Chapter 10: The Price Surge

Alkhemia had once been the wealthiest place on the continent. Those who lived there carried a certain air of pride. Whether they were merchants, scholars, or even factory workers tightening screws in alchemical workshops, they all strode through the streets with their heads held high.

Whenever they saw someone an "outsider" like Ambrose, their gazes would instinctively turn condescending, as if they were looking at some country bumpkin who had come to take advantage of the city's riches.

But today was different. The people on the streets kept their heads slightly lowered. No one lingered to chat, and every passerby walked with urgent, almost anxious steps.

The rows of once-bustling shops stood half-shuttered, and "For Rent" signs dotted the doors that were firmly closed.

"Don't tell me Alkhemia is really going bankrupt..."

Ambrose frowned. In recent years, the prices of magical materials had been rising sharply while exports dwindled.

Yet even so, the city had managed to stay afloat. How had things deteriorated so much in just two years? No wonder they had imposed such heavy taxes—perhaps they really were standing on the edge of collapse.

He didn't waste time sightseeing and headed straight for that ugly green tower ahead. It was an eyesore that looked suspiciously like a blob of failed potion sludge. Locals, with their peculiar sense of humor, called it the "Green Tower of Healing."

Ugly though it might be on the outside, its interior was surprisingly elegant.

The alchemists of Alkhemia couldn't alter the tower's external design, so they had poured all their effort into the inside, furnishing it with understated luxury and artistic charm. Together, the seven hideous towers had somehow become a landmark of the city.

Yet the cracks were already showing. The attendants were listless, several shop doors remained locked, and litter gathered in corners that once gleamed like polished mirrors.

Something was very wrong with Alkhemia. Ambrose pushed on without pause and went straight to the section that sold magical seeds.

He was here for seeds. He would need crops that his soon-to-arrive settlers could plant and harvest. But since his new lands lay under a lich's dominion, he required something... special. Only in this green blob of a tower could such seeds be found.

Food was the lifeblood of humanity, and agriculture the oldest form of production. Naturally, Alkhemia had developed numerous enchanted seeds, like oats that ripened overnight, sugar beets sweeter than cane, and drought-proof potatoes that could grow even in desert sand.

Most of these were one-use wonders: after the first harvest, the enchantments would fade. But that was exactly what Ambrose needed. For a lord with nothing but empty hands and empty land, crops that were easy to grow and quick to mature were perfect for stabilizing morale.

Unfortunately, Ambrose knew next to nothing about farming. If he had, he'd have just ordered the seeds directly through magical correspondence. But since he lacked the expertise, he had no choice but to come in person and ask around.

After browsing through several stalls, he noticed a pattern: every merchant swore their seeds were unparalleled, producing plants so miraculous they could practically sprout even if they were planted in the air.

That was the trouble with not knowing the trade. With no farmer friends to consult, Ambrose simply picked a few types that seemed promising and asked for the price. The clerk behind the counter smiled politely and quoted a number that nearly made him choke.

𝑓𝑟ℯ𝘦𝓌𝘦𝘣𝑛𝑜𝓋𝑒𝓁.𝑐ℴ𝓂

"What?! A hundred gold for two bags? That's daylight robbery!"

Two small sacks of fast-growing seeds for one hundred gold—enough to feed hundreds of people for a year if spent on cheap grain. Prices had quintupled.

The clerk's smile froze in a mask of disdain.

"Robbery? Hardly. That's the same price as last year. We haven't even raised it this season. And our seeds aren't made with cheap materials. They're genuine quality. If you can't afford them, maybe that's your problem."

Ambrose's expression didn't change. He merely reached out and flicked the little enchanted bell on the counter.

A puff of smoke drifted up, forming into a tiny humanoid figure that spoke in a droning, formulaic voice: "Bell Spirit No. 996 at your service. How may I—"

"Complaint," Ambrose interrupted. "Rude attitude."

The clerk flinched. "Wait, I—!"

Too late. Ambrose was already walking away when the spirit chimed, "Complaint registered. No resolution achieved. Thirty percent of monthly wages deducted."

Thirty percent?

It looked like Alkhemia really was desperate.

Ambrose left the tower with a heavy heart. Prices were soaring out of control. If even seeds cost this much, then the living mercury he'd ordered might cost him more than the promised twenty thousand gold.

Did he have no choice but to cancel the order?

No. Absolutely not.

The very thought of returning the deposit made his skin crawl. He wouldn't refund it. He couldn't afford to.

He decided on the spot that, instead of waiting for delivery, he'd go collect it himself.

Leaving the green tower behind, Ambrose made for another. This one was black and warped, shaped like the charred remains of some monstrous creature. Biological alchemy often ended in explosions, leaving behind just such unrecognizable lumps.

It was a familiar sight to anyone in the trade.

Stepping inside, he went straight to the grand lobby and found a sleepy clerk slumped behind the counter.

"I placed an order yesterday," Ambrose said briskly. "One bottle of living mercury. I'm here to collect."

The clerk checked the records and replied, "Found it. One bottle of living mercury. That'll be thirty thousand gold—in coins or promissory notes?"

"How much?!" Ambrose nearly shouted.

"Thirty thousand," the clerk repeated blandly.

"It was eighteen thousand just a year ago!"

"That was last year's price." She shrugged, her tone cooling. Clearly, she'd decided he couldn't afford it.

Ambrose had expected to make a tidy profit, but as it stood, he was about to lose ten thousand. That was intolerable.

"No discounts?" he tried.

"Impossible," the clerk replied flatly. "If anything, the price will rise again soon."

"If you keep raising prices, won't you just suffer more losses if no one purchases your goods?"

At that, the clerk's eyes flickered. She leaned closer and said in a conspiratorial whisper, "Well, there is a discount option. But..."

Ambrose perked up immediately. "How much, with the discount?"

"Only five hundred gold."

"Five hundred?!" Ambrose froze. That wasn't a discount. It was a complete scam.