Nectar
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🕑 Added 2024-05-21 06:39:19 +0000 UTCChapter 10
- 1 -
Ethan surveyed the men before him, schooling his expression. Cedric was one of his advisors, a lean man, taller than the average in Holden, and wiry, but with the unmistakable long and callused fingers of someone well skilled with a bow. It was odd to see such features, but Ethan wasn’t one to point it out or talk about it. A perpetual worried crease etched between his brows; he shuffled a stack of parchments.
Beside him, Roland stood with a hand on the pommel of his sword—a habit Ethan had grown accustomed to. Leaning back, Ethan opened his mouth.
“Alright, gentlemen. Let’s get through this.”
Cedric cleared his throat. “First, my lord, the harvest report.” He unfolded the top parchment. “The rains were late this year, my lord. We’re looking at a significant shortfall in barley and oats.”
Ethan frowned. “Roland,” he switched focus. “The scouting report on the bandits? Has Sir Thomas revealed something? What about the brigands?”
“Sir Thomas has been tight-lipped. The brigands have been bolder, my lord. Spotted them harassing farmsteads near Holden’s western border.
“Have we identified the culprits?”
“No, my Lord. But they seem organized, well-equipped. Too well-equipped, I might say.”
Ethan drummed his fingers on the desk. This wasn’t your typical ragtag group of cutthroats, that much was clear. “Some sort of a group, then.”
“Yes.”
Mobilize a patrol. Set a few archers down range. Kill the bandits on sight, we can’t have them acting bolder.”
Roland nodded, his chin bobbing, face emotionless.
“Any other news? Have we received a word from the neighboring barons regarding the proposed trade agreement?” Ethan asked.
“Yes, my lord. Sir Jack informed me that one of his ravens returned this morning; he says they spotted two men bearing the crest of the crown—”
“Tax collectors,” Ethan interrupted. “They should already be in Siez by now, then.”
Siez was a city two weeks’ ride from Holden.
“Well then, we must do something about the harvest,” Ethan murmured. He had some ideas, but all of them would require money.
“As for trade... Everyone has denied, like usual. Lord Ashton has been with Holden since Lord Baelgard’s death, but even he appears hesitant now. Cites concerns about the quality of our goods.”
“Hmm. Excuses.” Ethan sighed. “He doesn’t want to work with us anymore. He’s likely receiving pressure; I don’t blame him. I’ve offended quite a lot of nobles in my... teen years.”
Ethan cleared his throat. “We’ll send another sample,” Ethan decided, his voice firm. “Along with a personal letter outlining the benefits of trade with Holden, only this time, including soap; I’m sure he’ll latch onto the opportunity if he has some foresight.”
Ashton was playing politics, but they couldn’t afford to alienate their only potential trading partner.
The rest of the morning was spent in a similar vein—discussing minor squabbles amongst the populace, a few dead bodies that were reported, potential repairs needed on the crumbling town walls, and other matters regarding Holden.
- 2 -
Ethan entered the space sectioned off by iron grills inside the quarantined house in the outskirts of Holden. Covering his in a mask, he stepped over the grills, into the open hall with rows of beds lining both sides. He was here to take a look at the patients and if they were getting treated. They were. Undoubtedly. Some even showed signs of recovery. They stood up spotting him, then bowed.
“Lord Theodore! What an honor!” A woman said, then burst into tears holding onto her daughter’s hand. “Thank you for letting me live, Lord.” She sobbed as she buried her face on the sleeping child.
Ethan frowned, feeling uncomfortable. They hadn’t gone past their third stages of the disease. They weren’t even on their second one. That was why it’d been easier to treat them.
“Yes, my lord,” a man joined them, speaking. “You’re the only noble that’s speared us peasants a glance. Truly, thank you.”
Feeling even more uncomfortable, Ethan gently placed a hand on his shoulder. “I only hope you all get better.”
They smiled as he smiled back through the mask. Ethan quickly made his way out, then furrowed his brows as he met Miller outside. “Miller, why have you not pulled out those that have recovered? Letting them stay inside would only get them infected again or cause their condition to worsen.”
Miller’s face turned white. “My—my lord, but— but we cannot just remove them!” He took a deep breath. “If we let them go, they could infect others in Holden. If those infected catch wind of their neighbors recovering, wouldn’t they try to force their way into quarantine just to get healed and recover?” His eyes turned shifty, showing some sort of apprehension and panic.
Ethan glared. “Miller, you’re smart, are you not?” He narrowed his eyes. “Get them out of here, as soon as possible. You need not worry about those that might be infected. What do you even mean? We’re constantly on the lookout, if we found someone, they’d be here already.”
“Yes, about that, my lord,” Miller said nervously. “People fear. Many would rather stay quiet than let others know if they’re infected. Plus, it’s easier said than done. My men would get attacked. Anyone can get killed easily, or a large horde of desperate people might push forward in an instant.”
Ethan didn’t say anything as Miller continued.
“Plus, my men are too few. There are not enough men to patrol and get the affected. Not to mention people would riot against it, fearing their loved ones are getting slaughtered for some ritual and that there’s no salvation. Especially given that a few dead bodies have been found recently,” Miller bowed, swallowed. “Forgive me for saying this, my lord, but people do not trust you.”
Ethan sighed and Miller slumped against his chair, staring at the ceiling. Ethan silently took his seat.
