The sun over Coldvale struggled to pierce the blanket of grey haze stagnating over the Tanners’ Quarter. The morning air, thick with cold dampness, slithered through the narrow alleys, carrying the usual stench of wet leather and carrion.

  Adrian left Bunker B4 with the discretion of a ghost. His backpack, heavy with a dozen wax-sealed vials, weighed on his shoulders—but it was a satisfying weight: the fruit of meticulous labor and fractional distillation.

  Beneath his tunic, his chitin armor had softened with movement, becoming nearly imperceptible. Each step was validation of his research. His silent boots absorbed the clatter of cobblestones, giving him a predatory gait—efficient, devoid of wasted effort.

  — IRIS, visibility parameter check.

  [ETHEREAL SIGNATURE UNDETECTABLE TO LOCALS.]

  [NOTE: YOU RESEMBLE A MALNOURISHED ORDINARY CIVILIAN. PROBABILITY OF ATTRACTING ATTENTION: 4%.]

  Adrian ignored the remark about his physique. He knew his body’s current limits. It was a variable he intended to change—but one step at a time. Science required funding.

  Klara’s shop, wedged between a noisy forge and a grain warehouse, seemed livelier than usual. Several adventurers in worn boiled leather argued near the door.

  Adrian waited for the path to clear, observing the interactions with cold detachment. He didn’t see people—he saw potential consumers, walking ether reservoirs whose survival now unknowingly depended on his molecular precision.

  When he entered, the copper bell’s chime made Klara look up. She seemed tired, her hands stained with cheap reagents.

  — You’re two hours late, Adrian.

  He placed his bag on the dark wooden counter with deliberate care. The muffled clink of glass against wood drew the alchemist’s attention.

  — Quality doesn’t bend to schedules. I had to stabilize the batch after a temperature fluctuation in my… workshop.

  He pulled out the first vial. The sapphire-clear liquid showed no sediment, no parasitic gas bubbles. Its sheer visual perfection was an insult to local alchemy.

  [OBSERVATION: KLARA’S CORTISOL LEVELS DROPPED BY 18%. SHE IS IMPRESSED.]

  [SUGGESTION: INCREASE WHOLESALE PRICE BY 5% ON THIS BATCH TO TEST HER BUDGET FLEXIBILITY.]

  Adrian ignored the financial advice for now. He had a longer game in mind.

  — Here are my “Blues,” he said flatly. Better quality this time. They won’t fully heal a gaping wound, but they’ll erase metabolic fatigue in under six minutes. No tremors. No nausea.

  She took the vial, turning it in the window’s light. Her eyes widened.

  — I’ve been thinking… we could sell these for triple the price in the capital.

  — Probably. But first…

  Adrian leaned against the counter, his grey eyes locking onto hers. He wasn’t after quick profit—he wanted control.

  — I want you to flood Coldvale with these vials. Sell them at a price that makes the Guild’s potions obsolete. I want every adventurer, every guard, every merchant in this town addicted to this purity.

  This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  [ECONOMIC ANALYSIS: PRICE PENETRATION + QUALITY DOMINANCE STRATEGY. SHORT-TERM PROFITABILITY: -12%. MARKET DOMINATION IN 60 DAYS: 89%. CALCULATION: YOUR LOGIC IS SURPRISINGLY COHERENT FOR A BIOLOGICAL MIND.]

  She hesitated, fingers nervously tightening around the vial.

  — I’m still not reassured. The Inquisition will notice eventually, Adrian. They don’t like competition that doesn’t pay the tithe of knowledge.

  — Exactly. Better to start small. They won’t notice a thing if you diversify your sources. Never say it comes from one man. For now, say it’s surplus from a southern caravan. And for exports…

  Adrian unfolded a crude map of the region.

  — The silver miners north of the forest. I’ve heard yields are dropping due to fatigue. They’ll pay dearly for a 50% productivity boost. I’ll supply the stock, you handle distribution and sales. We split the profits.

  She looked at him as if seeing a stranger. She knew Adrian as an odd “alchemist,” but now she faced something else entirely.

  — Why me? she asked quietly.

