“Good morning, Miss Lancelot,” the man introduced himself. “My name is Arnold. I’m a commoner with no surname, and I currently serve as branch director of the Commercial Association’s Far Eastern branch.”

“Branch Director Arnold!” The girl with glasses shrieked before I could. Ward was quick to catch her before she collapsed.

Branch director? That meant he was a big shot in charge of the whole region—the big boss of Marshall.

It seemed I’d run into a very troublesome opponent.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Branch Director Arnold.” I gave him a polite bow. “My name is Elsa von Lancelot. I’m glad to make your acquaintance.”

After we exchanged names, the battle officially began.

“I offer you my sincerest apologies for Deputy Branch Director Marshall’s earlier behavior,” Arnold said. “And thank you for your continued support of the Commercial Association. Your steady purchases of large quantities of high-quality Minor Healing Potions are a blessing to the entire East. Although they aren’t expensive, these are the potions people use most often. There are simply too few Alchemists in the East, and many of them are frauds. The potions you make have helped a great many people. I offer you my deepest thanks.”

I knew this routine: praise first, then hit me with the bad news. I once had a superior like that. He lavished praise on the squad I commanded, then sent us on a suicide mission that cost me half my people.

“You’re too kind, Branch Director Arnold.” I kept smiling. “Deputy Branch Director Marshall and I already agreed on the purchase price for Intermediate Healing Potions: two gold coins and nine silver. I’d appreciate your approval.”

“Miss Lancelot,” Arnold said, “a profit of one silver coin on an Intermediate Healing Potion is far too small. I’m concerned that the Commercial Association’s outlets may raise their prices, driving up the market price. Intermediate Healing Potions aren’t used as often as Minor ones, but for the critically ill and wounded, they can mean the difference between life and death. I ask you to be considerate.”

He was actually using the noble-sounding excuse of “saving lives” to pin the blame for higher prices on me. What a bunch of crooks. You’re the ones raising the price! I’d already left you a silver coin’s worth of profit. Wasn’t that enough?

“Branch Director Arnold,” I said, “I can’t be the one to offer a lower price first. What do you consider a fair purchase price?”

“I believe two gold coins would be very fair, once transportation and sales costs are deducted.”

“But the lord offered three gold coins.”

“Miss Lancelot,” Arnold said in a coaxing tone, “you’re certainly free to sell your healing potions to Count Galaton at a higher price. But even he can’t buy Intermediate Healing Potions without limit. Only the Commercial Association can keep selling the potions you make, day in and day out.”

In other words, he was comparing the small market of the count’s estate with the entire Eastern market under his control, using the uncertain prospects of future sales to pressure me. No wonder he was the boss of all these crooks. I heard my Shadow whistle. Even he thought this branch director was a tough opponent, so he was definitely waiting to see me make a fool of myself.

“Two gold coins and eight silver. I won’t go any lower.”

“Two gold coins and two silver, Miss Lancelot. Please think it over.”

After a round of haggling, we settled on two gold coins and five silver per potion. Then, right in front of Arnold, I opened my item box and pulled out a hundred Intermediate Healing Potions in one go. His expression was like that of a man forced to swallow a bitter pill.

As far as I knew, even the most skilled Alchemists only had about a thirty-percent success rate when making Intermediate Healing Potions. The odds of producing a Gold-quality one were just ten percent, and the odds of a Platinum-quality potion were even lower than five percent. On top of that, Alchemy consumed a huge amount of MP, so most Alchemists preferred making Minor Healing Potions, which had a higher success rate, simpler ingredients, and lower MP costs. An Alchemist like me, with a hundred-percent success rate and nothing but Platinum-quality results, was a massive bug in the system. Luckily, there weren’t many situations that called for Intermediate Healing Potions, so demand wasn’t all that high. In peacetime, it was especially hard to sell them in large quantities. The Commercial Association would be struggling to move those hundred Platinum-quality potions for quite a while.

“Thank you for supporting the Commercial Association,” Branch Director Arnold said, maintaining his gentlemanly composure. “In recognition of your outstanding contributions, Miss Lancelot, I’ll propose raising your membership card rank from E to S. I hope you’ll look forward to it.”

With that, the branch director’s image disappeared. He’d still managed to land a critical hit on me—but I had no idea what it meant to have my membership rank raised from E, the second-lowest rank, to S. It had taken me a whole month just to climb from F to E.

“Ahahaha!” Ward slapped me hard on the back. “Congratulations, little sis Elsa! You’ve gone from a barnyard chicken to a phoenix. An S-rank member is basically a super VIP in the Commercial Association. You’ll be allowed to use all their facilities, and they’ll even waive your financial service fees and bank deposit-keeping fees.”

So in this other world, banks not only didn’t pay you interest for keeping your money there, they charged you a safekeeping fee too. Well, I’ll be.

A short while later, at Count Galaton’s camp.

“General, do you have a moment?”

“Come in, Ward.”

Ward lifted the tent flap and stepped inside. Two villagers dressed as hunters and a burly mercenary were kneeling before the count. He immediately realized he might have come at a bad time.

“I’ve heard what happened. You may leave.”

“Yes, my lord.”

The two villagers and the burly mercenary bowed before leaving the tent. A knight at the entrance lowered the flap, blocking out the slightly dazzling sunlight.

“General, what happened?”

“The hunters from Nagu Town just reported to me,” the count said. “During their annual autumn hunt, they encountered monsters—a band of Orcs. They brought their goblin servants with them and attacked the hunters. After taking them prisoner, they carried them off to a stronghold in the mountains and demanded that the remaining hunters trade their catch for the captives.”

“Wait,” Ward said, eyes wide. “Don’t Orcs only know how to go ‘Waaaaagh’? Since when did those guys get smart enough to bargain with humans?”

“That’s exactly what concerns me,” Count Galaton said. “They say the Orcs were led by a centurion. That means they’re likely an advance scouting party for a much larger Orc army.”

“You mean the Orc Tribes on the other side of the mountains are getting ready to unleash a big ‘Waaaaagh’ on us?”

“There’s a good chance.” Count Galaton nodded. “Ward, if those green-skinned lunatics really cross the Grey Snow Mountains and attack Nagu Town—or the entire East—we may not be able to hold them back.”

“That is bad news,” Ward said, folding his arms. “But I’m more curious about how those hunters made it back alive. If what they said is true, a scouting party led by an Orc centurion could’ve wiped them all out without leaving a trace.”

“Because,” Count Galaton said, holding up an empty glass bottle, “someone wiped out that entire Orc scouting party.”