Taking a moment to gather his thoughts, Ethan changed the subject. “Miller,” Ethan said. “How’re tests going?”
Miller frowned, a finger on his chin as he hummed thoughtfully. “We’ve encountered an issue; mostly with the later stage tainted. We’d expected it, too, however, we need some kind of a solution.”
“What issue?”
“Their skin is rotting; we cannot just have them use soap and hot water to keep clean. There needs to be something to address their wounds directly, first.” Miller sighed. “A [Healer], perhaps. But they’re expensive, my Lord. I am not sure if that is what you would want. Not to mention, another issue is that Sir Jack has yet to build something he calls nexus—he says you would know what that is. He’s currently using himself as said nexus, but says he would need to talk to you on that matter later to figure out some solution.”
“Is that so?” Ethan hummed, reclining back into his chair. Hiring a [Healer] would indeed be a pain. He was already paying Jack quite the sum each day, not to mention the [Beast Tamer] he’d had to hire to take care of Wynd. If he were to hire a [Healer] now, it would make a dent on his pockets that he wouldn’t be able to recover from. Not to mention, he needed to worry more about the financial situation now—the tax collectors would be arriving sooner or later, and the Merchants Guild would want their debt paid with interest. He couldn’t be stuck in a rut of indebtedness forever.
That said, soap would be excellent for the majority of the populace, the only time there would be an issue would be when someone’s already at the stage where their flesh starts to rot. If there were something, he had to consider it... Are there alternatives?
Unlikely.
Ethan took a breath, then leaned back into his chair, steepling his hands. What do I currently need?
Money. Money would solve a lot of his issues. Ethan hummed, stood up, then turned on his heel and walked out. Before getting out, however, he looked over his shoulder. “Tell Jack to keep working on updating the base spell. Make it more efficient, if possible. Leave the rest to me.”
I’ll figure something out...
He needed to—he wanted to.
Roland stood outside the carriage, and as he saw Ethan approaching, he turned to him. “My Lord.”
“Roland, let’s go,” Ethan said, grabbing the carriage’s handle, pulling the door open, and climbing inside. “We have work to do.”
“As you wish, my Lord.”
Reclined against the cushioned seat of the carriage, Ethan hummed. The solution to getting more money was rather simple.
My masterpiece needs to hit the market. Ethan smiled.
- 3 -
Ethan settled into a routine; he’d wake up with the first rays of sunlight filtering through his window. He’d stretch, and feel the satisfying pops in his back before heading outside to find Wynd already waiting for him, tail wagging excitedly. They’d take a brisk run through the dewy field. Ethan would spend a good hour playing with Wynd. The [Beast Tamer] Grandma Millie had a natural connection with Wynd, and under her guidance, Ethan was learning to understand how to handle a wolf. Ethan knew that Wynd wasn’t quite a normal magical beast, heck, he was sure that Wynd would sooner or later hit some kind of magical puberty that’ll sky rocket his intelligence and allow him to speak or whatever, but regardless of everything, learning how to handle him was a good move. He was, after all, quite like a pet right now.
Regardless, he’d then practice the [Elemental Spells] he knew: fire and water.
One day, he finally leveled it up.
[Elemental Spells] — Lvl 9 -> Lvl 10!
Warning: Level cap for [Elemental Spells] reached; satisfy the conditions to upgrade [Elemental Spells].
Interesting. Ethan thought, rubbing his chin. However, given that there was no information, he was confused so as to how to satisfy said conditions. I will figure it out, he shrugged, for now I need to learn the other elements first.
Aside from that one highlight that particular day, his routine would continue as usual. After a satisfying breakfast, it would be time to get down to business. He’d perfected the basic soap recipe, and now it was time to ramp up production. With the success in making the first batch of soap, and the thought of making money, quick, in his mind, he’d started working extra hard to get more soap made. He found himself busier than ever. He’d sit in in there for hours and create rune motes after rune motes. One by one, they’d materialize on top of his palms, swirling tiny fireflies.
Just like usual, one particular day, he was creating rune motes.
Ten… twenty… thirty… his brow furrowed in concentration.
Forty… fifty… and then, sixty rune motes. [Basic Rune Creation] skill leveled up, too, and a satisfied grin spread across his face the two times it did level up.
[Basic Rune Creation] – Lvl 5 -> Lvl 6!
[Basic Rune Creation] – Lvl 6 -> Lvl 7!
The number of motes he could create and the speed at which he did it had noticeably improved after each level. It drained his mana reserves daily. He’d often find himself with a dull ache behind his eyes, but he’d pushed on regardless, ignoring the beginnings of a headache and sometime it’d blow into a full-blown migraine due to his stubbornness.
One such afternoon, as he slumped, massaging his temples, an idea struck him.
“Meditation,” he murmured. Perhaps focusing his mind inward, like calming a churning lake, could help manage his mana pool. It was usually like that in those novels he used to read back in middle school.
The first few days were frustrating. He sat cross-legged on a cushion, eyes closed, trying to clear his mind, but his thoughts kept flitting back to the ever-growing pile of soap base and the dwindling supply of rune motes (Jack hadn’t disappointed him, after all; the man was fast and his money’s worth, if not more. In fact, Ethan found it harder to keep up). Just as he was getting frustrated, a warmth bloomed within him, a gentle hum that resonated deep within something he could only describe as a core. He cracked open his eyes, a surprised gasp escaping his lips.
A notification appeared before him.
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Raganash
I'm here.
