Chapter 383 - 374: Potion Diplomacy

Chapter 383: Chapter 374: Potion Diplomacy

Captain of the Guard Adams pulled his leather armor tighter, but the damned wind still chilled him to the bone.

’What wretched weather.’

His gaze swept over the withered, yellow plains. Where lush wheat fields should have been growing, not a single sprout could now be seen. In the distance, the villages were as silent as tombs, showing no signs of life.

Despair was the only thing still growing in this land.

Just then, the sound of carriage wheels broke his train of thought.

A convoy was slowly approaching from the end of the dirt road. Adams’s stomach clenched. His greatest fear was that desperate, infected people would try to force their way through the checkpoint—it wouldn’t be the first time, and every clash meant his brothers getting injured, or even killed.

His hand subconsciously tightened around his spear, but his palm was slick with sweat. It felt as if this damned plague had already drained all his strength.

The convoy drew closer, and the banner on the lead carriage became clearer—a briar blossom.

"Halt! Who goes there!"

A young guard beside him shouted the words, but it sounded less like a challenge and more like a whimper of fear.

The carriage window slid open, and a man leaned out.

The man was richly dressed and had a healthy, ruddy complexion. His clean, formal attire was utterly out of place with everything around them. Adams even caught a faint, clean scent from him, a fragrance that felt like it belonged to another world.

"I am Marcus of the Golden Sail Commerce Association, an emissary from the White Tower Territory. A letter has already been sent to Baron Elijah."

White Tower Territory!

Adams was stunned. Rumors about the place flooded his mind—some said Count Klein’s territory was free of the plague, as if blessed by the gods; others claimed its storehouses were overflowing with grain. There were even those who said the Count himself was generous and just, the most trustworthy lord in the Western Territory.

And now, their people were here.

When the man, Marcus, presented a letter bearing the seal of the Klein Clan, Adams was so overcome with joy he nearly wept. He recognized that seal. The Baron had spent the past few days in his study, staring at it, turning it over and over.

’Hope! Hope has arrived!’

A surge of newfound strength coursed through him, and Adams roared hoarsely.

"Quick! Move the barricades! Clear the way!"

"Sir! Please, this way! The Baron has been waiting for you!"

The carriage drove into the castle.

Inside the castle’s great hall, Baron Elijah paced anxiously before the high seat. Though only in his early forties, his hair was already mostly gray. His lordly attire hung loosely on his frame, a clear sign of how emaciated he had become.

The moment he saw Marcus enter, he practically lunged forward and grabbed the man’s arm.

"Emissary! Count Velin... Does he truly have a solution?"

Marcus subtly withdrew his arm, maintaining a polite distance.

"My Lord Baron, the Count sent me here with the utmost sincerity."

He glanced around the hall.

Besides the Baron, there were his treasurer, the Captain of the Guard, and several Knights. Every one of them looked gaunt, but those still able to stand here were undoubtedly the core leadership of the territory.

"Words are pointless." Marcus took an exquisite metal box from an attendant.

The box was lined with velvet. Inside lay a crystal vial containing a pale blue liquid.

"Before we discuss any cooperation, I believe it’s best to first prove that we aren’t merely bluffing." Marcus pushed the box to the center of the table.

"The Blood Cough Potion, a creation of the Count. Please bring in... a patient. Let us allow the facts to speak for themselves."

Baron Elijah’s breathing grew heavy.

He exchanged a look with his Captain of the Guard, who understood immediately. The captain turned and strode quickly into a side hall.

Soon, two guards emerged carrying a stretcher.

On the stretcher lay a young man—the Baron’s nephew and a squire. Just days ago, he had been healthy enough to wrestle a wild boar to the ground with his bare hands.

Now, however, his face was a deathly blue, his eyes were shut tight, and his body convulsed with every cough. Black clots of blood spilled from the corners of his mouth with each spasm, emitting a foul stench.

