Seven days later.
Dawn was just breaking over Minas Tirith Port.
Lane tightened his belt firmly, then led the transport team out to begin another day's work. Their task was to patrol and ensure the safe transport of supplies between the various production sites.
These production sites were concentrated in several temporary camps just outside Miport, forming a vast, isolated production complex. Everyone involved in potion production was housed there and forbidden to leave.
Though called temporary camps, their buildings were all constructed from Stone-Skinned Soft Vine and were exceptionally sturdy.
As a commander of a thousand households, Lane always found time between deliveries to visit the craftsmen from his district. Today, he was heading to Cultivation Greenhouse Three, which also gave him a chance to check on an old acquaintance.
The moment Lane stepped inside, hot, humid air thick with the earthy smell of soil hit him in the face. Rows of planting boxes stretched before him in neat lines, filled with Shadow Grave Grass-the plants that would determine whether countless people lived or died.
Under the accelerating effects of Lord Veylin's Springlaw Messenger ability, these plants had already reached the size of month-old specimens. But they were not thriving. Their leaves were sparse, and their slender stems looked sickly.
Elwin, a mage and botany expert, stood before a row of planting boxes, discussing matters with several gardeners. His brow was tightly furrowed. Lane recognized one of them: Uncle Tom, an old farmer from his district.
He approached and asked quietly, "How are things going?"
Elwin recognized the household commander who also captained the transport team. He could not hide the exhaustion on his face. "Too slowly." He pointed at a medicinal herb. "The medicinal part is the rhizome. Forced growth has diverted all its energy into gaining height.