“It’s ready to ship.”
Helos said calmly.
Julius raised his hand in a silent gesture. The hidden door was pushed open once more, and several porters dressed in worker’s uniforms quietly filed in.
Their movements were practiced and efficient, placing each bottle of wine into custom-made wooden crates, each crate lined with multiple layers of shock-absorbing pads.
The packed crates were loaded onto wheeled iron carts, transported along a concealed passageway deep in the warehouse, and rolled all the way to another disguised storehouse, from where they were loaded onto carriages.
This entire transport process scarcely required Helos to show herself and would never attract any outside attention.
Standing in the shadows, the young girl watched as the first batch of Dawn Dew was safely shipped out, allowing herself a small breath of relief.
“With this, the first batch of wine is officially on the market.”
It wasn’t until only she and Julius were left in the warehouse that Helos quietly stepped out from the shadows.
“Uh… Actually, I have a question.”
Julius glanced at the workers who had just left, then at the girl beside him. He hesitated for a moment, then spoke up:
“This wine is packaged far too exquisitely, isn’t it? You could call it a work of art. What if those nobles can’t bring themselves to drink it?”
“Whether they drink this batch or not doesn’t really matter — what’s important is the name.”
A subtle, meaningful smile curved at the corners of Helos’ lips.
“Once the name is established, the following packaging won’t have to be as luxurious as this first batch.”
She narrowed her eyes, her voice low and firm, “By then, those meant to drink it will naturally drink, and the impatient ones… will also grow impatient.”
The news that the first batch of twenty bottles of Dawn Dew was on the market was not announced openly, but instead quietly circulated under the careful orchestration of the Aus Chamber of Commerce.
They didn’t make a grand public spectacle of it; instead, they used private invitations, exclusive tasting events, and small limited quotas, shaping the first batch of “Dawn Dew” into a status symbol — a rare and coveted treasure.
In noble circles, this sort of word-of-mouth was far more effective than any advertisement.
“Have you heard? The Aus Chamber of Commerce has launched a new wine, only twenty bottles.”
“What? Twenty bottles? Are you joking? They’ll be snatched up in the blink of an eye.”
“I personally tasted a sip at the Duke’s banquet — it was simply a gift from the heavens. Far superior to Baron Black’s ‘Crimson Dream’.”
Some nobles in the upper city, already prone to flaunting, took it upon themselves to use this as proof of their status.
At tea parties, dinners, and even in private chats, they would deliberately mention having been “fortunate enough” to taste Dawn Dew.
“Crimson Dream? Hmph, I only recently tasted Dawn Dew. That flavor… It’s on a completely different level from Baron Black’s inferior work.”
“Inferior work, you say? Not long ago, people were hailing it as a ‘must-have in the upper city.’”
“That was before! Now, those who truly appreciate fine things have already shifted to Dawn Dew.”
Such talk spread like wildfire through the salons and banquets of the upper city.
With the subtle, deliberate guidance of the Aus Chamber of Commerce, more and more nobles grew curious about this mysterious new wine.
The chamber’s publicity methods were masterful; they never exaggerated the wine’s effects, but continually emphasized its “scarcity” and “symbol of status.”
Every time Dawn Dew was introduced, they would purposely add words of limitation:
“Limited, rare, not for sale, available only to internal VIPs.”
At a banquet, the chamber manager even publicly declined several nobles’ attempts to offer higher prices:
“I’m truly sorry, this batch is only twenty bottles, and all of them have already been reserved. As for future batches, it will depend on circumstances.”
This only pushed Dawn Dew’s status to even greater heights, making it “all the more precious because it’s hard to obtain.”
What fascinated people even more was that some nobles who had once praised “Crimson Dream” at banquets now turned around and used Dawn Dew as a point of comparison:
“To be honest, while Crimson Dream is fragrant, it always felt overwhelming; drink too much and you just feel listless. Dawn Dew is different — not only is it refreshing, but it clears your head and leaves you invigorated.”
“I feel the same. I thought it was just my imagination, but I’m glad you noticed too.”
Such “spontaneous praise” was far more persuasive than any formal promotion.
The Aus Chamber of Commerce merely gave it a gentle push, and the nobles themselves spread it by word of mouth.
Within just a few days, Dawn Dew’s reputation had swept through the upper city.
Though very few had actually tasted it, the ideas of “limited edition,” “refreshes the mind,” and “better than Crimson Dream” had already been firmly planted in the nobles’ minds.
Thus, before the next batch of Dawn Dew even appeared, nobles were already contacting the Aus Chamber of Commerce, willing to pay several times the price to reserve it.
***
In Baron Black’s study, he slammed an account book heavily onto his desk.
“In just a few days, orders have plummeted by thirty percent! All the orders meant for the winery have been canceled!”
His face was ashen, thick fingers trembling with fury.
“Do you know what this means? Crimson Dream’s reputation is collapsing!”
Standing beside him was a man in a black robe.
The man’s hood hung low, hiding most of his face — only the faintest hint of a smile could be seen at the corner of his mouth.
“Calm down, Black.”
The black-robed man’s voice was low and carried an indescribable confidence, “You think a few so-called bottles of new wine can shake us? You’re underestimating Crimson Dream.”
“You don’t understand!”
The baron whirled around, glaring at him.
“Nobles are the most fickle group! Yesterday they were praising Crimson Dream, today they’re clamoring for that Dawn Dew. If this continues, our business will be ruined!”
But the black-robed man remained unmoved, even letting out a derisive laugh:
“Since when have nobles not chased after novelty? Crimson Dream didn’t win because of its taste, but because of — well, you know.”
He held up a finger and waggled it gently:
“They might find Dawn Dew refreshing, but only Crimson Dream can make them crave more, can make them lose themselves, can even ruin them.”
The baron’s breath quickened, cold sweat beading on his forehead.
“But… what if they discover the truth?”
“Discover?”
The black-robed man chuckled softly, his voice cold as ice, “As long as they’re still lost in their ‘dream,’ how many will be willing to face the truth? Even if some suspect, they’ll just lie to themselves.”
Baron Black was silent for a moment, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed.
His anxiety did not disappear, but the black-robed man’s confidence left him with nothing to argue.
“You… really think that wine is no threat?”
He asked in a low voice.
“Of course.”
The black-robed man let out a cold snort, his tone frosty, “Besides, we’re not just watching the upper city — those beasts in the lower city are under our thumb too.”
He slowly lifted his head, lips curling into a cruel arc:
“As long as we stir up enough chaos here, tip the balance, our goal will be achieved.”
“And when the little future Saintess is forced to appear and soothe the people — at that moment, with a little guidance from us, won’t our opportunity arrive?”
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Seems Baron Black is wiser than the cultist.