Chapter 382 - 373: Cultural Invasion

Chapter 382: Chapter 373: Cultural Invasion

「One week later. The Alchemy Workshop.」

"Next batch! Hurry!"

Old Sam roared at the top of his lungs, sweat trickling down his oil-stained cheeks and quickly evaporating in the scorching air.

Beneath his feet, energy pipes forged from Mithril and mountain copper faintly glowed, channeling energy from the Ethereum Tower into the workshop’s two "Morningstar III" alchemy devices.

Workers in uniform smocks operated in an assembly-line fashion. They fed preliminarily processed medicinal herbs into the intake port, pressed a Rune-marked button, and the device would automatically complete a series of complex procedures like grinding, extraction, and initial blending.

A task that used to take a senior alchemy apprentice half a day to complete now only required a literate worker ten minutes to operate.

"Finished product, number three hundred twenty-one!"

A young worker took a sealed blue potion from the terminal’s output port, carefully placing it into a specialized metal transport case. The slots inside the case were almost full.

"Quick hands, kid!" Old Sam said as he walked by, clapping him on the shoulder. "How many have you made today?"

"Uncle Sam, this is my twelfth!" The young man’s face was filled with unconcealable excitement and pride. "I just learned how to operate this ’Morningstar’ yesterday, and I’ve already gotten the hang of it. According to the calculations in the merit point manual, the points I’ve earned this morning alone are enough to trade for a whole roast chicken at the cafeteria!"

Old Sam grinned. He looked to the other end of the workshop, where Master Valerius was standing beside a massive Magic Array, making adjustments.

Within the Array, lines of Magic Power demarcated individual alchemy cubicles where apprentices performed the final blending in their respective rooms. It was the last, and most critical, step of the entire process.

The Magic Array imbued them with a Magic that enhanced their concentration, raising their alchemy success rate by more than a single notch.

With a seemingly endless supply of Magic Power, the entire workshop’s output efficiency reached an unprecedented height. It used to take several days to gather a full case of potions; now, daily production exceeded three hundred vials.

And that number was still climbing.

A crowd was gathered before the bulletin board at the city hall.

"Look! A new notice from the Lord’s Mansion!"

"Read it, read it! What does it say?" an illiterate old woman anxiously tugged at the sleeve of a young man in front of her.

The young man cleared his throat and read aloud.

"To all citizens of Minas Tirith: By the grace of the gods and the united effort of all subjects, the ’Blood Cough Potion’ has achieved stable mass production. The threat of the plague within the territory has been largely eliminated. However, considering that many citizens still have family trapped in plague-stricken areas, the Lord has issued this special decree."

The crowd fell silent, everyone staring at the notice with their mouths agape.

"Effective immediately, all citizens of this territory may proceed to the city hall registration office to declare the names, origins, and current situations of relatives in need of aid. The city hall will formulate a comprehensive plan based on the number of declarations, dispatching armed merchant ships and escort fleets to port towns where the epidemic is under control to receive relatives and bring them to Mi Port for refuge. All those received must be observed in the quarantine zone for ten days. Upon confirmation that they are clear, they will be granted temporary citizenship."

A thunderous cheer, like a tidal wave, erupted in front of the bulletin board.

"Heavens! Did I hear that right? The Lord is going to save our families!"

"My wife and children are still in the Golden Thread Province! I thought I’d never see them again in this lifetime!" a burly man dropped to his knees on the spot, wailing uncontrollably.

"Quick! Hurry to the city hall to register! My younger brother is a sailor in Donglu Province!"

The crowd was in an uproar. People hugged, cried, and shouted, releasing the ecstatic joy of survival and the gratitude of being saved. The gloom was swept away, and the adoration for Velin Klein reached its zenith at this moment.

People spontaneously flooded the square before the Lord’s Mansion, falling to their knees and offering their most devout respect toward the building, toward the lord who had brought them hope.

The entire territory was immersed in a state of almost fanatical joy.

「Lord’s Mansion. The study.」

Tristan gently placed a document on the desk, which listed the latest data from the workshop.

"My Lord, according to our current production capacity, after deducting our internal reserves, the aid quotas for the Dawn Territory, Green Vein Territory, and Silver Lion Territory, and the estimated amount for the citizens’ relatives, we will have a surplus of at least one thousand vials of ’Blood Cough Potion’ every week starting next month."

Tristan did his best to control his voice, trying not to sound too excited. But anyone could hear the immense weight behind those figures.

One thousand vials.

If this number got out, it could even attract the army of a Marquis!

"So, we can now rake in a huge sum of money every week?"

Caroline looked at Velin, her eyes gleaming.

She was nestled in a sofa beside the main seat, her posture relaxed. Her legs were crossed, and her long dress slid down her thigh, outlining a graceful curve.

"My Lord, what do you plan to do with this fortune? We don’t know how long the plague will last, and the Duchy will only grow more chaotic. My suggestion is to convert these potions into Gold Coins as quickly as possible—the more, the better."

