White walls adorned with fresh green vines revealed brown stems through leafy gaps.

  Sunlight illuminated a flock of white doves soaring overhead.

  The bustling streets teemed with vendors hawking wares, travelers hauling packs, and merchant caravans from distant lands.

  Blacksmiths clanged tools by the roadside.

  Jugglers tossed colored balls, drawing applause from onlookers.

  Camel humps rose above the crowd like islands in a human sea.

  Contrary to its frosty name, White City pulsed with vitality.

  Adam tilted his head upward. Balconies flanking the street overflowed with laundry—some still dripping. A young woman beat bedsheets with a wooden paddle while a girl leaned precariously over a railing.

  A child's errant ball struck Pars, who caught and returned it.

  "Thanks!" The child hugged the ball gleefully.

  At a street corner, actors performed comedies on a makeshift stage, eliciting roaring laughter.

  Crossing an arched bridge, Adam observed white geese gliding below. His gauntlet brushed against slippery moss clinging to stonework.

  Two old men bickered over whose fish was larger, their rods quivering. Nearby, matrons argued while bellowing loud enough to be heard citywide.

  Humanity's cacophony flooded Adam's magical senses—chattering, bargaining, scolding. For the lich accustomed to silent crypts, this riot of life proved utterly mesmerizing.

  In the Underworld, even the mightiest lich's citadel lacked such vibrancy. Though teeming with undead, most existed as mere automatons without self-awareness.

  Here, every being pulsed with autonomy. New tales constantly unfolded—irresistible allure for a lich wearied by eternal stagnation.

  "Knight! Knight! Knight! Knight!"

  Children swarmed the procession, tiny hands outstretched toward Adam.

  "What do they seek?" Adam turned to Pars.

  "Handouts." Pars fished copper coins from his pocket and scattered them.

  The children erupted in glee.

  "Understood." Adam produced silver coins—his sole currency—and tossed them skyward.

  Now adults joined the frenzy, creating such chaos the procession halted.

  "Did I err?" Adam found his companions gaping, Eileen included.

  The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

  "Not at all." Eileen maintained diplomatic composure.

  As they advanced, half the crowd paused to doff their hats. Eileen acknowledged each gesture with practiced grace.

  Naturally, Adam—the stranger astride a steed beside their liege—became the spectacle. Citizens bowed toward his armor, their intense gazes swelling the lich with unprecedented lightheadedness.

  "I adore this place." Adam declared. "This is what being alive feels like!"

  "Wake up, you've been dead for centuries." The cat sneered.

  "Metaphorically speaking! Besides, aren't liches an alternative lifeform?"

  "Nonsense!"

  "'All that breathes, exists, and possesses self-awareness constitutes life.' The Holy Codex states."

  "Blast! You're actually reading scripture now?" The cat reevaluated its priorities—a lich perusing chivalric novels seemed almost wholesome by comparison.

  Thankfully, priests didn't wear full plate armor, sparing the city theological crises.

  "Sir Adam." Abe Roberts nudged his horse closer, ledger in hand. "As you lack White City lodgings, we'll quarter you within the castle barracks. Acceptable?"

  "I require private chambers."

  "Naturally! The finest guest suite awaits. Additionally, armorers will take your measurements later—new plate armor for you and barding for your steed."

  "New armor?"

  "Indeed. Lady Eileen respects your anonymity, but House Beishire's premier knight warrants dignified equipment. All costs covered by the duchy."

  After blank contemplation, Adam shrugged. "Very well."

  "Splendid!" Abe's quill scratched across parchment, codifying the arrangements.

  "Have you considered the implications?" The cat's tone flattened. "They'll measure you and your steed for new armor."

  "What's the issue?"

  "Taking measurements requires removing your current armor."

  "So?"

  "They'll discover two skeletons. Imagine the scandal—House Beishire's new baron is a lich. The continent would gossip for weeks."

  The skeletal steed halted abruptly, causing Mac to collide with its rear.

  "Problem?"

  "None!" Adam urged the steed onward, vertebrae chilling despite lacking nerve endings.

  Finally, they breached White City's bustle, arriving at House Beishire's central fortress.

  Comparatively, Count Caspar's stronghold—indeed any lich's subterranean citadel—paled into crude fortifications. This castle prioritized habitation over defense.

  Alabaster walls gleamed like glacial peaks. Crossing the fortified gatehouse revealed not anticipated battlements, but sprawling gardens.

  Contrasting the city's congestion, this sanctuary unfolded—cobblestone avenues flanked by topiary, aviaries, and marble statues. Ahead, a fountain's prismatic spray nourished engineered streams.

  To the west rose the family chapel, its stained glass refracting light through seven-story belltower—the city's zenith. Eastward stood the guard barracks complex with dedicated stables and tiltyard.

  The central path terminated at a vine-clad manor. Flanking its entrance stood five-meter equestrian statues, their lances aimed skyward above geometrically manicured hedges.

  Adam's nonexistent eyes couldn't widen, but his rigid posture betrayed awe. Even the Underworld's archliches—capable of obliterating duchies—lacked such dwellings. Eternal unlife breeds functionalism, not beauty.

  For a lich, this was like another world entirely.

  Well, it literally was another world.

  "Hey! Stop gawking. Everyone's watching you," the black cat abruptly interjected.

  Adam jolted, only then realizing he had fallen to the rear of the procession. The entire party had halted, silently observing him. The skeletal steed let out disgruntled snorts, as if ashamed of its provincial master.

  "Is something wrong?" Eileen asked.

  "N-no!" Adam shook his head vigorously and hurried to catch up.

  Eileen turned to continue discussing plans with Abe Roberts: "Can Adam's armor be completed by tonight?"

  "Tonight? That's too rushed. Impossible."

  "Then find temporary armor for him. I must host a ball tonight inviting all city nobles. They've seen our returning forces and require reassurances. Delaying until tomorrow risks dangerous speculation. As the new Baron, Adam must attend and be presented to all."

  "Understood, Lady Eileen. I'll prepare invitations for every White City noble."

  "Yes, all without exception."

  Walking behind them, Adam eavesdropped nervously. A chill ran down his spine—and yes, he did indeed possess a spine!