A Small Profit

"What do you think? We've shown plenty of sincerity. With a quantity this large, who knows how long it would take you to sell it all in Zack Town."

Lemanski took a sip of hot water and watched the young herbalist, waiting for a counteroffer.

Kraun offered a shy smile and spoke in a steady voice: "My price is firm. Why don't we run the numbers first?"

"Generally speaking, aside from trauma like bruises and fractures, people who fall ill and fail to recover on their own will head to the church to purchase holy water once their condition worsens."

"For something like a severe cold or fever, you only need the lowest grade, Level 3 holy water. Taking the Church of the God of Fire as an example, each vial of Level 3 holy water sells for 50 silver coins and can be used four or five times."

"Assuming five uses, it usually takes two doses to fully recover. That's a treatment cost of 20 silver coins."

"A single vial of Bupleurum Potion can cure this illness. If I sell it for 5 silver coins, you'll have a profit margin of at least 10 silver coins."

"I still have to bear the cost of the herbs, so at 5 silver coins, I'm actually selling it cheap."

Kraun spoke with ease, his logic sound and persuasive.

The old man's expression darkened; the math was crystal clear.

This kid is not easy to deal with.

Lemanski sighed inwardly, his face showing a troubled expression: "Your numbers are correct, but we have to pay upfront to buy your goods, which ties up a portion of our capital. We don't know when we'll be able to sell everything, and that takes up storage space on our wagons. During transport, accidents are inevitable; if we run into monsters on the road, we might have to abandon the entire cargo to save our lives."

"In short, we bear more risk. I also have a deep study of herbalism and can roughly deduce the ingredients in your potions. Most of the raw materials in Bupleurum Potion are common herbs, right? I suspect the cost of one batch of ingredients is no more than five silver coins. And one batch can produce two sets, totaling six vials."

An expert, he thought. Kraun smiled slightly: "What is the highest success rate you've ever seen for an herbalist? Can it reach one hundred percent?"

The old man fell silent. For a skilled pharmacist making a familiar potion, the success rate would be fifty or sixty percent at best.

The two traded barbs for a while longer before the purchase price of the potions was finally settled.

The Bupleurum Potion was set at 4 silver coins and 50 copper coins per vial, while the price of the Pink Potion remained unchanged at 20 silver coins per vial.

The men counting the potions finally finished, and the lead Gisai spoke a few words to the old man in a language Kraun couldn't understand.

Lemanski nodded slightly and turned to Kraun: "600 vials of Bupleurum Potion and 100 vials of Pink Potion, correct?"

"That's exactly the number."

The old man said something to the men who had counted the potions, and they began to move them away.

Once the table was cleared, the old man clapped his hands, and the little girl who had been running a fever the night before ran over and handed him two boxes.

"Take a look. These are the things you wanted."

Kraun opened one of the boxes and saw the Black Sage inside, well-preserved with very few broken roots, and nodded in satisfaction.

He opened the other, which contained dried blue petals.

He took a gentle sniff, and a fragrant scent filled his nose.

Kraun took off the leather bag from his back and pulled out a small, pocket-sized box.

He opened the box and laid out its contents: a set of scales.

After skillfully weighing the items, he smiled: "I am very satisfied with the goods. Let's settle the final account."

Pulling a pencil and some scrap paper from his cloth bag, Kraun began to calculate expertly, muttering to himself.

"My goods: 600 vials of Bupleurum Potion for 27 Gold Shields, 100 vials of Pink Potion for 20 Gold Shields, totaling 47 Gold Shields. 10 stalks of Black Sage for 5 Gold Shields, 100 grams of Blue Tulip Petals for 15 Gold Shields. You still owe me 27 Gold Shields. Yes, that's it, exactly."

With that, Kraun handed the paper with his calculations to the Gisai old man.

Lemanski glanced at it, reached into his robe, pulled out a cloth bag, and counted out the full amount in Gold Shields:

"We were originally planning to leave for Rhine City tomorrow, but since you say you can produce the Blood-Boiling Potion, I can wait for you until noon the day after tomorrow."

Taking the heavy Gold Shields, Kraun let out a sharp whistle:

"That won't be necessary at all. You'll see what you want by noon tomorrow."

He had no experience in brewing transcendent potions, but that didn't dampen his confidence.

He had bought 10 sets of materials. Since high-level potions required refining and purification, each set could only produce one batch, or three vials.

Starting a new potion would inevitably lead to various mishaps. He planned to divide each set of materials into three parts and practice one vial at a time.

With 30 chances, he was bound to succeed once or twice, right?

Another all-nighter to grind!

Kraun sighed to himself.

To gain more leverage with his distributors, he decided to demonstrate as much potential as possible.

The Gisai were a nomadic people, but they were incredibly united and helped one another.

If he could win over Lemanski's small merchant group, he could establish a connection with the entire organization behind them.

"See you tomorrow then," Kraun said, rising to take his leave.

"See you tomorrow."

Stepping through the back door of the inn, the warm atmosphere dispelled the chill on Kraun's face.

The weather had indeed turned much colder; he had only walked a few steps outside and was already shivering.

Walking to the counter, Kraun asked, "Old Jason, where are those two outlanders carrying longswords?"

"What do you want with them? That guy with the scar on his face looks like trouble."

The innkeeper put down his rag and lowered his voice, "This evening, a drunkard came over to provoke them and was sent flying out the door by a single punch from the white-haired one. His nose bridge was broken."

Kraun shrugged, "Don't worry, I'm just here to talk business. He's buying some herbs from me."

"Oh, I see. Go upstairs, the room at the very end," Jason said, pointing toward the staircase.

Walking up the creaking stairs, Kraun reached the end of the hallway.

Knock, knock, knock.

"Who is it?" a slightly youthful voice asked.

"Open up, Alan. It's me, Kraun. I'll treat you to roast lamb in a few days."

The door opened quickly.

"Big Brother, you better keep your word!"

Little Alan looked up with a flushed face, excitedly ushering the visitor into the room.

"I will," Kraun said. Upon entering, he saw Geralt wiping down his sword.

"I've brought the Black Sage," he said, taking a small box from his leather bag and handing it to the witcher. The herbs inside were ones he had gathered himself.

The white-haired man reached out to take it, opened the box, and picked up a sprig to examine it closely before nodding with a smile, "Not bad. You didn't damage the herbs at all while picking them."

"Alan, get the money for Kraun."