"Bring him here."

Everyone’s gaze naturally focused on the small vial.

’Is it poison, or is it salvation?’ The question echoed in everyone’s mind.

Marcus pulled on a pair of gloves and picked up the vial and a matching syringe.

After a moment of preparation, he pulled open the young squire’s collar and inserted the needle into the artery in his neck.

The pale blue liquid was slowly injected.

The seconds ticked by.

The only sound in the great hall was the patient’s labored breathing.

After only a few minutes, the patient’s convulsions stopped.

The cough that had threatened to tear out his lungs miraculously subsided.

"Look! His face!" a Knight cried out involuntarily.

The deathly blue color on the young man’s face was fading at a visible rate, and his breathing grew deep and steady.

Though he was still weak, the aura of death that had clung to him had undeniably vanished.

A miracle!

It was the only word on the minds of everyone present.

"Dear Lord..." the treasurer muttered, slumping back into his chair.

Baron Elijah trembled all over, his eyes fixed on Marcus with a fanatical intensity.

"Mister Emissary! This potion! How many do you have?!"

He rushed to the table, planting his hands on its surface and leaning forward as if he wanted to devour Marcus whole.

"I’ll pay! Golden Suns! I still have some in my treasury..."

Marcus raised a hand, cutting him off. He removed his gloves, placed them deliberately back in the box, and put on a troubled expression.

"My Lord Baron, please compose yourself."

"The Blood Cough Potion you have just witnessed is no ordinary concoction. Its core ingredients are exceptionally rare, the process is complex, and the failure rate is exceedingly high."

He spread his hands. "To be frank, we in the White Tower Territory are facing immense pressure to prevent an outbreak ourselves. Our production... is extremely limited."

"I came here on the Count’s orders, purely because His Lordship could not bear to watch a neighbor fall. This single dose was specially approved as ’humanitarian aid.’"

His words were like a bucket of cold water dousing the flames of hope that had just ignited in the hall.

Baron Elijah slumped into his seat. He understood the subtext.

’The aid isn’t free.’

"Name your price," he said wearily, closing his eyes. "What does Count Velin require?"

Only then did Marcus reveal the true smile of a merchant. He took a document from his satchel and placed it on the table.

"The proposal for cooperation is quite simple." He started by dropping a name. "To prepare for future uncertainties, Count Velin is forming the Pan-Gray Sea Alliance. Rest assured, it is a covenant with lenient terms."

He slid the document across the table.

Baron Elijah took the document absentmindedly. He gave it a cursory glance and saw that the articles were indeed very broad, filled mostly with pleasantries like "mutual development" and "reciprocal assistance," with almost no binding obligations.

At such a critical time, with the "Blood Cough" ravaging the Duchy, he had little mental energy to scrutinize the fine print of an alliance pact.

"According to the treaty’s principle of ’mutual exchange,’ the territory of Baron Elijah will be required to provide one thousand healthy, able-bodied artisans to the Grey Marsh Territory to ’assist in production’ for a term of one year. Carpenters, stonemasons, blacksmiths—we need them all. If they are literate, all the better."

"In exchange," he paused, getting to the crucial point, "your territory will receive fifty doses of the Blood Cough Potion, as well as ’priority purchasing rights’ for future batches."

"What?!"

The treasurer shot to his feet, unable to believe his ears.

"One thousand... one thousand skilled artisans..." he muttered to himself. "My lord... even if we scoured the entire territory, we could probably just barely muster that many. But if we do, all production in the domain will grind to a halt."

"If they are gone for a year, our town repairs, weapon maintenance, the forging of tools for the spring planting... everything will be finished. The territory... it will be hollowed out." His voice trembled with a mixture of anger and despair. "Is this what you call an ’alliance’?!"

Faced with this fierce accusation, Marcus didn’t grow angry. Instead, the smile on his face widened.