  — Because you need money like everyone else, and I need a face for my product. Symbiosis. Nothing more.

  As she stored the potions in her secure back room, IRIS flashed a discreet notification at the edge of his vision.

  [ALERT: GRADE 2.2 INDIVIDUAL APPROACHING THE SHOP. RECOGNIZED ETHEREAL SIGNATURE: BAILIFF’S SERGEANT. PROBABILITY OF ROUTINE INSPECTION: 67%.]

  — Hide that. Now, Adrian ordered without raising his voice.

  She obeyed instantly, sealing the lid just as the door burst open.

  The sergeant entered without knocking. The air in the shop chilled instantly. He was a gaunt man, his movements economical, bearing the Bailiff’s Guard insignia. Grade 2.2. A serious threat—not some tavern brute.

  He ignored Adrian, fixing Klara instead.

  — The Bailiff’s heard rumors, he said calmly. Word of a new blue potion circulating. He wants a sample. Now.

  Klara’s blood ran cold. Adrian saw her heart rate spike on his HUD. If that flask reached the Bailiff’s mages, the unnatural purity would be detected. It wouldn’t be a fine—it would be an interrogation.

  He had to intervene. Not with force, but with boredom.

  Adrian stepped forward, slightly hunched, holding a dirty rag. He grabbed one of the diluted vials from the counter with calculated nonchalance.

  — This is the “Civilian Formula,” Sergeant, he said, offering the flask.

  The man glared, irritated by the interruption.

  — Civilian?

  — Low dosage. No alcohol. No burn, Adrian explained monotonously. Made for delicate merchant stomachs and ladies’ vapors. Cures migraines and paper cuts.

  He uncorked the vial. The scent that escaped was fresh, minty, subtle—nothing like the acrid musk and sulfur of standard war potions.

  — Smell. It’s like herbal tea.

  The sergeant sniffed, suspicious. To a soldier used to chemical shocks that locked muscles into forced healing, this gentleness was suspect. Worse—it was disappointing.

  — Smells like nothing, he sneered. Where’s the active principle?

  — Diluted in distilled water, Adrian lied without blinking. As I said… it’s for civilians. Wouldn’t last two seconds on a battlefield. The Bailiff will be disappointed if he’s expecting a power elixir. It’s just… comfortable.

  The word comfortable finished undermining the product. The sergeant didn’t want to report perfumed water to his superior as either a threat or a marvel.

  He pushed Adrian’s hand away.

  — Bourgeois piss, he spat. Figured as much.

  He turned to Klara.

  — If you’re selling water at potion prices, Klara, watch the complaints. We don’t protect swindlers.

  He turned on his heel, armor clinking, leaving behind a lingering but defused threat.

  [THREAT NEUTRALIZED.]

  [ANALYSIS: SUBJECT ASSOCIATED “LACK OF PAIN” WITH “LACK OF EFFICACY.” TYPICAL COGNITIVE BIAS AMONG LOCAL MILITARY.]

  Once the door closed, Klara turned to Adrian, wide-eyed.

  — You just told him your masterpiece is “rabbit piss”? Do you know how much we could sell that vial for?

  Adrian straightened, his gaze returning to surgical coldness.

  — Precisely. If that guard had taken it, we’d have gotten nothing. Worse, the Inquisition would’ve stormed in to find the source. Now he’ll report to the Bailiff that there’s nothing to see here.

  He tapped the bag containing the pure vials.

  — The price for guards is zero, because they steal. The price for adventurers heading north is two silver coins. Because they know it’s liquid gold. Anonymity is our biggest profit multiplier.

  [NOTE: OPTIMAL SOCIAL PERFORMANCE. COST OF DECEPTION: 0 COINS. CAPITAL PROTECTION: 100%.]

  [COMMENT: LYING IS A HIGHLY PROFITABLE BIOLOGICAL SKILL, ADRIAN. I’M BEGINNING TO UNDERSTAND WHY YOUR SPECIES SURVIVED SO LONG WITHOUT AI.]

  — We’ll prepare the first shipment for the mines, Adrian cut in.