Witcher

"The Gisai charge far too much. They're treating me like a pig to slaughter." Geralt's words still rang in his ears.

Kraun kept his gaze fixed on Lemanski. "Is that the price of someone who's serious about doing business?"

The old man didn't even blush. "What price did you have in mind?"

"Fifty Silver Coins per plant for Black Sage, and 15 Silver Coins per gram for Blue Tulip Petal."

Lemanski gave a strange snort, then said with a forced smile, "Did you and Geralt plan this together?"

Recently, there had only been one person named Geralt buying Transcendence materials from the caravan. He had a head of white hair and a prominent scar on his face, so Lemanski remembered him well.

Besides, potions were worth far more when brewed into Transcendence elixirs. The Gisai settlement had its own Alchemist, and Lemanski had priced the raw materials based on an elixir yield of 20%. So yes, they were a little more expensive than they should have been.

"If you're serious, I'll sell you Black Sage for one Gold Shield and 50 Silver Coins, and the petals for 35 Silver Coins per gram."

Kraun had never dealt with the Mystics, so he didn't know how much padding there was in the old man's prices. But he could probe indirectly. "If I were to sell Blood-Boiling Potions, how much would you pay?"

The old man replied coldly, "Five Gold Shields per bottle. No haggling. We'll take as many as you have!"

He quickly calculated the figures in his head and furrowed his brow. "At your prices, the materials for one Blood-Boiling Potion cost at least two Gold Shields. You'd only pay five Gold Shields for the finished potion, which means I'd need a success rate above 40% just to break even. I don't believe herbalists can brew potions that successfully."

Kraun himself had a 100% success rate when brewing ordinary potions, but he was an exception. He had a cheat.

He knew that when his father was alive, his best success rate had only been around 50%, and that had taken more than ten years of steadily accumulating experience.

Even with that success rate, Old Moya had been very proud, saying he was one of the most talented herbalists around.

Going by those odds, other herbalists could also achieve a 50% success rate when brewing Transcendence potions, leaving them with a profit margin of only 10%.

Herbalism was a highly profitable profession. How could a profit margin like that be enough?

"Why don't we take the long view? If you have a reliable sales channel and I can provide a steady supply, wouldn't that be a win-win? The potions I've shown you are nowhere near the limit of my abilities. The only reason I haven't offered any Blood-Boiling Potions is that I don't have the materials."

As the wary, scrutinizing gaze from across the table settled on him, Klaan remained calm and unfazed.

Give me a little time. All of that will be true.

"Trading goods for money only earns you a hard-won profit. But if you make an investment, you could get a return a hundred or even a thousand times over. You'd only need to invest a few dozen Gold Shields in a genius herbalist to earn his friendship and secure a reliable supply."

For some reason, Kraun thought the Golden Wall ought to awaken a skill called Bluffing or Sweet-Talking.

Lemanski looked at the confident young man across from him and rubbed his thumb against his index finger. It was a little habit of his. Whenever he had to make an important decision, he always did that.

A few dozen Gold Shields wasn't a small sum, but he could afford it. What he couldn't afford was being fooled into handing over a batch of materials for next to nothing.

That would be a complete insult to his intelligence!

The old man gritted his teeth. "Fifty Silver Coins per plant for Black Sage, and 15 Silver Coins per gram for Blue Tulip Petal. I'll give you enough for ten batches. If you deliver a Blood-Boiling Potion within two days, I'll keep supplying you at this price. We'll complete the deal when you come by tomorrow. If you can't produce a Blood-Boiling Potion, heh, you'll go on the blacklist of our Gisai caravan."

"Snap." Kraun snapped his fingers. "A wise choice. You'll be glad you made it. Now, could you get me a pocket watch? The plainest one will do. I just need it to keep time."

The old man called out in the Gisai language. A young man picked up an oil lamp, stood, and went out.

A short while later, the young man returned with an antique-looking box and handed it to Lemanski.

The old man took a pocket watch with a brass cover from the box. "One Gold Shield. Cheap, reliable, and respectable."

Kraun took the watch and turned it over in his hands. A ring of clover engravings adorned the cover, and it came with a thin silver chain.

"No haggling," the old man said abruptly.

Kraun gave a soft laugh and took out a Gold Shield. "Pleasure doing business with you. See you tomorrow."

When Kraun left the back courtyard, he saw Geralt sitting quietly, his eyes melancholy. It was impossible to tell what he was thinking.

He seemed completely out of place in the noisy surroundings.

The boy was playing with a dagger, his movements graceful and quick enough to make the eye lose track.

"Old Jason, are the roast lamb legs ready? If they are, bring them out!" Kraun called.

"Almost. Just wait."

"Did you strike a deal?" Geralt asked, coming back to himself.

"We did. I think old Lemanski is pretty reasonable, too. He agreed to sell me ten plants of Black Sage for 50 Silver Coins each."

"Big brother, how did you manage that?"

Alan looked astonished. As far as he knew, the old Gisai was especially unreasonable. They paid rock-bottom prices for most of the materials they bought, charged plenty when they sold anything, and refused to haggle.

Kraun teased him. "Maybe I'm just especially charming."

He paused, then asked, "Would you mind telling me what you need the sage for? If you're making potions, I might be able to help."

The boy turned his gaze toward the white-haired man.

Geralt sat up straight and said solemnly, "Let me introduce myself properly. My name is Geralt Kent, and this is my student, Alan Bolva. We're Witchers."

"When we passed through town, we heard an Evil Spirit was roaming around here. I spoke with the Father at the church and the captain of the Patrol Squad. If I can catch the Evil Spirit, they're willing to pay the reward. We'll be staying here for a while."

"We buy Black Sage because of our unique fighting style. We use it to make sword oil specially for Witchers."

Alan looked a little uneasy. He was worried that this kind big brother wouldn't want to be friends with them.

If that happened, he wouldn't get to eat roast lamb!

Among the Mystics, Witchers had a poor reputation. The first Witchers had been Warlocks' answer to the growing menace of monsters: living weapons built for battle.

After putting them through harsh training, the Warlocks injected the children with drugs that caused mutations. Only those who survived the intense Affliction without going mad could become true Witchers.

Because they had endured such extreme Affliction, most of the first Witchers were cold and bloodthirsty by nature. Some even lost themselves completely in endless killing and became executioners who slaughtered humans.

Although the methods for training Witchers had gradually improved, and their emotional detachment and tendency to madness had been greatly reduced, people's ingrained views of this profession, which fought evil creatures, were difficult to change.

Most ordinary people, unaware of the truth, still feared and despised Witchers.