Those Who Studied Journalism

The air after the rain was filled with the smell of earth. Drogo knew that was actinomycetes farting.

The towering chimney of the factory before them spewed white smoke. It was not Le Ke Five, but condensed high-temperature steam.

The fuel was burning quite thoroughly, so it would be hard to make an issue out of environmental pollution.

Drogo took out his little notebook. One page was titled, "Backup Plans to Ruin That Medicine Seller."

He crossed out the first line: "Market an environmentalist girl."

That was right. The owner of the factory before them was Ragu Kulman, the man who made pirated yo-yos.

The drow had thoroughly dug up his background for Drogo.

From a certain perspective, it was quite the legendary story.

He had grown up on the streets, joined gangs, and handled errands and deliveries. That was how he met a druid burdened with gambling debts, and they began selling counterfeit medicine together.

It was unscrupulous, but not entirely so. The medicine they sold was the kind that did not do much, but did no real harm either.

After saving up some money, he expanded into smuggling, reselling defective equipment, printing pirated books—he did everything. His business grew bigger and bigger, and after steam-engine industrialization began, he bet on a potion factory and took off immediately.

Yet even after making a fortune, he could not forget those shady little businesses. Even now, he was pirating yo-yos.

A drow emerged from the shadows. "We have investigated the factory's interior. He himself is a level-five ranger and has hired four guards: two barbarians, one monk, and one warlock. The highest level among them is only nine."

"Then what are we waiting for? Tear down the factory already!" Aisha said excitedly.

"Fine. You go do it."

"How could I tear down a factory?"

"Are you the evil dragon, or am I? How can you be so violent at such a young age? And why did you even come along?"

"To watch Drogo burn down a potion factory!" Aisha's eyes shone.

Drogo rolled his eyes. Had this unlucky kid been under too much pressure lately? Why did she always want to destroy something?

Violence was not among Drogo's backup plans. First, the factory was the livelihood of many workers. Destroying it would affect far too many innocent people.

Second, Soren had helped him. It would not be appropriate to stir up violence in someone else's city.

Besides, he was quite interested in the factory's technology and equipment. Forget medicine-making—their yo-yos were indistinguishable from the genuine product. If he could bring down the factory and then acquire it, yo-yo production could be moved here, and the goblin labor force could be freed up as well.

Drogo looked at the second item in his notebook. "Create a major scandal." If there was a problem with these potions, it would not be something that could be settled with a bow and an apology.

This potion factory mainly produced healing potions, which accounted for seventy percent of its total output and were also the type of potion with the greatest market demand.

At that moment, another drow emerged from the shadows—a female priestess.

"The healing potion formula, the documents filed with the Patent Office, and the experimental reports from its development have all been collected. The areas that can be exploited have been sorted out."

"Good work."

Drogo first opened the formula.

"The formula contains taro fruit. Its most common use is animal feed. Hmm... have someone write an article. Note down the topic first: 'Healing Potions Contain Taro Fruit: Most Sellers of Taro Fruit Are Feed Merchants, Who Say It Is Not Recommended for Human Consumption.'"

He then took out the experimental reports.

"They tried hellhound blood during development, but it was later discarded. Hiss... write down another one: 'Shocking! The Birth of Healing Potions Is Actually Connected to Hell—Are There Safety Risks?' Make sure the headline includes 'Shocking.'"

Finally, he looked through the Patent Office documents. It had to be said, the Patent Office was quite rigorous. Even the drow, who were always plotting schemes, could not find any problems.

But Drogo's experience was beyond anything these underground elves could compare to. He read the documents from beginning to end several times and finally found a loophole.

"The adverse reactions are listed as still unclear. Then we will write: 'Who Will Give the Public the Truth? Healing Potions Have Unknown Side Effects!' Be careful not to drag the Patent Office into it."

Drogo was very satisfied with his work. He had at least inherited eighty percent of Earth's clickbait marketing accounts' true skill.

After thinking for a moment, he added, "Find a few people with nominal positions at research institutes who are short on money. The harder their titles are to understand, the better. Have them add a few opinions to the articles. Keep the content vague."

The highest realm of "studying journalism" was showing you only truths—but selectively chosen truths.

Once these articles spread and reached people who had never been baptized by clickbait marketing accounts, they would be left speechless.

It was practically easier than selling health supplements to the elderly.

Aisha stared in stunned disbelief from the side. What did any of this even have to do with anything? Why did everything sound completely different once it passed through Drogo's mouth? Would newspapers even be worth reading in the future?

But Drogo was not satisfied. Bluffing with words alone was not effective enough. He needed something more explosive, more sensational, to draw everyone's attention—then release all these articles at the same time.

How could he make a big piece of news?

As Drogo pondered, a large crowd gathered outside the factory. They wore simple clothes sewn from animal pelts and ornaments like antlers and fang necklaces. Hand in hand, they blocked the factory gates while muttering in an incomprehensible language.

As they chanted, flocks of birds gathered in great numbers, forming a swirling, dancing mass.

To be fair, the visual effect was quite creepy.

"Go see what those people are doing."

Drogo gave the order. The drow concealed himself and slipped into the shadows.

More than ten minutes later, he returned to Drogo.

"They are a group of druids protesting the factory's production of healing potions. They believe steam equipment is an affront to nature and will be punished by the earth."

Got it. Environmental fanatics. He had not expected Twin Towers City's version to be so advanced.

"But there are so many factories. This potion factory is not even the largest one, so why protest here?" Drogo's intuition told him there was definitely more to this.

"They repeatedly mentioned healing potions. This subordinate suspects a conflict of interest. The totems on their bodies belong to the Spore Society, whose main source of income is healing potions made from fungi."

"Don't druids all hate cities and worship nature? Why are they doing business now?"

"Rumor has it that the nature god they worship has encountered a problem, so they have integrated into society to exchange for resources."

Their mouths were full of doctrine, but their hearts were full of business. They might as well start believing in the Internet Divine Corpse. Every additional believer meant another consumer.

"What exactly are they protesting?" Drogo pressed on. Perhaps he could use it.

"They roughly claim that mechanically produced healing potions consume souls as their price, and that users will become walking corpses."

They were pretty good at making things up.

Wait, users would become walking corpses? Drogo suddenly realized that his big news had found itself.

Almost everyone used healing potions. If drinking healing potions could infect you, the sense of personal involvement would be off the charts.

He could turn the druids' frightening story into moving images. When the time came, they would surely help build momentum too, making promotion much easier.

But where should he set that scene?

Right, the first railway had recently opened. It was both a hot news topic and a confined space—the perfect setup for a disaster horror film.

"Go ask Yuno how the camera improvements are coming along. We have something big to do. It is time to make the world's first feature-length magic film!"