"You are correct, my good sir," he said, calmly watching the treasurer, who looked ready to leap across the table. He let the man’s fury burn itself out in the air. "It is indeed an unfair trade. But please, do not misunderstand. I am no brigand, and the Count has no intention of coercing an ally."

Marcus’s words left them stunned.

"In fact, we are not insisting," Marcus continued, his tone as casual as if he were discussing the weather. "Since the productive capacity of Baron Elijah’s territory is so precious, it should not be given up lightly. I can leave at once."

Marcus’s tactic of feigning a retreat was like a bucket of ice water dumped over their heads. After a moment of shock, everyone came to their senses. At this point, what leverage did they have to negotiate?

"Lord Marcus, please wait!" Baron Elijah’s face was ashen. He could no longer afford to maintain his noble decorum.

He hurriedly took a step forward, his voice filled with panic. "That is not our intention at all! The people of Elijah’s territory are endlessly grateful for the Count’s generosity. We merely... we merely wished to clarify a few details. It was by no means a refusal!"

Marcus let out a soft "Oh?" and slowly turned back around.

"Then I shall continue. In accordance with the treaty’s principle of ’mutual exchange,’ the Count is willing to grant your territory ’most-favored’ status to help you weather this crisis."

He deliberately drew another sheet of parchment from the leather satchel at his side and slid it across. It was a detailed price list for a dazzling array of goods, from grain, cloth, salt, and candles to tools, building materials, weapons, and armor.

Elijah took it with suspicion. As his eyes scanned the items, his breath caught in his throat.

One pound of rye bread: 1 Copper Leaf.

One gallon of ale: 2 Copper Leaves.

One basic blacksmith’s tool set: 2.5 Golden Suns.

...

He did the math in his head, and his heart sank with each calculation. The prices for most of the goods were on par with pre-plague levels. A few items, like tools and refined metals, were even cheaper than what it cost their own local workshops to produce them!

At the very bottom of the parchment, a line of bold, enlarged text seemed to possess a magical quality, burning itself into his vision.

[All goods—shipping included, payment on delivery.]

"This... how is this possible?" Elijah muttered. He looked up, only to meet Marcus’s eyes, which held the look of a man who had anticipated everything.

’Fifty doses... that’s not a small number.’

But then he turned to look at the loyal vassals and Knights at his side. Their families, and they themselves, could fall ill at any moment.

’Fifty doses can’t save the entire territory.’

’But it’s enough to save the core of my administration.’

’As long as my Knights and I survive, this land will remain the domain of the Elijah family.’

’This isn’t even a choice.’ At that thought, something heavy and final settled within him.

’It was as if the moment he considered capitulation, the world suddenly opened up before him.’

"...My people," Baron Elijah finally began, "what guarantees will they have in your territory?"

Marcus calmly produced another contract, clearly prepared in advance, and slid it across.

"They will receive the exact same treatment as the ’contracted laborers’ in the Grey Marsh Territory."

"Room and board will be fully provided, along with comprehensive medical care. They will be integrated into our territory’s ’Merit Point System.’ Their earnings can be converted into merit points, which can be used to purchase food, cloth, or even land and housing."

"After one year, the contract expires. They will be free to stay or leave as they wish. We will not force anyone to remain."

Baron Elijah took the agreement and read the terms.

His treasurer leaned in as well, reading it word for word. The more he read, the paler his face grew.

’These conditions... they’re even better than the treatment those artisans receive as freemen in their own territory.’

’It’s too good to be true.’

Baron Elijah let out a long breath.

"I’ll sign."

He immediately picked up a quill, hastily scrawled his name, and stamped the document with the wax seal on his ring.

Marcus picked up the agreement, its ink still wet, and blew on it gently.

The first agreement under the Pan-Gray Sea Alliance was struck.

And so, from this desperate barony on the brink of collapse, Velin’s grand plan—one sufficient to shake the very foundations of the Duchy—had officially begun.