Chapter 217: The Founding of the Cecil Trading Company

Before today, Padric had never imagined that alchemical potions could be packaged and sold by the “box.”

How were alchemical potions usually packaged and sold? Most small-time merchants didn’t even bother to think about it. After all, alchemical items were all products of extraordinary power. The lowest-level peddlers barely carried anything more than a few iron plates etched with runes or dried sheepskin scraps in their wagons—items that served mostly as psychological comfort, with sales pitches like, “My grandmother swore this works.” Genuine alchemical potions were a luxury only mid- to upper-tier merchants could afford to deal in.

Even for those mid- to upper-tier merchants, a single trading trip or stockpile rarely amounted to more than a dozen or so bottles of alchemical potions. These potions were housed in exquisite crystal bottles, cushioned with velvet and fine silk padding, and then placed inside delicate wooden boxes—priced roughly on par with the finest vintage wines.

There was a famous mercenary, renowned far and wide, who was once tasked with eliminating a mutated beast threatening the border. Relying on his exceptional skills and a mere dozen or so alchemical potions, he managed to wear down an enemy three times his strength. But after his victory, when he glanced back at the empty potion bottles he’d discarded on the ground, he suddenly collapsed and died on the spot…

Of course, this story was likely exaggerated. Merchants often used overly lavish packaging to inflate the price of potions in the eyes of clueless nobles and rookie mercenaries. Still, the intrinsic value of alchemical potions was undeniable. Yet here was Gawain, having just brought in several large crates—boxes that, when opened, revealed rows upon rows of neatly packed alchemical potions, each crystal bottle cushioned with wood shavings to prevent damage.

“Each box has three layers, with 233 bottles per layer. This box contains weak mana potions, that one is disease-cleansing elixirs, and the rest are all rejuvenation potions,” Gawain explained to Padric, pointing to the crates. Then he pulled out a sheet of paper. “Here are the prices and profit-sharing details. I’ve tentatively priced the rejuvenation potions at sixty Cecil copper coins or one Ansu shield-shaped silver coin. Mana potions go for two shield-shaped silver coins each, and the disease-cleansing elixirs are priced the same as the rejuvenation potions.”

Padric blinked in confusion as he took the price list. Hearing the numbers, he struggled to connect the dots between the price and the potions before him.

After a moment’s hesitation, he finally asked, “Your Grace… are these potions really genuine?”

“Do you think I’d sell fake medicine?” Gawain raised an eyebrow. “Of course they’re real! I just have a special method that lets me produce them at very low cost.”

“Your Grace, I have no doubt about your integrity!” Padric quickly reassured him, though a deep suspicion gnawed at him. Honestly, no one could remain calm in the face of such low prices and Gawain’s casual ability to churn out vast quantities of alchemical potions. This implied an unimaginable fortune behind it all. But Padric was smart—bold with money, yes, but cautious when it came to matters of life. So he didn’t pry for secrets. Instead, he accepted the potions as a given and began analyzing the situation. “If you truly can supply such large quantities of potions… then I have some ideas.”

Gawain nodded. “Go ahead. You have experience in commerce.”

Padric got straight to the point. “Your Grace, I suggest diluting the rejuvenation potions with water.”

The words stunned not only Gawain but also Amber, who had tagged along as background support. After a brief pause, the half-elf woman looked Padric up and down with admiration. “Sir, you’re a real talent…”

“Don’t encourage him,” Gawain shot Amber a glare, then fixed his gaze on Padric. “You do realize this isn’t the suggestion of an honest merchant. You have more to say, don’t you?”

“Yes, Your Grace. Diluting the rejuvenation potions and rebranding them as ‘Secondary Healing Potions’ or ‘Inferior Healing Draughts’—the disease-cleansing elixirs could be treated the same way, renamed ‘Secondary Disease-Cleansing Potions’ or something similar. If you think this compromises knightly honor, then simply lower the price further and clearly state that these diluted potions are less effective than genuine alchemical potions. That way, it’s not deception. For the vast majority of common folk facing everyday injuries and illnesses, even these inferior potions would be life-saving. Diluted alchemical potions are still far better than the foul salves made from mud and rotten roots sold by country herbalists.”

Padric watched Gawain’s expression carefully. The duke merely nodded. “Go on. I’m listening.”

