Chapter 97: The Golden-Eyed Messenger

“Boen, I... I’m sorry. I truly am!”

Cook bowed to Boen with a face full of remorse. As an ally, he had been unable to help when the other side needed it most, and Cook felt this would be the greatest disgrace of his life.

“It’s all right. I understand. The fact that you felt strongly enough to come here makes me glad; at the very least, it proves I did not misjudge you.”

Boen smiled and casually patted Cook on the shoulder.

Seeing that Boen not only did not blame him, but even tried to comfort him, Cook felt even more ashamed and guilty.

“Boen, I’m sorry I couldn’t do much to help...”

“I’m the same, Boen. I couldn’t persuade my father either...”

The others from the Arcane Society also came forward one after another to offer their apologies.

Viscount Gordon had visited the families of the Arcane Society members first.

Boen did not know many people in Sevinton. Although the earl himself held a lofty rank, the only one he truly had ties with was Hussein; the other noble houses were connected to him only by matters of interest.

As for Viscount Gordon, there was no need to mention him. Having eloped with a half-elf and fled to the countryside, he had become a laughingstock and was already shunned by Netherese nobility. The fact that the noble houses had not completely barred him at the door was already showing the earl considerable face.

Still, though these Arcane Society members all held the title of heir, it was only a title that sounded impressive. Before they truly took over as head of the house and became the one in charge, their opinions were just that: opinions.

Besides, noble heirs came in plenty. Apart from Cook, who stood a little higher as the third in line, the others were only fifth or sixth in succession. Their status was low, and so their words carried little weight.

Looking at their apologetic expressions, Boen felt a warmth in his heart. In turn, he offered them comfort instead.

Boen understood this as well: it was the limitation of the age!

When Dean Concenio pushed through reforms in magical education, he met resistance from the entire nobility of Nether.

The alchemical workshop was a product of the age, one that completely overturned the place of spell potions in people’s minds. While spellcasters were still struggling to research magic, he was saying that spell potions could be mass-produced, and that some even possessed the power of first- and second-circle spells.

Anyone hearing that for the first time would react with, “Impossible.” The second reaction would be, “This man is a fraud!”

If Boen had not long since made a name for himself, and if he had not been said to enjoy the favor of the Goddess of Wealth, he would already have been treated as a swindler.

After all, there was not even any result yet. The Lehman Merchant Guild—no, rather, the alchemical workshop—had not even finished construction. It stood empty inside, not even a blade of grass to be seen, and yet they had already begun seeking investment everywhere. It was no different from a con artist.

So Boen had gained another title.

The Golden-Eyed Envoy.

The Golden-Eyed Envoy was also called a Friend of Merchants, and was the guardian spirit of trade, money, and wealth.

These envoys were extremely active in all kinds of economic activity, doing everything they could to increase the wealth of their communities or nations by promoting commerce.

At first glance, it was a fine title. But Golden-Eyed Envoy carried another layer of meaning as well.

Liberators.

Some of them took up adventure in their youth to earn their first fortune in life. Others also took on side occupations and called themselves “liberators”—in common speech, grave robbers.

They specialized in “liberating” the useless wealth hoarded in ancient tombs or buried away, because such wealth could not create more wealth.

On the other hand, there were also those who became guardians of existing wealth, ensuring that riches—especially their own and the church’s—did not fall into the hands of the ill-intentioned.

Most of the priests of the Goddess of Wealth, Waukeen, were probably such people.

This was simply trying to take advantage of others with nothing in hand. Anyone who could become the head of a noble house was no fool; with only a tongue, it was nearly impossible to pry money from their pockets.

Still, this had been within Boen’s expectations. What he wanted was only to get the wind stirring—to put the advertisement out first, so to speak.

It looked as though the effect had been good. Since even they had heard of it, then more or less the entire nobility of Sevinton would know as well.

Boen even let out a proud hum. “Today you ignore me; tomorrow I’ll be beyond your reach.”

“...?”

The others did not understand.

But Boen said nothing more. On leaving, he merely took out several invitation cards and handed them to everyone, then said mysteriously, “Don’t worry. We’ll be seeing each other again very soon!”

The members of the Arcane Society were somewhat puzzled. Though they were curious, none of them asked further, and in their hearts there was a faint expectation, as if Boen had never once let them down.

“Belon, where do you think the chairman went? By rights, if she had spoken, Lord Hussein shouldn’t have refused. So why is there still no news?”