She took a sip of red wine, her expression turning serious. "With enough hard currency, we can purchase the supplies we need from overseas, from other nations, when necessary. Food, weapons, cloth... everything will get more expensive, and some things may become impossible to find. Only by holding onto gold can we ensure the foundation of Minas Tirith remains unshaken."

"Gold is a foundation, but not the foundation."

A voice came from in front of the map.

Tristan had, at some point, moved to stand before the map. His back was to the other two as he seemed to be studying the map of the Duchy.

"Miss Caroline, your considerations are a necessary part of surviving in chaotic times. But when order completely collapses, the purchasing power of currency will be greatly diminished. At that point, the real hard currency will be the ability to be self-sufficient, as well as land and vassals."

He turned around and continued to state his reasoning.

"We should use the potions to trade for the fealty of the lesser nobles. Any noble in need of aid must pledge his loyalty to you, Count Velin, and become a vassal of the Earl of Grey Sea. After the plague, the Duchy will surely be gravely weakened. Based on your predictions, it’s highly likely that Hector will move against us. Therefore, we will need an alliance even more—a group of vassals who can provide critical support to defend the territory."

Tristan’s finger traced a path across the map, starting from Minas Tirith Port and circling several key baronies in the surrounding area.

After hearing Tristan’s analysis, Caroline’s elegant brows furrowed slightly.

"Mr. Tristan, establishing a political alliance is indeed very forward-thinking. But forgive me for being blunt, I’m more accustomed to calculating quantifiable risks."

"Political fealty? Such promises are the most ethereal of things. In my view, only Golden Suns and land deeds are true assets. What makes us believe those nobles won’t just toss their oaths aside the moment they get their life-saving potions?"

Tristan was taken aback and wanted to say more.

"You both have valid points."

Velin finally spoke.

He stood up from his seat and walked between the two of them.

He first looked at Caroline. "We’ll take the money. Golden Suns are wasted in the hands of nobles who don’t know how to use them."

A triumphant smile appeared on Caroline’s face.

Velin then turned to Tristan. "We’ll take the fealty, too. A stable political alliance is fundamental to our foothold in the Duchy."

Tristan also nodded slightly.

"At the same time," Velin’s tone shifted, "I also want their ’people’."

"People?" Caroline and Tristan were both stunned.

"Just like we did with the Dawn Territory." Velin walked to the map, his finger tapping on the markers that represented the various noble territories. "To produce the ’Blood Cough Potion,’ even with the Ethereum Tower and alchemy devices, we still need a large number of industrial workers who can read blueprints and follow discipline. The more people we have, the greater our output, and the more nobles we can bring into our alliance."

Following Velin’s line of reasoning, the two were startled to realize what a brilliant idea it was.

"We can use the potions to trade for the skilled craftsmen in their territories. Ages fifteen to twenty-five, healthy, and preferably literate. For every fifty vials of potion, we trade for one thousand such young people."

"Furthermore, to guarantee the ’quality’ and ’loyalty’ of these workers, the one leading them must be of the noble lord’s direct bloodline. The eldest or second son will serve as the manager for this thousand-person team."

Both of them held their breath.

They understood Velin’s intent.

This was no simple labor exchange.

"Here," Velin continued, a light glinting in his wine-red eyes, "they will learn discipline, experience our culture, and obey orders. More importantly, they will get used to our merit point system, accustomed to exchanging labor and contribution for wealth and status, not bloodline."

"By the time the plague is over and they return to their homelands..."

Velin didn’t continue.

But Caroline and Tristan could already see the picture of the future he was painting.

These influenced young people would become seeds, bringing the ideas, order, and even the values of Minas Tirith back to their hometowns.

They couldn’t put a name to this stratagem, but they felt the idea was terrifying—it was a subversion of the old noble order from its very roots.

Velin wouldn’t tell them that this was called cultural invasion.

"We’ll do it this way."

Velin made the final decision, concluding the discussion that would determine the future course of the Duchy.

"Tristan, you will draft a standardized ’Labor Aid Agreement.’ Write down all the details clearly, especially the clause about the manager being from a direct bloodline. That is our non-negotiable bottom line."

"Yes, My Lord." Tristan bowed and accepted the command.

Velin looked at Caroline.

"You’ll be in charge of ’negotiating’ with those nearly drowning nobles."

He took a step closer and lowered his voice.

"Remember, our potions are precious, and our production capacity is ’very limited.’ We are only ’forced’ to accept this kind of cooperation—exchanging for manpower—in order to help our allies. We are the ones ’getting the short end of the stick,’ understand?"

Caroline looked at Velin’s deadpan face and suddenly snorted with laughter.

She took a step forward and reached out to straighten Velin’s already neat collar, an intimate gesture.

"Don’t you worry, my lord." Her voice held a sly cunning. "Nobody understands extortion better than I do."