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    Chapter 13: Guardian of the Herb Field (1)


    It was early in the morning, with the scent of dawn’s dew still lingering in the air.


    Oscar, who had just finished his morning run through the garden, sat down on a bench and unfolded a newspaper.


    [Two days after distributing the Cadena Flu cure in Vince Territory, pandemic dered over.]


    [The White Tower''s Beacon of Revival? A small stone thrown into the potion market, creating huge ripples.]


    [Oscar Crucian nominated for the Peace Prize in recognition of his contributions to the development of the Cadena Flu cure and vine.]


    [The White Tower credits everything to the grace of the Goddess, and Archbishop Baldwin’s poprity surges nationwide.]


    No matter which newspaper he picked, the headlines were all about the White Tower.


    Understandably so.


    A miraculous breakthrough for the underdogs was always the best and most ideal material for news, across eras.


    "Hey, Oscar!"


    Then, a now-familiar voice echoed in his ears.


    Oscar nced over and muttered.


    "...How does he always know where to find me?"


    At the edge of his vision, Fran, looking incredibly excited, was running toward him, waving a stack of papers.


    "Amazing! The word must be out—vine pre-orders are flooding in!"


    "Well, of course."


    Oscar replied with a nonchnt expression.


    After all, the Cadena Flu was a B-grade disaster, ssified for its danger.


    "It''s a disease that can strike anyone, anytime, anywhere. If they value their lives, they''d get vinated."


    "See this list? Northern territories, the Church, even the Imperial Family—everyone’s made reservations."


    Fran did a mental calction and pped his forehead.


    "Damn, it''s insane. I crunched the numbers, and even if we just sell the current stock of cures and vines, we''ll make tens of millions of bels easily."


    "Tens of millions of bels... That should cover the immediate crisis."


    A faint smile appeared on Oscar''s lips.


    Just a few days ago, things looked hopeless in this corner of the Tower, but now he felt a bit more at ease.


    "But, you know, this fever will die down soon, right? And the flu probably won''t be widespread again for decades."


    Oscar looked slightly surprised at Fran’s concern.


    "You’re sharper than I thought. So, you understand that current sales won’t be sustainable?”


    "Do you think I’m an idiot? Once everyone’s vinated, who’s going to keep buying the vine? And since this flu was contained before it could spread much, most territories outside the northern regions don’t even feel a need for it. They''re just watching and waiting."


    As Fran pointed out, the Cadena Flu cure and vine were, ultimately, a seasonal business.


    And one that could only be sold every few decades, so it could never be a primary ie source for the Tower.


    ''This was exactly why other Towers didn''t bother risking everything to develop a cure for the Cadena Flu.''


    Even if they seeded, it wouldn''t be profitable.


    It could only be sold once every few decades, and with the White Tower as the forerunner, no less.


    If the flu were suppressed quickly, as it was this time, even the potential earnings wouldn’t be that substantial.


    ‘Once we fulfill the current batch of orders, there likely won’t be any more.’


    Even if there were, it would probably be from only a few territories near the northern regions.


    Oscar, aware of this reality, had already prepared a contingency n.


    "Don’t worry about money. I have other potions ready that will bring the Tower steady ie."


    "Other potions... you mean...?"


    Oscar watched as Fran''s eyes widened in amazement and chuckled.


    "Yes. Starting this week, we’ll also produce and sell recovery potions."


    "You... you didn’t just restore the Cadena Flu cure!”


    The excited Fran asked eagerly.


    "Is it the ''Tears of the Star,'' by any chance?”


    "Of course not. That would be premature."


    Oscar firmly drew the line.


    The most famous potion of the White Tower’s recovery line was undoubtedly the “Tears of the Star.”


    Its effects were remarkable, even able to revive those on the verge of death, but it was more likely to be poison for the current White Tower than a cure.


    ‘First, we need to build up the strength to protect something like that, even if we create it.’


    Even the current cure required using Archbishop Baldwin and the Church as shields to ensure its safety.