Boen’s affection for Lisper was already no secret among the Arcane Society’s upper ranks. It was just that the two of them progressed very slowly; they were nearly graduating, yet there had still been no real advancement. Of course, this also had something to do with the fact that Boen was frequently disappearing—holed up in the laboratory.

Not long after Boen left the Arcane Society, he felt a sharp gaze from the side. He paused slightly, then turned his head naturally, glancing out of the corner of his eye toward a small grove nearby. Aside from flowers, grass, and trees, however, there was no one there.

Boen frowned. “Was that just my imagination?”

Then he headed straight for the mage tower.

Shortly after Boen left, a black shadow quietly rose from within the shade of the trees. Even in daylight, one could not make out the features hidden beneath that darkness, and could only faintly hear a few low snarls and glimpse those malicious, hate-filled red eyes, staring fiercely in the direction Boen had gone.

When Boen arrived at the earl’s laboratory, he was surprised to find that Grandfather and Hussein were both there, with Chairman Lisper standing nearby as well.

The earl and Hussein were discussing something in front of the alchemy table, while Lisper, upon seeing Boen come up, gave him an embarrassed nod.

“Well now, our genius alchemist has arrived. Come, come, hurry over—I’ve got something to discuss with you.”

Hussein waved Boen over cheerfully.

Hearing a big shot summon him, Boen hurried over with eager steps, only then noticing that what lay on the alchemy table was precisely his own mana storage device.

“Grandfather! Lord Hussein!”

Boen placed his right hand over his chest and bowed slightly.

“This mana storage device was made by you?” Hussein asked.

Boen glanced at his grandfather and replied softly, “I would not dare claim such credit. I only contributed a little of the idea; the main work was done personally by Grandfather.”

“That I know. Old... ahem, the earl has already explained.” Hussein coughed lightly. “But I heard the overall design concept was provided by you. In other words, this is actually your work.”

“If that is how it is defined, then yes, that is correct.”

By then, Boen seemed to understand what was happening.

“Good. Then if you were to make one independently, there would be no problem, yes?” Hussein fixed him with a sharp look. “And even later on, you could continue refining and upgrading it!”

Boen’s expression turned serious. “Your meaning is...”

“I intend to establish an Arcane Garden within the military camp as well. Or is it called an alchemical workshop now?”

“Grandfather, it’s called an alchemical workshop!” Lisper quietly reminded him from the side.

“Oh, oh yes, an alchemical workshop!” Hussein laughed twice, showing no embarrassment at all.

“This...” Boen hesitated.

“Don’t worry, it will only be established within the Shamstein Legion, and the spell potions produced there will be supplied solely for military use. They will not be sold to outsiders.”

“Lord Hussein, it is not that reason...”

Boen quickly tried to explain, but before he could finish, Hussein cut him off.

“I know the rules. Following Earl Iolum’s standard, once it is completed you will be given materials worth four times the value as payment, plus life branches from the elf clan to make up for the loss of vitality!”

Gulp.

Boen swallowed and, without making it obvious, glanced at his grandfather.

Only one word sprang to mind.

Dark.

Too dark!

Inside, he was already struggling violently.

Was this what it meant to be humiliated by money?

Only then did Boen realize how ignorant he had been. He had thought that even if he could not compare with the noble houses in heritage, he could at least rival them in wealth. He had never expected to be struck so hard again today.

It seemed he was still far too young.

But... this was simply too tempting.

The way Boen looked at Hussein was like one seeing the God of Wealth himself.

So this was the price commanded by a top Nether power...

Generally speaking, a creator would have the reward deducted directly from the materials, and at most would ask for one additional share.

As for the mana storage device, it did not seem to count as a magical item. Though it looked somewhat like one, the thing itself already possessed a mana-gathering effect. The only issue was that its materials were rather expensive.

Back when the earl used materials to make this mana storage device, Boen had nearly been blinded by the sight of them, and his saliva had nearly flooded the floor.

Only now did he finally understand where Grandfather’s private collection, which rivaled a dragon’s hoard, had come from.

Seeing Boen distracted, Hussein thought he was still weighing the offer, so he raised the stakes again. “I will personally help you persuade the other legions to purchase the Lehman Merchant Guild’s spell potions!”

Uh...

Why did that sound so familiar?

Boen glanced at Chairman Lisper beside him. As expected of a single lineage, perhaps—they all loved to solve things by throwing money at them. Was this the way the rich handled business?

Boen was filled with righteous indignation. This was simply an insult to his dignity...

He drew in a deep breath, straightened his clothes, and said with solemn composure, “Lord Hussein, your will is the direction of our advance!”