The night wind howled, blowing away the gloom that shrouded the lower city.
In a certain hidden basement, the dim lamp oil flickered within an iron lantern, and the wavering firelight cast twisted, hideous shadows along the cracks in the walls.
A figure in black robes slowly took a seat, his face still concealed beneath his hood.
His fingers tapped lightly on the table, the sound pressed extremely low, yet unable to mask the gloom in his tone:
“The situation in the upper city has been completely thrown into chaos by Morning Dew, and our arrangement in the lower city has also been cut off at the waist. It seems we have underestimated those people.”
All around, several silhouettes gradually emerged.
Everyone’s face and body were hidden beneath black robes, so only the faint sounds of their breathing and movements could be distinguished.
Someone let out a cold snort:
“They just swapped to a different wine, that’s all—can it really suppress the power of the Abyss? This is nothing but the bluffing of mortals.”
“Bluffing?”
The black-robed man suddenly looked up, his deep voice chilling, “I thought so too, but it’s clear the situation has already gone far beyond my expectations.”
A hush fell around them.
Only the crackling of the flames remained in the air.
After a moment, another person questioned softly:
“Could it be…we’ve already been exposed?”
“Impossible.”
The black-robed man rejected the idea coldly and firmly, “If we truly had been exposed, with Aisend’s methods, he would have acted already. He would not remain indifferent until now.”
“Hmph, I told you long ago, this plan won’t work here!”
Another voice jeered, “Did you really take the people here for the ignorant bumpkins of the Western Diocese?”
“Then do you have a better plan?”
The black-robed man shot back coldly, his eyes beneath the hood glinting, “With just a few of us? And a Baron Blake to help?”
“Don’t forget, our real goal is to seize Eleanor as a sacrifice. Last time she went out to preach, it was a perfect opportunity from the heavens, but some fool ruined it.”
A low, simmering anger spread among them; every black-robed figure present could hear the dissatisfaction in his words.
But just then, another voice spoke up:
“You didn’t call us here to bicker, did you? Speak—how do you plan to remedy this?”
The black-robed man reached out his hand and clenched it into a fist:
“No matter what, we must regain control of the situation first.”
His gaze slowly swept across the crowd:
“The most direct method is to poison their goods.”
A wave of snickering sounded.
Someone echoed in a sinister tone:
“Exactly, as long as someone falls ill from drinking, the reputation of Morning Dew will plummet overnight.”
But another cold voice retorted:
“That’s far too risky! If something gets found out, do you plan to take the blame yourself?”
The black-robed man gave a low laugh, his fingertip tapping lightly on the table:
“That’s why we’ll prepare on two fronts.”
He paused, then slowly added:
“Poisoning is what they’ll see. Behind the scenes—we forge counterfeit wine.”
“Counterfeit wine?”
“That’s right.”
The black-robed man lowered his voice, icy and cold, “We’ll copy the bottles and the labels of Morning Dew, but inside will be cheap wine mixed with the ‘stuff’ we’ve prepared.”
“As long as the counterfeits flow into the lower city alongside the real thing, someone will get into trouble, whether it’s genuine or not.”
The air suddenly tightened, and then laughter rang out.
“We tamper with the real goods, and poison the fake ones.”
The black-robed man’s voice slithered like a snake, “No matter which side has problems, it will all be blamed on Eleanor in the end.
“Since Baron Blake is as anxious as an ant on a hot pan, let him handle this. He’s agitated, he has the channels—no one is better suited as our pawn.”
Low, sinister laughter echoed in the basement, the firelight casting shadows that seemed to sneer and threaten to devour the entire city.
***
Morning light streamed through the window, spilling across a heavy account ledger.
Eleanor sat upright behind the desk, her fingertips gently opening the cover.
Row after row of neat numbers filled the thick pages.
“These are the latest statistics.”
The steward respectfully handed over a quill, unable to keep a hint of excitement from his voice, “Morning Dew’s sales have already far surpassed our expectations.”
Eleanor’s gaze swept over the figures.
In less than a month, the reputation gained from the first batch of twenty bottles allowed the second batch of two hundred bottles to sell out almost instantly in the upper city.
Several nobles even made direct offers, eager to reserve the next batch in advance—some even willing to pay several times the original price.
When tallied, the total amount was astonishing.
“Just two hundred bottles… and it’s nearly a million Soli?”
Eleanor repeated softly. Though her voice was calm, even she could hear the trace of surprise she could not hide.
By comparison, the “Crimson Dream” that nobles once scrambled to obtain had now utterly fallen from grace, scarcely anyone giving it another glance.
“And that’s after we lowered the price for the second batch.”
The steward added cautiously, “If we’d kept the original scarcity price, the profits would at least be double.”
Eleanor closed the ledger and glanced toward the window, casually asking:
“What about those bottles of Dawn Brew in the lower city?”
The steward’s expression stiffened a little. After a moment’s hesitation, he carefully opened another account book.
“The Dawn Brew in the lower city…
We set the price extremely low.”
“How low?”
Eleanor raised an eyebrow.
“Almost the same as ordinary ale, maybe even less.”
The steward gave a wry smile and shook his head, “In theory, with every bottle we sell, we’re actually losing money.”
He paused and turned to the lower city’s figures, his tone filled with helplessness:
“Several thousand bottles of Dawn Brew have flowed into the taverns and markets, but the total sales are only a few tens of thousands of Soli…while the costs are far higher.”
Eleanor looked at the steward’s face and asked quietly:
“So this is an utterly losing business in that sector?”
“Exactly so.”
The steward sighed, helplessness clear in his tone, “From a merchant guild’s perspective, this is nothing short of foolish.”
He hesitated briefly, then added in a low voice:
“Fortunately, the profits from the upper city make up for it—the first twenty bottles and the second two hundred add up to nearly one million two hundred thousand Soli.”
“All in all, we’ve made a hefty profit.”
“Of course, some of that must go to the Ost Trading Company. What we can actually keep is around six hundred thousand Soli.”
Eleanor did not respond right away; she simply lowered her eyes and pondered for a moment.
“It’s fine if we lose money in the lower city.”
She spoke calmly, “That was Helos’s suggestion—never meant for profit, but to drive out the poisonous wines.”
She paused, her fingertip tapping the desk as her gaze grew ever more resolute:
“As long as Dawn Brew can take root in those shadows, the poison wine will have nowhere left to survive.”
“Yes, my lady.”
The steward replied with utmost respect. After hesitating a moment, he carefully asked:
“But there’s one more matter… What should we do with these profits?”
“Hmm…
Set aside three hundred thousand for my sister’s savings.”
Upon hearing the steward’s question, Eleanor didn’t even need to think. She simply waved her hand and split the profits into four portions.
“The rest, give to Julius and the other two—one hundred thousand each, just right.”
“Uh? We aren’t keeping any for ourselves? After all, you did the work too, my lady.”
“What’s the point of keeping it? Am I short of money?”
Premium Chapter
Login to buy access to this Chapter.