Whitewashing (Part 1)

A Light Orb hung about thirty meters overhead in Shennong Horn Space, radiating a golden glow.

Romon stood within it. Though he had entered this place countless times by focusing his mind, he still found it incredible.

"Fine Rice Grass," he called into the void.

Information on Fine Rice Grass appeared. It was a medicinal herb from Earth, and Romon had planted some because it could treat snakebite in the wild. As he examined its information, he found that its properties differed somewhat from what he had seen on Earth. This was probably due to the differing laws of the two worlds, but fortunately, it was still an effective antidote for snake venom.

Romon took out a dried Fine Rice Grass plant from the space. There was a small area in Shennong Horn Space that seemed specially intended for storing plants; herbs placed there retained the condition they had been in when stored. Then he left Shennong Horn Space.

Back in the small private room Sackville provided for his apprentices, Romon looked at the Fine Rice Grass in his palm and smiled faintly.

The magic lamp emitted an extremely weak white glow, illuminating only about a meter around it.

Romon dragged a small wooden box out from beneath his bed. Inside was a set of tools commonly used by herbalists to prepare herbs. A small mortar could also be used to extract juice, the knife was for cutting, the chopping blade made bulk cutting easier, scissors could pick the tenderest shoots or mince things, and there were small clay jars for soaking herbs. Ansen, the herbalist at the Temple in Rika Town, had given them to him.

Romon took out the knife and began preparing the Fine Rice Grass according to the methods used in this world to process Butterfly Grass.

The initial treatment of herbs—removing the less potent parts and retaining the essence, or separating different portions according to their distinct medicinal properties, then treating them appropriately to enhance their effects, subtly alter them, or extend their shelf life—was among the most basic introductory subjects of herbalism.

On Earth, this branch of knowledge was called herbal processing in the ancient Chinese medicine that had developed over two thousand years.

In this world, although herbalism had developed to some extent, it had long been forced to exist under alchemical potion-making as one of its foundational branches. The reason was simple: this was a world where magic truly existed.

Romon carefully trimmed the Fine Rice Grass. Although he knew perfectly well that it was not the poison known as Butterfly Grass, he had to make certain people believe that some thief had accidentally gathered a new species very similar to Butterfly Grass while collecting herbs, then been killed, leaving all the spoils to be packed away by the victorious druid. And then that druid, with his keen sensitivity to nature and plants, had noticed that one plant among the Butterfly Grass was different.

That was the bizarre story Romon intended to show others.

Yet as he thought about it, he still felt unhappy. Species from Earth were among the trump cards he least wanted to reveal. But without this, how could he obtain the recommendation ticket Old Vilen held for entering the black market? Without that ticket, how could he launder the money in his hands? If he could not launder it, he could not repay his debts, much less improve Nick's future life.

Before long, the Fine Rice Grass in his hand had been processed according to the methods for Butterfly Grass. All the broad leaves were preserved, but the fine fibers around the roots had to be carefully scraped away. The root systems were precisely where the two herbs differed: Fine Rice Grass had a taproot, with a distinct main root, while Butterfly Grass had fibrous roots and no obvious main root.

Romon placed the prepared Fine Rice Grass into a long, narrow wooden case he had prepared beforehand, carefully filling the gaps inside with hemp floss. Then he stored the case in Shennong Horn Space, extinguished the lamp, and went to sleep peacefully. He dreamed nothing that night.

The next evening, after the sun sank beyond the western horizon, Romon carried the wooden case he had prepared the day before and headed for Old Vilen's place. By the time he arrived, the sky had grown slightly dark. The night air was like a drop of ink in a great pool, spreading through the dim yellow light, and the figures of people passing in the distance looked blurred.

Romon smiled and greeted the people he knew, a strange feeling suddenly rising within him.

As he walked and thought, Romon saw that Old Vilen's shop ahead had already closed. He went up and knocked on the door. Yvette opened it, the girl wearing an apron as she cleaned the bar.

"Father is waiting for you inside," Yvette told him. "Romon, have you prepared your goods?" When Romon had returned yesterday, he had let Yvette in on a little of what was happening, so she was both curious and worried about the goods he was about to produce.

