Chapter 235: An Order of Magnitude in Profit

“A Potion of Youth?”

Ambrose seemed outwardly calm, but his thoughts were in turmoil. What kind of earth-shattering change was this? He’d only been gone but a few days. How had Isabel already managed to produce a Potion of Youth?

Had he been suppressing her talent all along? The moment he left, had she just… broken through to become a legendary alchemist?

In that case, why had he bothered to become a lich? He could’ve just seized her—no, that wasn’t it. He hadn’t failed to make a Potion of Youth because of lack of skill, but because the materials were far too expensive.

So what had changed? Had the elves reopened exports of magical herbs, lowering the cost of the potion?

But no, that wouldn’t explain Isabel’s involvement. Even if the materials were available, how could she have ended up producing such potions on a large scale?

Had the God of Alchemy done something?

Before Ambrose could dig deeper, Cardina, the maid he’d met earlier, returned and addressed the room. “Everyone, Miss Isabel will receive you in the main hall. Please follow me.”

Mark immediately forgot about Ambrose and hurried after her. The others followed just as eagerly, afraid of falling behind, each hoping to leave the strongest impression on Isabel.

Curious, Ambrose followed suit. He blended into the crowd, intending to see what trick Isabel was using to create such a potion.

The castle’s layout hadn’t changed much, despite the renovations. The so-called reception hall had once been a laboratory. Now, a large table stood in the center, covered with bottles and instruments, with rows of empty chairs set before it.

It looked more like a classroom than a reception room.

Still, Mark and the others quickly sat down. Without Cardina stepping in, they might even have come to blows over who would sit right in the front.

Ambrose chose a seat near the back. By coincidence, Mark ended up beside him again, his collar slightly crooked, clearly a result of having lost the battle for a better seat.

By the time he had settled down, there weren’t any seats in the first three rows remaining. He had had no choice but to sit next to Ambrose.

“Seems we’re fated to sit together, Mister Mark,” Ambrose remarked casually.

“Hmph. I have no interest in sharing a fate with desert folk.”

Endel Mark vented his frustration on Ambrose without restraint.

Ambrose could only sigh inwardly. Some young nobles truly had no sense for business. They could gain nothing by offending people so casually. The world was small; you never knew when you’d need the help of someone you’d once slighted.

Ambrose, by contrast, always kept a smile on his face. He could be ruthless in making deals, but he would hardly burn bridges for nothing.

Since Mark wasn’t interested in conversation, Ambrose turned his attention to the materials on the table.

He recognized ninety percent of them. Only one puzzled him: a bottle of orange-yellow liquid at the far right.

It resembled slime extract, but the color was off. Was it poorly refined? Or contaminated? Why were there white specks floating in it?

Before he could figure it out, Isabel appeared.

It had been a while, but her appearance hadn’t changed much. She still dressed plainly, but her demeanor was completely different. The timid young woman from before now carried herself with calm confidence as she greeted the room.

“Thank you all for coming. I believe you’re here for my potion, so I won’t waste time. I’ll first demonstrate the preparation process and its effects. After that, you may place your bids.”

Her tone was formal and practiced.

Then, she began. Extraction, heating, stirring, mixing—even Ambrose had to admit that she had improved tremendously. Many of these refinements weren’t things he had taught her. She had figured them out on her own.

“Could this really be a divine blessing? What is that old god playing at?” he murmured to himself.

He almost wanted to take out his legendary coin and question his master directly. A blessing like this, to Isabel and not to him?

After about twenty minutes, Isabel held up a finished potion. It was stunning.

Like a fragment of the night sky trapped in glass, it was deep blue and dotted with shimmering silver lights. In a more ornate bottle, it could easily pass for a luxury ornament.

And yet it was immediately apparent to Ambrose that this was no Potion of Youth. Not even close.

Isabel handed the potion to Cardina, who drank it without hesitation. Judging by her expression, it wasn’t unpleasant. Seconds later, the transformation began.