“Selling rejuvenation potions at such low prices will inevitably disrupt the existing market and threaten those profiting from it. Of course, with your backing, this ‘new trading company’ can look down on small merchants and alchemists, but even rats in the gutter can be a nuisance. Also, for the common people, access to cheap potions isn’t necessarily a blessing—at least not at first. Those hurt by the new company’s disruption may not be able to touch you, but they could turn their hatred toward the ‘overreaching’ poor. They might threaten potential buyers, attack those who already purchased potions, or even poison the market and spread rumors. Most ignorant commoners wouldn’t know who’s really harming them.”

Lowering his head slightly, Padric added cautiously, “Your Grace, you are powerful, but even a fierce lion must beware of venomous insects.”

Gawain’s expression remained steady, but his eyes showed a flicker of surprise. After a few seconds, he nodded slowly. “You’re right. To avoid this, we’ll need some ‘disguise.’”

“Yes. Nothing too clever—just openly declare these are inferior or even failed byproducts of alchemical production. That will scare off half the suspicious eyes. Meanwhile, you can still sell genuine rejuvenation and disease-cleansing potions at a higher price—still cheaper than the market, but not slashed down to mere copper coins. Traditional merchants will be lulled into complacency, thinking you’re just temporarily undercutting prices or found a cheap herb source. By the time they realize the truth, it’ll be too late.”

“This way, you establish your trade routes while avoiding premature attention from ill-intentioned parties. Even those buying diluted potions will get effective medicine at prices they can afford—already a huge improvement over the mud and rotten roots they usually get. They’ll be grateful to you.”

Gawain said nothing, but muttered softly to himself, “For the poor, even buying a good potion is a crime…”

His thoughts drifted to the famine in the Eastern Territories in Ansu 476, a disaster that left corpses strewn everywhere. A severe locust plague devastated crops across several counties. A few compassionate nobles organized relief efforts, but much of the grain ended up in the bellies of knights overseeing the aid, treasurers, local bullies, and bandits. Even those who received rations struggled to keep their life-saving food. The crisis was finally resolved by a grain merchant who volunteered a shocking solution:

He mixed sand, wood shavings, and even maggots into the grain.

Only then could the grain be safely distributed to the starving. This “merciful miser” saved tens of thousands, but in Ansu 477, he was hanged from the tallest tower in the Eastern Territories, charged with “embezzling grain and poisoning the populace.”

“I accept your suggestion,” Gawain said slowly, meeting Padric’s eyes after a deep breath. “But understand this is temporary. If anyone treats this method as a business model, the laws of the Cecil Domain will come down hard.”

Padric stood and bowed, one hand over his chest. “Just as I faithfully guard every copper left by Viscount Kant, I will loyally carry out every order you give.”

Gawain smiled. “One more thing: this new trading organization isn’t just about selling potions. Although alchemical potions will be the main product at first, the Cecil Domain will have new goods in the future. I have many things to sell.”

Padric nodded. “Naturally. A trading company founded by a duke himself can’t be limited to a single product.”

“You should already understand the organizational structure of this new company. I want you to select honest, sharp merchants you know as grassroots distributors. They can establish regional sales points, but the decoration, pricing, and inventory procedures must follow my rules. Anyone unwilling to comply should leave early. As for higher-level regional agents and the overall manager… you will be the general manager overseeing everything. I will also assign clerks and liaisons at every level to supervise and assist. I hope you understand.”

“Of course—since you provide all the funding and goods, the organization must be under your control.”

Gawain stood, smiling as he lifted his teacup. “Then let us toast to the founding of the ‘Cecil Trading Company.’ Mr. Padric, do you mind tea instead of wine?”

Padric rose and raised his cup. He wanted to say he didn’t care about the substitution—right now, he was wary of anything going down his throat—but in the end, he braved it and accepted the duke’s invitation. Raising his cup, he said, “I… hic…”

After the meeting, Padric headed straight for the restroom, while Gawain returned to his chambers.

A blueprint lay quietly spread on his desk.

It depicted a machine with a symmetrical, advanced design—a rotor with fan blades and a circular magical apparatus surrounding the blades. Beside the blueprint was an unfolded schematic of a runic array.

“Honored Lord, I have completed the runic array design for the rotary arcane engine. I discovered that its speed can be adjusted by increasing or decreasing the number of rune groups activated simultaneously or by fine-tuning the contact area of the rune triggers. Relevant data is attached.

—Jenny Perrot.”

(End of chapter)