Chapter 148: The Arms Dealer

Seeing Hussein's dramatic reaction, Byrne finally snapped out of it. He had committed the classic mistake of all transmigrators: subconsciously projecting his own cognitive framework onto everyone around him.

This came down to a difference in worldviews. To Byrne, standardized, batch-processed assembly lines felt like the standard and normal procedure.

The reality, however, was that Byrne's concept was far too advanced. Not only had he conceived of it, but he had actually built it. If replicating the Arcane Gardens could be considered a stroke of genius, then an assembly line for spell potions completely defied conventional logic.

A brief investigation into Byrne's background would reveal his entire developmental trajectory: academy knowledge and family heritage. Even without knowing the intimate details, the general direction was always traceable.

Much like big data, a person's behavior and preferences could be roughly extrapolated. It was impossible for someone's temperament to undergo a radical transformation without experiencing some massive trauma. Having studied at the same academy and inherited the same family traditions, Byrne's actions had actually deviated quite a bit from the education he had received.

Although Byrne had proactively established a "genius" persona for himself early on to prevent any unexpected suspicions, the resulting friction was clearly much greater than he had anticipated.

A spell potion assembly line was practically a printing press for money!

The mere appearance of the Arcane Gardens had already made countless noble houses green with envy. An automated assembly line shattered the balance completely, posing an absolute, destructive threat.

There was no guarantee that some unhinged individual wouldn't use it as an excuse to target him, and in the world of Toril, unhinged individuals were in no short supply.

Only then did Byrne realize the true gravity of the situation, and finally understood what Hussein had meant by his parting words.

Hussein knew that if this batch of potions were sent to the front lines, the anomalies within them would inevitably be noticed by observant eyes. Master Hill's timely appearance provided him with an excuse.

An excuse to shut other people up—and one "personally" acknowledged by Master Hill himself. While others might not necessarily believe it, having the Guardian, Master Hill, make a personal statement would at least deter a good number of them.

That old elf was wise and shrewd, and he had instantly grasped the hidden meaning behind Hussein's words. Having lived through the era of information explosion, Byrne understood the darkness of human nature better than anyone.

When Hussein received the intelligence report from the Lehman Chamber of Commerce, he had been startled as well. The alchemical workshop had only just been completed; how could finished products already be available so quickly? At the same time, Count Iolum also received the information.

Concealing or falsifying military intelligence was a grave crime. As a strategic pillar, Count Iolum certainly could not leave his post on a whim. Although he knew his grandson's actions were always full of surprises, this fact was simply too mind-boggling.

Magical plants could be rapidly catalyzed with the help of druids, but spell potions were not something just anyone could brew, nor had there been any rumors of Byrne recruiting spellcasters on a massive scale.

The only possible explanation was that he had improved the formula ratios in his alchemy. If that were truly the case, Byrne could genuinely be called an "Alchemical Master."

As an Alchemical Master himself, the Count knew all too well what kind of violent upheaval technological innovations could inflict upon the market.

To prevent any accidents, Hussein decided to make the trip himself. While Byrne had always seemed relatively reliable in their eyes, this was, after all, no minor matter.

Geniuses rarely stir up trouble, but when they do, it is always catastrophic!

When Lehman opened the crates containing the spell potions, Hussein was momentarily breathless. The crystal-clear crystal vials were filled with liquids shimmering with magical auras.

After a brief moment of daze, Hussein instantly spotted the abnormality. Both spell potions and magical scrolls were traditionally handcrafted by spellcasters.

They carried strong personal styles; leave aside spell scrolls, even the vials holding the spell potions varied in design, and their quantities were always scarce. Such neat, uniform standardization was virtually impossible.

Hussein picked up a spell potion for testing and uncovered an astonishing truth: every single bottle of potion was nearly identical.

Could some kind of duplication magic be directly replicating them?

To be able to mass-produce so many spell potions without requiring a massive contingent of spellcasters to brew them—this technology was even more shocking than the replication of the Arcane Gardens.

Regardless of whether Byrne used magic or other methods, having climbed from the bottom rungs to the upper echelons of Netheril, Hussein knew all too well the kind of devastation this "method" would bring to Netheril.

It was akin to the introduction of firearms and gunpowder on a battlefield; combat fought with traditional bows, horses, swords, and armor would exit the stage of history. A epoch-making revolution brought about not only a reshuffling of wealth, but also the succession of old and new powers.

The world would slowly adapt to the changes brought by "technology," but Byrne, who had driven this wave during the process, would have to bear the risks that came with enjoying its glory.

The crucial issue was that Byrne had not yet grown strong enough to stand entirely on his own. Master Hill's subsequent appearance provided Hussein with an "excuse," but this excuse could only temporarily block the wind—the fire underneath was already raging!

When Count Iolum saw the crates of neat, uniform spell potions, his expression also darkened somewhat.

"This brat actually kept a card up his sleeve!"

Previously, when collaborating with Byrne to improve the "Mana Storage Device," the Count had thought he had probed the depth of Byrne's capabilities, never expecting Byrne to hold something back.

The Count possessed a piercing vision and could tell at a glance that these had been crafted using some alchemical method capable of mass production.

Combined with the complete set of technologies for replicating the "Arcane Gardens," the achievements Byrne had attained were by no means inferior to Dean Concgnio's "Ioun Stones."

The number of spellcasters on the front lines was neither large nor small, but spell potions had no operational prerequisites. Although this batch of potions was large, once thrown into the military camps, they were quickly "digested." Of course, the "issues" surrounding this batch of potions were also noted down by interested parties.

In the days that followed, relying on his formidable sensory perception, Byrne discovered that the number of "eyes" around the alchemical workshop had multiplied, with professionals accounting for over eighty percent of them.

Fortunately, tipped off by the old elf beforehand, he had excavated a basement beneath the workshop and hidden the spell potion assembly line there; otherwise, such massive alchemical machinery could never have escaped the detection of professional trackers.

Uneasy, Byrne added another layer of shielding magic arrays over it.

And so, he acquired a brand-new identity:

A Netherese arms dealer!

"What the hell..."

Byrne could not help but curse aloud. He was merely someone selling "Band-Aids" and herbal plasters; how did he suddenly become an arms dealer?

Just as he was agonizing over this new status, the military directly issued a massive order to the Lehman Chamber of Commerce, pushing Byrne right into the eye of the storm.

And the seal stamped on the order was a crest Byrne knew all too well.

That crest belonged precisely to Byrne Concgnio!

"Did I take too large a step and tear something?"

Byrne muttered, his teeth aching slightly.

"Concgnio's crest? Well, then there shouldn't be any problems for now."

True to his status as the Guardian, the old elf knew practically every prominent figure of any standing in Netheril.