Smiling, Romon tidied a few stray strands of hair from Yvette's forehead, then passed through the unevenly arranged tables and chairs and strode proudly into the back room.

Old Vilen was waiting for him beside the fireplace in the small sitting room.

"Did you bring it?" Old Vilen tossed a log into the fireplace, and sparks burst out with a crackle.

Romon set the wooden case on the table in the sitting room. "I brought it. Please have a look."

Old Vilen rose from his rocking chair. The firelight behind him cast a long black shadow.

He lazily extended a thick hand and opened the wooden case Romon had placed on the table with seeming indifference. Then his eyes suddenly widened. "This isn't Butterfly Grass!" His voice was filled with certainty, confusion, and delight.

Romon was startled. Old Vilen actually has considerable knowledge of herbs! The thought flashed through his mind. In the next instant, he thought of Old Vilen's secret fruit wine and dire wolf meat. This man was definitely more than a Fifth-Level Warrior!

He suddenly regretted it. Was it really appropriate to reveal one of his trump cards to a man like this?

From here on, he could only hope that his relationship with Yvette would count for something. As Romon thought this, his hand beneath the table involuntarily clenched into a fist.

Old Vilen stomped into the inner room with a series of heavy footsteps. Sounds of rummaging came from within, then he stomped back out again, waving a pair of tweezers in one hand and wearing a crystal lens over his right eye.

Holding his breath beside the table, Old Vilen carefully used the tweezers to turn over the herb he had taken from the wooden case, scrutinizing it through the crystal lens while occasionally clicking his tongue.

At last, Vilen removed the lens and muttered, "Damn it, the root section has been damaged."

Romon stood respectfully. "Mr. Vilen, does this item of mine qualify me for an entry ticket?"

Old Vilen looked at Romon, a meaningful smile appearing on his face. "I had wanted to see what Yvette's favored boy was capable of. Now it seems luck is a kind of ability too." He patted Romon on the shoulder. "I'll take this. Yvette has already told me about your situation. I can launder all your cash and goods for you. We'll count this herb as my commission."

"Thank you very much, Mr. Vilen." Romon bowed. At last, he had settled the matter properly.

Another week or two passed. Early one morning, the sky was still dim and dark. On the streets, the soldiers who had been on night patrol kept rubbing their eyes and yawning. After laboring through the entire night, they were exhausted beyond measure.

Suddenly, a squad of soldiers patrolling the eastern part of the city spotted someone approaching from afar, wrapped in a hooded cloak so long that neither face nor gender could be seen.

"Who goes there?" the squad leader shouted, instinctively placing a hand on the hilt of his sword.

Clang! Something was thrown down before the squad leader's feet.

By the fading torchlight held by the soldiers behind him, the squad leader looked down and immediately picked it up.

It was a metal token bearing the crest of Lord Aidel's family. This was a special pass the lord issued to honored guests.

The squad leader hurriedly wiped the token clean on his clothes, then bent at the waist and returned it with both hands to the approaching cloaked figure. "My lord, please proceed."

The cloaked figure took it. The hand emerging from beneath the cloak was meticulously cared for, and a striking sapphire ring was worn on its owner's right hand.

The squad leader watched the cloaked figure head toward Old Vilen's bar and knock on the door.

"These big shots with their strange tastes... don't tell me they want a drink this early in the morning?" The squad leader scratched his head, then finally ordered his men to continue patrolling down the street.

That morning, Romon entered the workshop of the mage Sackville as usual. He went to his own cubicle, closed the door, sat down at the workbench, and set a bottle of Solidifying Agent before him. Then he used the power of his breathing to steady his mind and began the day's work.

Outside the cubicle, his hired coworkers watched him with envy and jealousy.

Everyone knew that Romon had received an inheritance left by some uncle he had never met. Though no one knew the exact amount, since the inheritance had been solemnly contracted under the Holy Emblem of the Lord of Radiance at a Temple and entrusted to the Adventurers' Guild to issue a quest, it was obvious that it likely amounted to several hundred gold coins. In short, Romon had become rich.

