Chapter 315: One Step Forward
Amber certainly knew that the “rules” set by Gawain were unlike anywhere else—just like Gawain’s entire way of thinking was different from everyone else’s.
Would a normal person sell their cutting-edge technology to outsiders? Would a normal person try to turn magical powers that should belong exclusively to nobles and the extraordinary into something as common as cabbage? Would a normal person establish a government office and a whole administrative system, delegating the exclusive authority of lords down to “civil servants” from low-ranking nobility or even commoner backgrounds?
Gawain did all of that—and every time, he had a solid reason.
“Now that the magic network has begun spreading in the southern territories, imitation prototypes have appeared on noble lands near the Leslie and Kander domains. Some wealthy and well-informed high nobles have also caught wind of the magic energy engine. They should be very interested. Just as you originally planned, having Viscount Andrew, rather than someone from the Cecil domain, handle the sales further eases the southern nobles’ concerns. If all goes well, once spring arrives and trade routes open, we’ll see a steady stream of substantial income—just enough to purchase more raw ore and expand the population.”
After hearing Amber’s report, Gawain nodded slightly. “Viscount Andrew is a familiar face in the south. His connections will help us get the primitive magic network and magic energy engines into the hands of other nobles. And once they taste even a little benefit… they won’t be able to refuse the advantages that follow.”
“Also, there’s news from Patrick. Alchemical potions are still selling well in winter. Some merchants have even set up shop near the eastern border and the Holy Spirit Plains. But the large quantities of cheap potions they carry have caught the attention of local lords. Patrick is a bit worried,” Amber reported seriously. “He fears those nobles might exploit the merchants’ distribution channels driven by profit… His exact words were: ‘Not every noble is as honest and trustworthy in business as Duke Cecil.’”
Gawain raised his eyelids. “What exactly is going on? I assume he didn’t just send complaints.”
“You can’t hide anything from me,” Amber scratched her head. “He said there have already been several nasty incidents. In some northern areas, local nobles have detained our potion merchants, demanding they sell half their goods at extremely low prices—or else declare the merchants illegal traders.”
Gawain’s interest piqued. “Oh? Extremely low prices? How low?”
“…One-third, even one-quarter,” Amber’s face showed indignation. “That’s outright robbery!”
Gawain couldn’t help but laugh. “Hmm… At current prices and the alchemy factory’s costs, even a quarter still leaves some profit.”
“You’re laughing?” Amber stared at him, dumbfounded. “They’re robbing the Cecil domain’s money! If they weren’t worried about your reputation, they wouldn’t just demand part of the goods—they’d outright plunder the merchants!”
“Direct plundering isn’t good,” Gawain stroked his chin thoughtfully. “If that happened, no one would dare sell potions in their lands anymore, and I’d lose my reach. Hmm, draft an order for Patrick: tell those merchants who have established themselves to proactively contact the local nobles. One-quarter price? Fine. The Cecil domain is willing to sell potions in bulk at a quarter price. Our potion merchants can even reserve half of each shipment for them. The condition is that those local lords must protect the Cecil potion merchants’ distribution rights in their territories and prevent traditional herbalists or alchemists from suppressing or squeezing them out.”
Seeing Amber’s stunned expression, Gawain deliberately smiled and asked, “Do you think those local lords will agree to these terms?”
Amber opened her mouth for a long time before finally blurting out, “Of course they will! Only fools wouldn’t! Ten or so copper coins for a bottle of alchemical potion! With such a huge benefit, they’d protect the merchants without you even asking—maybe even help transport the goods! But what’s the benefit for you in doing this…?”
Before Amber could finish, Gawain interrupted, “What do you think those local lords are buying cheap alchemical potions for?”
“For what?” Amber blinked. “Well, it can’t be for mouthwash…”
“Definitely not for themselves,” Gawain said, amused by the half-elf’s momentary confusion, but this time he wasn’t teasing her. “Our alchemical potions are diluted ‘inferior products.’ While still good for commoners and adventurers, they’re absolutely not fit for noble eyes. Those local lords know this in advance. So the only reason they’re buying large quantities of cheap potions is to supply their own men—their mercenaries, guards, and henchmen.”
Amber was smart, but sometimes her habitual thinking made it hard to see the bigger picture. With a little nudge from Gawain, she suddenly realized what this cunning old fox was plotting.
“You mean…”
“Massive shipments, as many as needed. The generous Duke Cecil will ensure every noble army in the south uses affordable, high-quality alchemical potions. Brave soldiers will no longer have to smear their wounds with stinky black salves and root pastes. And in the process, I’ll just take a tiny, negligible cut,” Gawain leaned back in his chair, calm and unhurried. “With good alchemical potions, no one will use those nearly useless herbal salves or magical tricks anymore. The expensive traditional alchemical potions will quickly vanish. Do you know what that means?”