The elderly maid, with gray hair and wrinkled skin, became a young woman in her twenties.

Ambrose’s soulfire nearly burst from his eyes.

This wasn’t illusion magic. It was a genuine physical transformation.

Isabel explained, “One dose restores between ten and thirty years of youth, depending on how much of the potion the subject can absorb. The effect lasts three to five days. After taking it, you cannot consume another dose for at least one month, or you may experience dizziness and nausea.

“While no other side effects have been observed, this potion is novel. We cannot guarantee there won’t be others in the future. In other words, we are not responsible for any unforeseen effects. The starting price is thirty gold coins per bottle, in the same quantity as demonstrated. You may begin bidding.”

Isabel’s words sounded almost irresponsibly blunt, as if she were a shady merchant disclaiming any liability for her products. Yet the moment she stopped talking, the room exploded.

“Fifty!”

“Eighty!”

“One hundred!”

The price skyrocketed, reaching five hundred gold in mere moments. It continued to climb.

Ambrose quickly did some mental math. Excluding that mysterious orange liquid, the other ingredients totaled maybe twenty gold. That meant the unknown component had to cost around ten gold—expensive, but manageable in bulk.

In other words, a production cost of less than thirty gold… resulted in a potion selling for five hundred. The profit margin made even Ambrose envious.

He had once scoffed at Harvey’s gambling. It had taken him weeks of effort for a few tens of thousands of gold, along with endless trouble. Now, seeing what Isabel had managed, he felt like a clown.

But the feeling passed quickly. After all, what belonged to Isabel also belonged to him.

Watching the frenzy, Ambrose calmly joined in. “Eight hundred gold.”

The previous bid had been six hundred fifty. His sudden raise stunned the room.

Even Endel Mark turned to him in disbelief. “Do you even understand business? Eight hundred? Are you here for sabotage? Transport costs, distribution costs, upfront investment—you realize the risks you’re taking?”

Ambrose smiled. “You underestimate the market, Mister Mark. Alchemical products are scarce right now. In two months, demand will peak across the continent. Even basic vitality potions will sell for absurd prices, let alone something like this.

“Is eight hundred per potion really expensive? A true Potion of Youth sells for five hundred thousand. Even discounted, it wouldn’t drop below three hundred thousand. Eight hundred? I could price it at a thousand, and people would still fight to buy it.”

Mark shot back, “A real Potion of Youth has no time limit. It grants you thirty permanent years of youth. This lasts only a few days—it’s hardly the same.”

Ambrose wagged a finger. “You’ve lived too comfortably, Mister Mark. You don’t understand how valuable even a few days of youth can be. For the young, certain conditions are trivial. For the elderly, they’re fatal. They can’t afford a five-hundred-thousand-gold potion, but can’t they afford one for a thousand?

“Even a few days of youth would be sufficient for doctors to perform procedures that would otherwise be impossible on the elderly, procedures that might very well save lives.

“And consider this. It’s common knowledge that nobles take paramours, but this fact is never openly acknowledged. This potion not only restores vitality but also reduces the risk of recognition. Who would suspect a sixty-year-old count of spending the night as a young man?

“A permanent Potion of Youth might not be worth five hundred thousand gold to them. It creates problems. Their heirs would resent them. They can’t afford one for everyone in their household. If the head of the house regains his youth, how long must his heirs wait for their inheritance? It may well be a tragedy in the making.

“Many more nobles would pay a thousand gold to relive youth without consequences for just a few days. No noble would refuse that. And no known side effects have been observed.

“And even beyond indulgence, consider this scenario as the head of a noble house: your heirs are yet too young, and your elders too frail to guide them. What if, at a critical moment, you could regain your youth for a few days? Without the trappings of age to slow you down, you could think clearly, lay out a plan, and prepare for the house’s future—and all that for a mere thousand gold. Wouldn’t that change everything?”

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