    "We’ll sell low and mid-grade potions instead."


    In fact, the overall market demand was much bigger for these.


    Households, mercenaries, soldiers, and knights all used these kinds of products.


    "Well, it’s disappointing not to see the ‘Tears of the Star,’ but I suppose it can’t be helped. At least we won’t have to worry about our ie drying up."


    Fran asked, smacking his lips in regret.


    "Then, I guess you’ll need to acquire new ingredients for the potions, right?”


    "Ah, yes. Since you bring it up, I do have a list. First, I need Lantus leaves and Python stems…"


    Oscar listed the herbs needed for the recovery potions, while Fran, noting them down, began to look concerned.


    "Ugh, these ingredients are all hard to find."


    "...What? What do you mean by that?"


    Oscar blinked.


    "All of our potion ingredients are unique to Sirin. How could they be hard to find?"


    "Sirin’s specialties? You’re talking about something from an ancient era."


    With a deep sigh, Fran continued.


    "Sirin was once known as thergest herb producer on the continent, but those days are long gone. It’s practically dead now."


    What?


    The herb fields have died?


    At that moment, an article shed through Oscar''s mind.


    [The White Tower’s continuous misfortune? Sirin, once hailed as the continent''srgest herb producer, falls from grace.]


    He recalled reading that in the newspaper.


    Back then, he dismissed it as a baseless smear, but it seemed otherwise.


    "Wait, why would a perfectly fine herb field suddenly go under?"


    "Well, who knows? Is there even a reason? When our Tower fell, the potion recipes were lost, and since we couldn''t buy in the same volume, the herb fields naturally declined, don’t you think?"


    "...That doesn’t make sense."


    Oscar shook his head firmly.


    Sirin herbs were renowned for their extraordinary potency.


    In the past, people practically lined up and took numbers to buy herbs from Sirin.


    ‘It was often said that even if the White Tower were to copse, Sirin’s herb fields would endure. And now they’ve copsed simply because we stopped buying from them?’


    Impossible.


    This was simply inconceivable, given the prestige of Sirin’s herbs, which had soared twenty years ago.


    ‘No matter how I think about it, something... smells fishy.’


    Oscar’s eyes narrowed as this thought crossed his mind.


    "Young Master Oscar, here you are."


    Wearing a worn work outfit, Walter approached the two of them.


    "It’s been a while, Fran."


    "Indeed. You look even more dignified since west met."


    "Haha..."


    Walter scratched his head bashfully at Fran’sment before turning to Oscar.


    “I’ve heard the rumors. You’ve made an incredible achievement, Young Master Oscar. Congrattions."


    "I’ve merely earned a bit of money."


    Walter smiled faintly at Oscar’s modest words.


    "I was just called in by the Deputy Tower Master on my way here."


    "Oh, could it be…?"


    "Haha, yes. My resignation was rejected. He asked me to keep working for the Tower."


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    "That''s such a relief."


    The moment Oscar beamed, Walter suddenly grabbed his hand.


    "...Thank you. Truly, thank you. If it hadn''t been for young Master Oscar, I would have..."


    "Oh, you don’t have to…"


    Oscar trailed off, intending to say it was fine.


    Walter''s hands, sping his, were trembling.


    "......"


    Walter''s hands, which he looked at silently, were by no means graceful, not even close.


    Small scars were scattered all over, with wrinkled lines etched by long years ofbor.


    They were rough hands.


    Undoubtedly rough.


    But staring at them made Oscar''s chest ache.


    ''With these wrinkled hands…


    He must have managed every corner of the Tower, even ces no one else cared about.


    He could tell just by the spotless potionb, abandoned for ages, with not a speck of dust.


    ‘From his youth, when his hands would’ve been unlined, till now.’


    Oscar felt genuinely relieved, knowing he wouldn’t have to leave his second home as if fleeing.


    Oscar firmly grasped both of Walter''s hands in return.


    "If anyone should be grateful, it’s me. Thank you for all your hard work, and please continue to look after us."


