Zog stared curiously at the huge liquid fermentation tank. A window on its side allowed for a perfect view of the situation inside.

Giant mixing blades pushed the viscous, bright red liquid, blending and fermenting it, causing wave after wave of gurgling bubbles to rise.

It was mesmerizing. Truly mesmerizing.

He’d been watching for half an hour.

Who doesn’t love watching heavy machinery at work? He used to be able to spend a whole day at a construction site just watching an excavator dig.

Bulldozers were good too, but not tower cranes. They were too slender and didn’t look as awesome as the others.

"Here’s the Healing Potion you wanted." Elsa handed the freshly bottled potion to Zog.

Of course, he wasn’t injured. And even if he were, drinking a Healing Potion wouldn’t be very effective for him; his natural recovery was several times faster than the potion.

He simply wanted to taste it. The Dragon Race’s formidable physical constitution meant he could taste anything without issue, so whenever he saw something he hadn’t eaten before, his first instinct was to take a bite.

He downed the bottle of Healing Potion. The taste was familiar, like a heavily diluted traditional herbal medicine—slightly bitter, with a hint of sweetness in the aftertaste, and a tang of lemon peel.

’Something feels like it’s missing.’

Suddenly, he noticed a large gasbag connected to the top of the fermentation tank. He turned to Xin 104 and said, "Go ask an Engineer here what that gasbag is for."

A moment later, Xin 104 returned. "The gasbag is used to collect the flame-retardant gas produced during fermentation. It’s sold to Alchemists who use it to make fire extinguishers."

"Flame-retardant gas?" If he were still a high school senior, he would have immediately known how to test for it. Unfortunately, he’d graduated too many years ago. He thought hard for a long time. ’My head’s so itchy, I think I’m growing a new brain.’

Finally, Zog said, "Prepare some slaked lime. Dissolve it in water, let it settle, and take the clear liquid from the top. I have a use for it."

Soon, the materials for the experiment were ready.

Since there were no transparent containers, he commandeered a colorless glass goblet left behind by Raghu. At this stage of production, such an item was a luxury good.

He filled the goblet halfway with the clear limewater, made an opening in the packaged gasbag, and ran a straw from it into the glass.

The solution immediately turned a milky, turbid white. After bubbling the gas through it for a while longer, the solution became clear again.

’It really is carbon dioxide!’

Beside him, Elsa’s eyes widened. "What kind of Magic is this? So you’re an Alchemist, too."

"Hmph," Zog snorted contemptuously. "If you don’t study hard, everything in life looks like Magic."

Then he said to Xin 104, "Take this down and give it to the Alchemists. I have a bold idea..."

While the Alchemists were running a small experiment, several Druids from the Spore Association waited anxiously in the reception room.

One of the younger ones asked, "Should we still protest later?"

"Of course, we’ll protest. And we’ll protest forcefully."

"But Raghu’s whereabouts are unknown now. Could we also be..."

"The God of Nature will protect us."

"But isn’t the God of Nature already..."

"Ahem!"

The elder Druid shot him a glare, signaling him not to misspeak.

Just then, Ren 82 opened the door to the reception room, and Elsa and Zog walked in.

From the surprised looks in the Druids’ eyes, it was clear they hadn’t expected to be negotiating with such a young girl.

Elsa sat down and began, "Let’s talk about a partnership..."

"I refuse!" Before Elsa could finish, the young Druid shot up as if a firecracker had gone off under him. With a look of grim determination, he shouted, "The Druids of the Spore Association will never be corrupted by slaves to machinery!"

A strange silence fell over the reception room.

"What’s with him?" Elsa asked, a bit uncertainly.

"Uh, he ate too many undercooked mushrooms a few days ago. It did something to his brain."

The elder Druid hurriedly dragged him back into his chair. "My apologies, my apologies. We are very willing to cooperate."

The young Druid stared at his mentor in shock, as if his innocent heart had been betrayed.