Amber instinctively touched her neck. “That’s what you called… the noose last time?”
“Exactly, the noose,” Gawain exhaled softly. “None of them want to see the Cecil family rise again. So they try their cleverest tricks to bleed the Cecils dry. I’ll let them bleed me—but at the same time, I’ll slip a noose around each of their necks.”
After a pause, Gawain smiled at Amber. “Diluted alchemical potions don’t keep long.”
In the large laboratory of the Rune Research Institute, Pittman had been invited by Jenny to observe a special magic circle.
The unkempt old druid still looked as unreliable as ever. Despite being the head of druidic spells and magical alchemy industry, commanding a team of over ten apprentices and his own research projects, he still wore a plain, worn gray cotton robe. Various useful and useless talismans hung all over him. His white hair was a tangled mess atop his head, held down by a faded, earth-yellow soft cap. His sharp little eyes darted around from beneath the scattered strands of hair at the cap’s edge. Anyone seeing him would first think he might suddenly pull out a deck of cards to read your fortune—not associate him with titles like “Divine Rune Expert” or “Druid Mentor.”
But he was indeed an expert in his field.
Pittman carefully examined the large baseboard on the central experiment table. On it, various combinable rune blocks and magical energy lines formed a magic circle filled with mysterious aura. Some non-conductive threads were pinned onto the surface, dividing the circle into different functional zones.
—These divisions were temporarily made by Jenny and Kamail and were not precise, serving only as research aids.
“These are indeed transformed divine runes,” Pittman said, stroking his beard as he nodded. “Hmm… this confirms one of my hypotheses.”
“A hypothesis?” Jenny looked at the old druid curiously.
“Whether it’s the natural sect once worshipped by druids or the dream sect of the Ever-Sleepers, during the process of converting divine magic into arcane magic, the pioneers performed very careful ‘avoidance’ and ‘concealment’ operations,” Pittman smiled slyly. “These transformed runes reveal only one message…”
Kamail’s voice, tinged with arcane resonance, came from nearby: “Fear.”
“Exactly, fear,” Pittman chuckled. “The power of the gods has fallen into human hands, but people still tremble as if constantly afraid the gods will return, afraid the gods will punish those who stole their power. Even though the pioneers found the rules and techniques to convert divine magic into arcane magic, they tried to hide their actions, as if deceiving themselves, avoiding gods who might no longer exist.”
“The early days of the Rebellion were the same,” Kamail buzzed. “Only after we confirmed the existence of the ‘Great Stag Amorn,’ the fallen nature god, did our fear lessen somewhat.”
Jenny had never imagined she’d one day be involved in such matters, but she had grown accustomed to it and instinctively asked, “The Dream God… could it also be like the Great Stag Amorn—fallen?”
“That’s hard to say. Gods are stranger than humans can imagine. The corpse of the Great Stag Amorn lies in the Shadow Realm, but who knows what state the gods worshipped by other fallen sects are in,” Pittman chuckled, shaking his head as he leaned over the magic circle. “Rather than pondering the current state of those gods, we should focus on understanding how this magic circle works.”
“We’ve made some initial progress on that,” Kamail said, summoning a sculpted hand to bring over a half-meter-tall metal-crystal device beside the test table.
—It was a small magic energy obelisk designed for laboratory use.
“At first, we tried to power the circle with ordinary magic, but failed. This circle has a special interface—it only responds to the Ever-Sleepers’ dream magic. Activation and control require special dream magic. Obviously, the circle is incomplete; it can’t operate independently. It needs a caster to perform a complementary ritual to complete its magical pathways,” Kamail explained as he began adjusting the obelisk. “This is common—many traditional circles are ‘incomplete’ due to poor optimization or design, but it causes us a lot of trouble…”
The magic energy obelisk activated, and a stable magical field enveloped the entire Rune Research Institute.
“But later, we found we don’t need the whole circle to run. There’s a crucial part inside—if we can activate just that part, the diffusion of the magical field will let it produce incredible effects.”
Kamail raised his arcane-charged arm, sending a small spark onto the magic circle on the test table. Part of the runes immediately lit up, flickering in brightness as Kamail infused more magic.
Almost instantly, Pittman’s gaze shifted knowingly toward the wall on the other side of the lab.
On the wall hung another large baseplate. Unlike the complete “Sleeper’s Array,” this one bore only the most basic set of runic patterns. Yet even this simple array flickered and shifted in sync with Kamail’s movements.
“At present, this is the most straightforward change we can transmit, and the transmission is highly susceptible to interference, with distance posing a significant challenge. But at the very least, we’ve proven one thing in the process:
“The ‘black box’ of communication magic isn’t unbreakable. Its underlying principle might be far simpler than any of us ever imagined.”
(End of chapter)