    "..."


    At the heartfelt gratitude, Walter lowered his head.


    Even though it wasn’t yet time to water the nts, stray drops began to fall on the soil in the garden.


    After a moment, Walter, now looking much lighter, lifted his head and said,


    "If it’s all right with you, young Master Oscar, could you keep mepany from time to time?"


    "Of course, I’d be the one asking that favor."


    After exchanging warm words, Walter asked,


    "By the way, you both seemed down earlier. Is there something an old man like me can help with?"


    "Oh, well…"


    Oscar told him about the conversation he had with Fran.


    "But it just doesn’t make sense to me that the herb fields in Sirin have failed."


    "Hmm. In that case, why not visit the ce yourself?"


    "A visit, you say..."


    Sometimes, simplicity is the best solution.


    Oscar nodded, epting Walter''s advice.


    "That''s actually a good idea."


    * * *


    tter, tter.


    The carriage, carrying the two, slowed after traveling for half a day.


    Oscar had wanted to try a car, but it was more expensive than he thought, so he decided to wait for another opportunity.


    "We’ve arrived!"


    "Haaamm!"


    At the driver’s call, Fran stretched out his arms as he yawned while getting off the carriage.


    "Ugh, I almost died of boredom."


    "You fell asleep the moment you got on, and you’re calling it boring?"


    Oscar, exasperated, scolded him, and Fran quickly changed the subject.


    "But, driver, can you drop us off a bit further in?"


    "This is as far as the carriage can go. You’ll have to walk from here."


    "Walk, you say...?"


    Looking out, the fields stretched all the way to the horizon with herbs nted in neat rows.


    There was no sign of the owner''s house in sight.


    Sensing he’d have to walk quite a bit, Fran suggested,


    "Oscar, it’d probably be better if at least one of us stayed at the entrance, right?"


    "Do as you please. I’m just going to report exactly what happened in the trip report anyway."


    "Damn it... Fine, I’m going, I’m going!"


    After about three hours of walking, they finally spotted a cabin at the foot of a huge mountain in the distance.


    Estimating the distance, Oscar muttered,


    "From the entrance to the cabin, it’s roughly ten miles."


    "...Miles?"n/?/vel/b//in dot c//om


    Fran, visibly tired, looked at him with a strange expression.


    "Using such an old unit? Miles disappeared 18 years ago."


    "What?"


    Miles had disappeared?


    Oscar’s eyes went wide with surprise.


    "What are you talking about? Miles disappearing?"


    "They were reced by the metric system during the big administrative overhaul after the war. Pounds were converted to grams at the same time."


    "Heavens above, they got rid of pounds too..."


    Oscar’s disbelief was clear.


    This had been a matter of debate for decades.


    Rumors had circted that once the war ended, units would be unified…


    ‘But I never imagined miles and pounds would be abolished.’


    Of course, they were imprecise and difficult to measure, and they could be annoying.


    But there was a certain charm and nostalgia in calcting with them, bit by bit.


    He didn’t have long to mourn the death of these familiar units, though.


    They finally arrived at a rather luxurious-looking cabin.


    "Is anyone inside?"


    Fran called out loudly, and the cabin door, which had been firmly shut, slowly creaked open.


    An elderly man with gray hair appeared.


    He looked robust enough to be mistaken for a retired soldier.


    ncing at the path they’d taken, he asked,


    "Did you walk all the way here?"


    "Yes. The carriage could only go as far as the entrance. After that, we had to walk."


    "...Then at least you’re not with them."


    The old man mumbled quietly, just as he was about to add something—


    VROOOM!


    A loud engine sound grew closer from behind them.


    "What in the world…?"


    Three vehicles, trampling over the herbs, came to a stop in front of them.


    A man in a white car, nked by ck escort cars, stepped out.


    Clunk!


    "Man, every time Ie here, I’ve got to say, the air’s fantastic. But everything else is trash."


    Adjusting his sunsses with a smirk, he asked,


    "So, still not thinking of selling thend?"


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