"No, no, no."
President Sherlock shook his finger, speaking with a hint of excitement.
"The moment Softwind Slime Gel became a primary ingredient in the Goblin Resurrection Potion, its value changed completely.
You have to understand—any resurrection-type potion is at least top-tier. Every single ingredient costs tens of thousands of gold coins.
And yet the Softwind Slime Gel currently on the market has only risen to nine hundred gold per barrel. That doesn't match its true worth at all.
So, according to the analysis from our guild's accountants, even if a large supply of gel enters the market in the future, it won't significantly impact the existing price.
Trust me—those merchants who've caught wind of this opportunity would sooner dump half their stock into the Savent River than sell it at a low price."
"You're certain?"
Principal Andrew asked skeptically. Though he was an old fox who had lived long enough, he had never encountered such a situation before.
Yet upon reflection, Sherlock's reasoning did make sense.
Still, Andrew had lived for several centuries. He was long past the reckless age of gambling on every opportunity.
So even though President Sherlock painted a vivid and tempting picture, Andrew wanted to proceed cautiously. He lightly tapped the desk, drawing Sherlock—who was still enthusiastically explaining his viewpoint—back to focus.
"You must understand. If your assumption is wrong, the losses we suffer will be enormous."
"Rest assured," Sherlock replied without losing his excitement.
"No one goes against gold coins.
As long as the formula for the Goblin Resurrection Potion is correct, the price of the gel will not fall."
"And can you truly guarantee that Jeremy hasn't been deceived? Or that this isn't some staged farce designed to win the support of the Savent elders?"
"No, no. It's absolutely real."
Hearing Andrew's doubt, President Sherlock carefully took out a thumb-sized crystal vial from his coat pocket and handed it over.
"This is a sample my informant obtained from the Academy of Magic Potions.
The formula that Principal Jeremy and the others acquired is absolutely genuine.
They haven't successfully replicated the potion yet—but we all believe it's only a matter of time."
Andrew's heart stirred slightly at those words. After all, as Sherlock had said—no one rejects gold coins. Andrew was no exception.
He frowned, tapping the desk thoughtfully. After a moment of silence, he spoke in a low voice:
"If that's the case, the gel's market value will skyrocket in the future. But it won't exceed four thousand gold coins.
The reason I could sell it to Jeremy today at four thousand per barrel was simply because he couldn't obtain it elsewhere.
In the long run, the price will likely stabilize at around one thousand gold coins.
But that means stockpiling more now won't bring us additional profit.
So we'll need another approach."
As Andrew's fingers tapped more frequently, his voice grew increasingly low.
At that moment, the lingering glow of the setting sun pierced through the office window, illuminating Andrew's back while casting his face into shadow. His expression grew colder and colder.
An aura—cold and venomous like a snake—silently spread through the small office. President Sherlock involuntarily shivered.
Only then did he realize that the old man who had always treated him kindly was in fact a terrifying existence.
Even the elders of Savant treated him with courtesy.
A member of the royal family.
…
Among Savant's seven academies, five possessed Tier Six powerhouses.
The Bloodline Academy and the Academy of Biology needed no further explanation—their bloodline transplantation techniques had helped them circumvent the royal family's potion restrictions.
The Academy of Magic Potions was the same. Even the royal breakthrough potions were jointly produced by them and the royal family.
The remaining two—the Academy of Alchemy and the Academy of Mechanics—were different.
Under normal circumstances, these two academies should not have possessed the means to reach Tier Six.
But by coincidence, several generations ago, a Savant king sought to suppress the increasingly powerful Skoll Academy.
As a result, two foreign royal heirs were appointed as principals of the Alchemy Academy, while the Academy of Mechanics welcomed a Savant elder into its leadership.
However, no one knew that Andrew himself came from the Savant royal family.
To outsiders, he and Jeremy appeared the same—foreign princes who had come to Savant to study and decided to remain.
In truth, he was a nail planted by the Savant royal family within the Seven Academies.
Even Sherlock did not know this. He had always believed Andrew was royalty from another kingdom and therefore had limited influence over Savant itself.
Still, this did not diminish his respect.
After all, Andrew's strength spoke for itself. In Savant, a Tier Six powerhouse stood at the very ceiling of power. No one dared defy their will—Sherlock included.
Even if the task Principal Andrew had assigned him seemed somewhat unusual.
Sherlock reflected on Andrew's instructions as he boarded his luxurious carriage and departed from the Academy of Mechanics.
"Raise the price to five thousand gold per barrel within three days… Is it really necessary to be so urgent?"
He muttered to himself.
In his own plan, he intended to continue purchasing gel at low prices from scattered small sellers, stockpile it, and wait for its value to rise.
This was hardly the first time he had employed such tactics.
But such strategies required one strict condition: the stockpiled goods had to possess sufficient intrinsic value.
Previously, their guild would accumulate grain during abundant years, then sell it at high prices during years of famine—earning a tremendous profit each time.
Or they would stockpile cloth in early summer, manipulate the cotton market price upward, and sell at premium rates during winter.
It was precisely because of his mastery over the textile market that Sherlock had been able to cooperate with the Academy of Mechanics to build alchemical machinery factories around Savant City, effectively monopolizing the textile markets of the Kingdom of Savant and several neighboring countries.
And with such a keen commercial instinct, Sherlock had immediately sensed the opportunity hidden within Softwind Slime Gel.
What he hadn't expected was that Principal Andrew would be even more impatient—and even more decisive—than he was.