Three days had passed, and the morning sunlight could no longer bring Caroline the slightest warmth.
Her patience had run out.
Veylin had shown her some "new things": that potato field, something called the sea-salt potato, the growth-accelerating gift he had demonstrated...
It had all been remarkable.
But that did not change the fact that it was just a potato field.
For the Golden Sail Merchant Guild, which was bleeding every day, this was nothing more than a bandage that barely helped.
Just as she was preparing to end this farce and return to Stonebridge City, a rapid clatter of hooves approached.
A messenger came riding hard, his mount foaming at the mouth before collapsing from exhaustion outside the lord's manor.
The messenger hurried into Caroline's lodgings with short, quick strides, his face pale and his eyes full of exhaustion.
"Vice President!"
The messenger dropped to one knee and presented, with both hands, a letter tightly sealed with wax and a box made of pure silver.
Caroline's pupils contracted at the sight of the box, then her expression eased.
It was both unexpected and entirely predictable.
Caroline took the letter, slit the seal with her fingertip, and quickly scanned its contents.
The letter confirmed Veylin's theory in every detail. Wearing hastily made, silver-lined protective suits, the divers they had sent had indeed discovered several metal blocks anchored with chains and floats at depths of fifteen to twenty meters in the fishing grounds.
Her hands trembled slightly as she turned her gaze toward the silver box.
Barris stepped forward and opened it with a specially made key.
Inside lay a dull gray metal block the size of a fist, as unremarkable as the cheapest lead ingot.
Caroline instinctively leaned closer, wanting a better look.
"Are you out of your mind?"
A hand suddenly shot out, fast as lightning, and snapped the silver box shut with a loud crack.
"Do you believe me now?"
Veylin's voice roused her from her shock.
"The sea-salt potato, the microscope, and this..." He pointed at the silver box. "They're all just tools, tangible products. My real value lies in what's behind those tools."
Veylin tapped his temple.
"The knowledge locked in here. Vice President Channing, I can see a world you can't see and understand rules you can't comprehend."
He met Caroline's dazed green eyes.
"Today, I can solve the crisis in your fishing grounds. Tomorrow, I can make your saline soil grow grain. The day after that, perhaps I can give those expensive magical warships of yours the strength of steel."
"If you work with me, you won't be investing in a particular technology or a particular product."
Veylin's voice was clear and forceful, echoing through the silent reception room.
"You'll be investing in a new era, and your Golden Sail Merchant Guild will be among its first inhabitants."
Caroline pressed her lips tightly together. Her crisply tailored riding clothes now seemed to hang a little loose on her.
She watched Veylin, an unreadable mix of emotions in her eyes.
After a long silence, she finally spoke.
"What effect does this... 'contamination' have on people?"
Veylin assumed she was worried about the effects of looking into the silver box just now. "You don't need to worry. Brief exposure only causes fatigue and nausea. But prolonged exposure causes redness and swelling of the skin, hair loss, and, in more severe cases, nosebleeds, dizziness, and extreme fatigue."
An icy flash of murderous intent suddenly crossed Caroline's eyes.
She turned to her steward, Barris, her voice regaining its usual sharp decisiveness.
"Barris!"
"Here, Vice President."
"Investigate immediately! Search Stonebridge City and find every fisherman who has shown similar symptoms over the past two weeks!"
Caroline rose and paced around the room, her formidable business instincts now fully engaged.
Veylin saw her in a new light. He had not expected her to seize on the symptoms of radiation exposure as a way to track down the mastermind.
And within a minute of encountering knowledge entirely new to her.
What a lioness.
The negotiations resumed in an entirely different atmosphere.
"...To solve this problem, and the many more that may arise in the future," Veylin stated calmly, "your guild's existing structure won't work. It's like a beautifully made fishing net. It looks as though it can hold everything, but the things that truly matter slip right through."
"We need an independent department operating in absolute secrecy."
Caroline's nails nearly dug into her palms. She forced a few words through gritted teeth. "What do you want?"
"This isn't about what I want. I'm telling you what you must do," Veylin corrected her. "This department... will be called the Origin Society. I alone will decide on all its research. You can tell me what you need, but you cannot dictate how I conduct my research. It will answer only to you and me."
"Impossible!" Caroline abruptly raised her head, her queenly bearing flaring up like one last burst of life. "The Golden Sail Merchant Guild will not keep a beast it cannot control! I can give you resources, but the guild's people must supervise you!"
"Supervise?" Veylin laughed, a trace of pity in his smile. "The alchemists you send don't even know what a 'cell' is. What could they supervise? Whether I'm in a good mood today?"
"Vice President Channing, you can send people, but they'll be my students, not my overseers. That is nonnegotiable."
After a heated exchange, Caroline was forced to accept reality. She could send a team, but they would have to serve as "assistants" under Veylin's direction.
"Finally, the division of profits." Caroline took a deep breath. This was her last line of defense. "The technology is yours, but the funding, distribution channels, and manpower all belong to the Golden Sail Merchant Guild. Seventy percent for me, thirty for you."
"No." Veylin shook his head. "Seventy for me, thirty for you. I take us from zero to one. You take us from one to a hundred. Without my starting point at zero, everything you have is just foam on the waves."
In the end, his eloquent arguments secured an agreement giving Veylin sixty percent and the Golden Sail Merchant Guild forty, a deal that left the guild at a slight disadvantage.
Caroline held out her hand.
Veylin clasped it. Her hand was delicate and slightly cool, yet it held a stubborn resolve.
The sunlight outside was just right. In this modest reception room, a secretive organization capable of changing the commercial landscape of the entire duchy-and even the world order-quietly came into being.
At the dinner celebrating their partnership, a few simple dishes were laid out on a long wooden table.
The most eye-catching was a large platter of golden fries.
Caroline picked one up and put it in her mouth, tasting its crisp shell and soft, fluffy center, accompanied by a faint savory saltiness.
It eased the nerves she had kept taut all day.
"This is the sea-salt potato." Holding his wineglass, Veylin watched Caroline, who had regained her elegance. "It can turn saline soil into fertile farmland."
Caroline's gaze flickered slightly. This man always knew exactly how to hit her sore spots.
Just as she was about to say something, the reception room door was violently thrown open.
Another messenger rushed in, looking even more bedraggled than the one from earlier that day. He was drenched, carrying the briny smell of seawater, his face stricken with terror as though he had seen a ghost, his voice hoarse.
"Vice President! Disaster! The latest news from Wrong Anchor Harbor-the Third Fleet has suddenly suffered a widespread shipworm infestation! These aren't ordinary shipworms. The enchanted dragonbone wood of the flagship, the Strong Spirits, has been infested. In just three days, it turned into something like sodden mud that crumbles when you pinch it! The alchemists are helpless!"
Clatter!
The silver knife and fork slipped from Caroline's hands and struck the floor with a piercing clang.