Chapter 265 — The Network in Motion

In Viscount Carroll's domain in the central Southern Region, the peddler Bob set three vials of alchemical potion out on the counter of the Mercenaries' Guild as samples, and explained to the guild official before him—a man he had dealt with several times—the origins and effects of these potions. Behind him stood several mercenary warriors who had escorted him all the way from the Kant domain.

A merchant who had come to the Mercenaries' Guild to peddle potions had already drawn attention. The mercenaries warming themselves by the hearth in the great hall, waiting for work, were turning their eyes toward the counter—and that was exactly what Bob had hoped for. Whether or not the official before him had any interest in the potions, he had succeeded in drawing the mercenaries' attention. That had been his true aim all along.

"I've heard of this potion. It's made in that frontier domain down south, isn't it?" The guild official finished listening to Bob and frowned slightly. "They say it's a cut below proper alchemical potions, but the price is unbelievably low... Can it really be as good as you claim?"

"You can ask this fine warrior beside me," Bob said, stepping aside and gesturing to one of the mercenaries who had escorted him. "He's used the stuff."

"Old Goldtooth, I can vouch for it—this stuff is the real deal!" The mercenary warrior, a full head taller than Bob, grinned wide. "See this fresh scar under my neck? If not for this potion, you'd be seeing my name carved on that board behind you right now!"

"Renting a counter at the Mercenaries' Guild to sell potions... nobody's ever done that before," said the guild official. He clearly trusted the mercenary he knew, but he was still uneasy. He looked at the peddler before him. "You'd better be sure you can keep up a steady supply, and that the potions are as good as you say. Most mercenaries have hot tempers. I don't want them smashing up your counter when they kick up a fuss—then I'd have to find someone to scrape you off the floor and dump you outside."

"Merchants honor their word," Bob said, casually reaching into his coat and pulling out a supply agreement from the association, slapping it down on the counter. "See for yourself. This is the document I signed with Duke Cecil—signed by the Duke himself! You recognize this emblem, don't you?"

And just like that, the deal was struck.

Watching the guards he had brought with him take their pay and disperse, Bob narrowed his eyes, as if he could see silver coins walking about all over the Mercenaries' Guild. He began to look forward to the day when he had saved enough to buy his own shopfront in the Carroll domain and become a settled trader. According to Mr. Patrick's promise, the Cecil Merchants' Association would provide every dealer preparing to purchase a shopfront with an additional sum of money, and would send people to assist as circumstances warranted. Bob knew perfectly well that those "assistants" were really the Duke's eyes, there to keep watch on him—but what of it?

From the day he became a member of the Cecil Merchants' Association, the peddler Bob had known that he was running the Duke's business—that he himself would become part of the Duke's holdings. And what noble would not send someone to watch over his own holdings?

So long as there were solid gold and silver coins in it, there was nothing wrong with being a noble's hound.

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