The tiger-man extended his tongue to lick the wound on his hand—just moments ago it was bleeding, but now it had already begun to heal and fade. "It might not match high-tier potions, but adventurers will definitely welcome it!"
Lena remained silent, her golden lupine eyes blazing with intensity as she recognized the enormous business potential sealed within Yeats' letter.
A high-tier healing potion could sell for as much as one gold coin, while a basic one rarely fetched more than a silver.
With Yeats' improved formula, this new potion could easily sell for over four silver coins, and demand would far outstrip supply—the profits would be staggering!
"Is the secret ingredient… butterfly wings?"
Lena's eyes flickered knowingly. She quickly deduced why Yeats had lavishly offered rewards for butterfly wings—they were vital for crafting this new potion.
But Yeats wasn't afraid of rumors leaking because, first, his unique brewing process couldn't be quickly deciphered, and second, he didn't intend to keep the formula hidden forever.
A clever man indeed.
Lena's estimation of Yeats rose sharply.
The healing potion market was broad but fiercely competitive.
Even if Yeats had invented a new formula, professional alchemists would soon figure it out.
So why not cash in early with this formula, then invest in the next venture?
Lena sensed the young baron's ambition.
Not everyone has the guts to throw away a "golden goose."
Either such a person is recklessly naive, or supremely confident in their abilities.
Given Yeats' age and background, she leaned toward the latter.
In his letter, Yeats expressed willingness to sell the new potion formula to the Starlight Trading Company, with the condition that they fund the establishment of a new potion workshop in Frostridge.
If declined, he offered nearly two hundred bottles of the potion for sale to them at a favorable price, with potential for long-term cooperation.
Investing in a workshop in Frostridge?
Lena chuckled inwardly.
Building a workshop was no small expense, and once established, labor would need to be hired locally.
Frostridge could be overrun by monsters at any time, risking the entire investment.
Yet, this young lord was betting on her interest in his formula—
Indeed.
Lena took a sip of her wine to calm her excitement.
Her interest in the formula was more than casual—it was immense!
Yeats might not be able to run the potion business himself, but Starlight Trading Company could.
Even if rival companies eventually cut into the profits, at least they'd have the early lead!
"Let's cooperate," Lena decided quietly.
Early autumn winds stirred the fiery red strands of the wolf-woman's hair, her golden eyes shining brightly toward a star in the northern sky.
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On the fourth day since assuming lordship, the first autumn rain fell on Frostridge.
Heavy gray clouds blanketed the sky, and fine droplets silently soaked the fields. Muddy roads were empty, and oxen slowly chewed fodder inside simple shelters.
The wind stirred fallen leaves into the rippling puddles. Frakas looked up at the dripping rain from the roof edge and placed a hand on the nearby white horse. "Raddish" snorted softly, its breath visible in the cool air.
Inside the manor, a warm fire crackled in the hearth. A young woman with a brown ponytail perched backward on a high-backed chair, resting her arms on the chair's top, tilting her head to watch the youth at the desk.
The young noble's sharp features were illuminated by the firelight, his deep blue eyes focused. His slender hand tried to twirl a quill but dropped it; he picked it back up again.
"Where did you learn that habit?" Gray asked, having witnessed this many times—Yeats often twirled pens, sometimes splattering ink on his clothes, though he'd been more careful recently.
"From my high school exam days," Yeats replied calmly.
Gray didn't understand a word of that.
Yeats said:
"If you're bored, check on the twig monsters we planted. Kill the mature ones."
To help Frostridge survive the cold wave, Yeats designated a "cultivation zone" in the nearby forest specifically for growing twig monsters.
Twig monsters were simple creatures made of a few sticks, barely capable of fighting. A grown man wielding an axe could easily chop them down. But they grew quickly and were often used by players in "Phantom Wings" as fuel to light and maintain campfires at night.
To prevent twig monsters from spreading beyond the zone, Yeats added the droppings of grass lizards—natural predators—into potions, effectively keeping the monsters confined.
Some players from the previous world had complained that twig monsters' lives mattered too.
Yeats planned not only to cultivate twig monsters but also to eventually deploy "auto-spawner cages" using dwarf or goblin technology!
Gray grumbled: "Only Yeats would think of farming monsters."
"Who says? In ancient times, humans cultivated twig monsters for cooking and warmth—that's recorded history!" Yeats replied. "Your ancestors weren't smarter than me!"
Gray was about to retort when a knock sounded on the door.
Yeats' eyes lit up as Gray opened the door and a wet snowy owl flew inside.
"Coo!"
The owl shook its feathers and closed its eyes contentedly atop the fireplace.
Yeats grabbed a blanket and draped it over the owl's head. "Thanks for the hard work delivering the message."
"Coo! (＾ω＾)"
"No big deal!"
Yeats opened the letter the owl brought and read carefully. His eyes brightened.
"What does the letter say?" Gray asked curiously.
"The Starlight Trading Company has agreed to invest in building a potion workshop in Frostridge."
Yeats smiled: "This will significantly improve Frostridge's tax revenue."
"Great!" Gray exclaimed.
"The key is that Starlight Trading Company's investment shows aligned interests, meaning they might pay for mercenary guards when needed."
Yeats stroked his chin thoughtfully.
"Besides, Lena offered 200 gold coins for the formula. Counting the initial potion purchase, this deal should net around 280 gold coins."
"How much?!" Gray's eyes went wide.
Yeats gave her a look like, "Really? You're so small-minded."
He said slowly:
"The formula price is negotiable. I expect the final profit to reach 300 gold coins."
Gray counted on her fingers, stunned.
"Just a few days, and we've made 300 gold coins?"
Is this Yeats' talent? Incredible!
She eagerly asked, "So, does that mean we get to eat well tonight?"
Yeats smiled.
"Tonight, we dine on the scream mushrooms you took down yesterday."
Gray: "???"
Scream mushrooms looked like ordinary fungi but emitted loud screams when humans approached.
Gray had killed many during forest patrols and felt queasy thinking about mushrooms.
"Oh, by the way—"
Yeats raised a finger with a smile.
"The louder the scream mushroom screams, the better its flavor."
Gray covered her ears. "Who wants to hear that useless trivia? I'm definitely not eating that!"
That night.
Butter-Fried Scream Mushroom – ★1
A dish where scream mushrooms are pan-fried with butter. The result is creamy and flavorful, and grants a slight temporary boost to hearing range upon consumption.
Snowy Owl happily pecked a piece, eyes half-closed: "Coo!"
Gray picked up a piece of mushroom, eyeing its golden surface and swallowing hard.
"Hmm…" Her eyes widened.
The mushrooms were slightly crispy outside, juicy inside, with the butter adding a hint of sweetness.
"Yeats, one more order of scream mushrooms, please!" Gray handed over her bowl.
Yeats gave a deadpan look. "You said you wouldn't eat this before dinner."
Gray scratched her head. "Did I? Maybe not… hehe."
Yeats sighed and returned his gaze to the letter.
Potion formula business wasn't a long-term plan.
Even with his talent excuse, innovation before the first tier wasn't well accepted.
Ultimately, the domain needed development.
"Looks like I have to visit the copper mine myself."
He glanced at Gray, who was pretending not to care, then out the window at the drizzling rain.
"Selling ore won't make as much money as refined products. This first pot of gold will be enough to build a new smelting workshop near the mine…"