Majesty, our concern remains the details of this so-called plan. If something goes wrong, it could harm the kingdom."

Ambrose turned to him, recalling another name. "Master Winston—the same reason, the same excuse. Do you truly claim to act for the benefit of the kingdom?"

Winston scoffed. "What, have you uncovered some fault of mine? Are the scrolls I copied for you defective? Has one failed?"

Winston was a mage whose primary duty was providing spell scrolls to the kingdom.

Scroll copying consumed a mage's own mana. That was not an easy area to audit for embezzlement.

Unfortunately for him, Ambrose was a mage through and through. Finding a flaw was no problem at all.

After recalling certain memories, Ambrose said calmly, "Master Winston, your scrolls are indeed flawless. However, you requested numerous gifted children from the kingdom to train as apprentices. Over the years, those apprentices disappeared one by one. You claimed they died in magical experiments, but don't you think the accident rate has been unusually high?"

Winston showed no trace of guilt. "Magical experiments are inherently dangerous. I failed to submit a report on one occasion, but are you now accusing me of murder? What possible benefit would that bring me?"

"But why would an abjuration mage's experiments be so dangerous?"

Ambrose scrutinized Winston carefully. He did not yet have definitive proof. Only intuition told him that the apprentices' deaths were closely tied to this man.

Under that gaze, Winston began to sweat. Like Tharok, he felt that Monge had become someone else entirely.

Ambrose stared at him for a long moment, then, to his surprise, noticed something familiar.

"Master Winston, you are not an abjurer at all. You are a necromancer."

The other two court mages instinctively stepped back.

Winston's expression changed drastically. "What nonsense! That is slander—slander, I say!"

Necromancy was indeed a recognized magical school, but its reputation was dreadful. Even the undead themselves were less despised.

The reason was simple. Conflict between the living and undead was largely racial, but necromancers were essentially living humans working on the side of the undead. Wouldn't they naturally be more hated?

Undead could lie dormant for decades. On the other hand, necromancers were alive. They could not generate dark mana naturally and thus had to kill constantly to access it. A necromancer who refrained from slaughter for too long would see his power regress.

Some rare necromancers chose to purchase fresh corpses for experimentation instead of killing others themselves, but murder was easier, cheaper, and more reliable than buying bodies.

The Ragetide Kingdom was no Lyon Empire, but concealing one's identity as a necromancer was still a grave offense.

Seeing the strange looks all around him, Winston shouted, "Where is your evidence?! If you cannot produce any, I will defend my honor. I challenge you to a duel!"

Ambrose remained composed. "Evidence? There is much that those who constantly handle dark magic cannot conceal. Your pupils have turned gray. Your body emits a faint stench of decay that cannot be masked by perfume. The blood embedded beneath your nails cannot be hidden with polish. Your attempts at disguise are meaningless."

Winston's face went deathly pale. Every detail was accurate.

Yet he had no choice but to argue. "What lies! My eyes have always been gray. The rest is speculation without proof! My mage tower lies open for inspection. Let us see what you can uncover!"

His tower was meticulously cleaned of any traces. He did not believe Ambrose could find anything.

But Ambrose had no intention of searching it. "There is no need for such trouble. All you need do is cast a Blight spell.

"As you know, Blight is a fourth-tier necromancy spell. Other mages can use it, but when a true necromancer casts it, its color and potency differ significantly. Go on. Alter your mana's attributes before my eyes—if you can."

Ambrose looked at him with disdain. A necromancer feigning innocence before a lich was like an alchemist trying to show off to the God of Alchemy.

Winston clenched his fists. Ambrose's words struck the mark. Appearances could be disguised, but mana could not. And Blight would be the clearest demonstration of that distinction. Since when had Monge Greywater become so proficient in magic? Had he been feigning ignorance all along?

After finishing with Winston, Ambrose turned to the final court mage. "And you? Do you also wish to question the details of the plan?"

The last mage shook his head rapidly. He had secrets of his own, and no desire for them to be exposed.

With all three court mages silenced, Ambrose turned to the king. "Your Majesty, time is short. We must act immediately."

The king's eyes shone with admiration. Monge Greywater was truly a pillar of the state. The Ragetide Kingdom had possessed someone qualified to be a grand chancellor all along—the king had simply overlooked him.

The king stepped forward and clapped Ambrose heavily on the shoulder. "Good. Evacuate the nearby civilians at once. Then have the Ragetide Legion begin preparations. Monge, I grant you the authority to make whatever preparations you need."