On the day he obtained the so-called inheritance—really just laundering the stolen goods he had seized from the Thieves' Guild in Rika Town—Romon had immediately paid off the one hundred silver coins he owed at the Adventurers' Guild.

Centered around Aps City, with the support of Viscount Iger Aidel, the Adventurers' Guild had spread throughout his territory and the territories of his vassals. Thus, the unified management of cash transactions and adventurer information had gradually been established. Of course, if an indebted adventurer fled beyond Aps City, the Adventurers' Guild of Aps City would have to consider the cost of pursuing the debt.

Romon had not intended to return to Rika Town immediately after paying off his debt. In fact, if not for his responsibility and guilt toward the injured Nick, and if not for his hatred of tax officer Bakasi and priest Tennis, he even felt that buying a property in Aps City with his assets, earning money through work, paying his taxes fully and on time, and eventually gaining the rights of a Free Citizen in Aps would be a good choice. Besides, in Aps, at Old Vilen's bar, there was a girl who loved him—who would practice swordsmanship with him, snatch away his dirty clothes to wash them, and always leave him extra food when bringing meals...

But Romon felt that he had to return. A true man repaid kindness and settled grudges clearly. He could not abandon Nick, nor could he give up his hatred.

Thus, choosing when to return became an issue worth serious thought. Romon vaguely sensed that as spring approached and the Bluegrass in Shennong Horn Space gradually grew more vigorous, his opportunity to advance to Second-Level Druid was becoming increasingly clear. Once this batch of Bluegrass matured, the space would receive energy from the plants and complete its upgrade!

So, under the current circumstances, only the most foolish person would be unable to endure even this much.

Having chosen to remain in Aps until spring arrived, Romon worked peacefully at the mage's workshop making potions. But next month, he did not intend to continue working here, though he did indeed learn quite a bit from Sackville every week.

Druids are different from mages, after all, Romon thought calmly, examining the healing potion he had just finished preparing. Under the magic lamp in his cubicle, the potion in the glass bottle shone with a crystalline luster like a ruby. Many ordinary people believed that such a color represented the essence of blood and the unceasing flame of life.

"Every magical creation, even a trivial Cure Light Wounds potion like this one, is a miracle." No one believed this more deeply than Romon, who had come from Earth. He tilted the glass bottle, and the rippling red liquid truly danced like flames. "What a pity. I'm not a mage. A druid should be close to nature."

Romon simply leaned his body over the workbench. He suddenly remembered his former teacher, Jefa, the middle-aged man who wore a cloak made from green leaves all year round. He still clearly remembered that Jefa's first lesson to him had been: a druid should be close to nature.

"A druid should be close to nature!" Romon murmured. "I asked Alec what a mage was, and Alec told me that Sackville's first lesson had been that mages were people who pursued knowledge and truth. I also asked Yvette what a warrior was, and Yvette told me that Vilen's first lesson had been that for a warrior, either you die or I do. Every profession has beliefs and ideals that belong to its essence. I know what knowledge and truth are, and I know what survival and death are, but who can tell me what nature is?"

Romon felt troubled. He remembered why Jefa had expelled him. The nature Jefa understood was probably balance and protection. Druids should carefully maintain nature's balanced operation rather than use their abilities to destroy it—but what was Romon's own nature?

Romon set the finished potion on the table and pressed the bell. He was feeling rather stifled today, so he thought he should go out and get some air. He would go find Yvette.

After Alec inspected the potion, Romon smoothly received seven silver coins. He walked along the street toward Old Vilen's bar.

"Huh? Why is Old Vilen's bar closed so early? Or did he not open at all today?" Romon found the tightly locked door strange.

He stepped forward and knocked. No one answered.

"Romon, stop knocking. That old bastard Vilen isn't here, and neither is Yvette. Who knows where that father and daughter have run off to? They didn't open today." The speaker was a regular at the bar, and he was grumbling.

Romon felt even more depressed. He decided to go back and keep making potions...

But that morning, Romon was definitely not the most depressed person.

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