"Good," Elsa steered the conversation back on track. "We plan to expand our production scale for Healing Potions, and we have a significant shortage of professional talent. Therefore, we hope you’ll join the Potion Factory."

"But we have sworn an oath to only use natural methods to create potions."

"That’s fine. We never planned to have you participate in the production line anyway. The quality control for potions produced by traditional Druid methods is too hard to guarantee."

The elder Druid didn’t quite understand the term "quality control," but he knew the effectiveness of the potions made by his association varied wildly. While the best ones were more potent than those from mechanized production, the worst ones... well, how low they went depended on the drinker’s luck.

Otherwise, they wouldn’t have been driven to the brink by the Potion Factory.

"Then what do you need us to do?"

"Handle the high-end products. In other words, I want you to make the most expensive potions."

The Druid couldn’t understand. Their potions were already unpopular because they were expensive, and now she wanted them to make the *most* expensive ones.

Elsa continued, "The Potion Factory will provide you with a concentrate of the active ingredients. You will add it in a certain proportion to your own traditional potions. Does your association have any special features we can use for marketing?"

"Uh, could you be a bit more specific?" The Druid couldn’t follow her train of thought at all. ’City folk are already strange, but this person is even stranger.’

"Something unique to your association, that others don’t have. Something that sounds impressive, preferably with a legendary backstory."

"Well, there’s the water from Wang Tan spring. The God of Nature once lived by its waters when he walked the mortal world."

"Perfect, that’s the one. The potion originates from divinely blessed waters. The slogan will be ’We don’t produce potions; we are merely porters for the God of Nature.’"

"But that water doesn’t have any special effects."

"It doesn’t need to. We just need to make people think it does. Remember to grade the water into several qualities. The water from the source will be the highest quality. Only produce one hundred bottles a month to ensure scarcity. Each bottle should be at least Three Gold Coins."

"What! Will anyone buy it at such an expensive price?" The Druid was terrified by the figure. In the past, even their best Healing Potions sold for less than Fifty Silver Coins a bottle, while the low-quality ones went for only Several Copper Coins.

"They won’t, which is why we need to tell a good story. Later, a Painter and artisans will come find you to design a batch of bottles with a unique Druid style. Organize all the legends you’ve recorded and bring them. We’ll have specialists polish the stories."

For the next two hours, Elsa laid out a plethora of marketing plans, giving the Druids a stunning lesson in what a truly crooked merchant could do.

By the time the Druids from the Spore Association left that evening, they were mired in profound self-doubt.

"Did we just get involved in something evil? I feel like even the most treacherous Devil wouldn’t go this far," the young Druid said, his expression dazed.

"Yes... but also no, it seems," the elder Druid replied hesitantly. "It’s a bit unscrupulous, but... they don’t seem to be ripping off the poor."

Meanwhile, back in the office, Elsa asked Zog quizzically, "If developing such an expensive potion is about making money, why are you lowering the price of the Ordinary potions?"

Zog picked up his goblet. Inside, a dark red liquid was bubbling furiously. It was a Healing Potion, carbonated with carbon dioxide, sweetened with sugar, and served with ice.

"The official answer is: we seize market share with low prices. Once we have the advantage, we establish our own supply lines for raw materials and our own transport routes to drive down costs. That way, other Potion Factories that come later won’t be able to compete because their costs will be too high."

"And the unofficial answer?"

"The ones who need Healing Potions the most are the workers, the farmers, the lowest-level Adventurers—the people who get hurt and can’t afford to see a doctor or a Priest, so they just try to endure it. I want to make a Healing Potion they can afford."

"So which one is your answer?" Elsa asked, looking at Zog curiously. No expression could be read on his Dragon face.

Zog raised his goblet and drained it in one go. While it wasn’t a perfect replica, the cold, fizzy sting of the drink still brought back memories.

’An ice-cold cola really hits the spot.’

Gazing at the sunset, Zog smiled and replied, "Guess. Maybe it’s both."