Potion Supplier
1190 Words
The priest had long since departed, yet Clown remained seated in his chair, his heaving chest betraying his turbulent emotions.
One hundred and eight gold shields exchanged for an elusive promise; he understood that relying on the integrity of others was unwise, yet he felt compelled to take the gamble.
To earn money, he would go all in! Winning would grant him entry into the realm of the mystics; losing, however, would see his marksmanship put to good use.
He yearned for a chance to exact his revenge and was confident he would find one!
Perhaps emboldened by the gilded walls, Clown's inherent timidity began to fade, replaced by a newfound decisiveness.
...
To the east of the town, the quarry echoed with the raucous sounds of steam engines.
Here, basalt was extracted; the townsfolk polished the raw stone into exquisite flooring and intricate sculptures.
Quarrying constituted the backbone of Zak Town's economy, sustaining over half its population.
Riding a rented mule, Clown traversed the clamor of the quarry, continuing eastward.
Along the way, he occasionally encountered steam locomotives transporting goods.
After crossing a rise, he arrived at a gentle slope dotted with two farms and a slaughterhouse.
Approximately a quarter of the meat supply for Rhine City, including pork and lamb, originated from this area.
Clown's true clientele was concentrated in this fertile region.
As an herbalist, he primarily catered to animals, in a sense resembling a veterinarian.
For instance, the pink elixir supplied to Yalu and others by Old Mo was a diluted concoction intended for breeding stallions and sows; he needed to recalibrate the dosage suitable for humans.
With his memories from a past life, Clown’s current knowledge of herbalism was on par with his father’s, and in crafting potions, he even surpassed him.
The expertise he gained meant that after succeeding once, his baseline proficiency would match his prior peak performance.
Humans are emotional creatures, prone to fluctuations in mood, yet Clown’s state remained at that high point.
It was as if he perpetually operated at the pinnacle of his former self—a formidable prospect indeed.
...
Clown arrived at the entrance of a farm, dismounted the mule, tied it to a nearby post, and called for the owner.
“Mr. Roni, it’s Clown. Please open the gate.”
The thorny iron gate swung open, revealing a robust, square-faced man with a bushy red beard.
The man embraced Clown warmly, saying, “I extend my deepest condolences for your family's loss.”
After a hearty embrace, the man held Clown by the shoulders, scrutinizing his countenance: “You seem resilient, having emerged from your grief.”
“The departed have returned to the embrace of the Lord of Flames, and the living must confront this world. I choose to face it with a smile.”
“Excellent. I first dealt with your father over twenty years ago, back when you were not yet born. If you need assistance, don’t hesitate to call on your Uncle Roni.”
Clown smiled shyly, “Thank you. I’ve discovered a great aptitude for potion-making; would it be possible for your farm to continue sourcing supplies from me?”
For a brief moment, Roni’s expression faltered, and he hesitated to respond, pulling Clown into the farm’s interior.
“Sit here for a moment. I need to check on Carlowen.”
Clown had visited this place many times with his father, aware that Carlowen was a prized stallion with a golden mane and brown coat, the farm's most valuable asset.
This horse boasted a hybrid Morgan lineage of exceptional quality.
It was said that even the lords of Rhine City had utilized Carlowen for breeding their mares.
Roni’s evasion was expected; Clown's past self had lacked the charisma and skill to impress him in the field of herbalism.
The profession of herbalist, akin to traditional Chinese medicine, valued age and experience.
Based on his past performance, Clown could not have garnered Roni’s attention.
Now, as Clown boldly proposed supplying the farm with potions, Roni naturally sought to deflect.
Clown promptly rose and grasped Roni's arm, causing the middle-aged man’s demeanor to shift coldly.
Ignoring the icy glare, Clown placed his wooden box on the table, stating, “Uncle, why not first sample my potions before discussing a partnership? If they prove ineffective, I won’t linger and will depart immediately.”
Having laid his cards on the table, Roni remained, though skepticism lingered in his gaze.
The man still doubted that a twenty-something youth could rival his father's expertise in herbalism.
Were it not for the genuine friendship he shared with Clown's father, Roni might have forcibly expelled him.
Clown presented three types of potions: the first for treating dysentery, the second for alleviating bloating, and the third designed to enhance stallions' interest.
These were staples in a farm’s medical cabinet, effectively fast-moving products.
When diluted, these potions could also be administered to humans, though precision in dosage was paramount.
Opening the wooden box, Clown handed Roni a vial of each potion.
Roni accepted the vials, shaking them gently before scrutinizing them closely.
“Ah,” he exclaimed in surprise.
In terms of appearance, these potions rivaled his father's quality, perhaps even exceeding it.
Roni squinted, “Did you truly make these? They can’t be remnants of your father’s work, can they?”
“If they weren’t my own creations, how could I conceal that fact for long?”
Roni nodded, conceding to this assertion: “I’ll test their efficacy; if they match your father’s results, I’ll agree to maintain our partnership at the same price as before.”
Old Mo was the only herbalist in town; without sourcing from young Clown, he would have to purchase from itinerant merchants or pharmacists in Rhine City, greatly increasing his costs.
“Of course.”
Roni recognized Clown's confidence, nodding, “The potions seem promising; I’ll procure them from you on a long-term basis.”
Together, they ventured to test the potions on animals.
An hour and a half later, Roni observed as Carlowen labored for nearly an hour with the mare, glancing at the now less bloated foal, whose droppings appeared more solid than before, nodding in approval.
He eagerly accepted a batch of potions from Clown, even placing an order.
Parting amicably, Clown mounted his mule and set off for the next farm.
Using the same method, he effortlessly secured a supply agreement from Mr. Lokent.
Bidding farewell to Lokent, Clown said, “I will visit once a week; if there are urgent matters, feel free to send someone to find me in town.”
Lokent patted him on the back, nodding, “Understood. Seeing you flourish brings great comfort to Old Mo; his legacy endures.”
“Sir, I’ve noticed that several turkeys have gone missing from the poultry farm.”
A plump woman dashed out from the farm, shouting from a distance.
“Damn those chicken thieves! Don’t let me catch you!”
Lokent cursed before turning back, “Apologies, I must attend to the poultry situation.”
“Goodbye, sir,” Clown said, mounting his horse and riding away.
- Writer
