The key was finding common ground in a person’s background or their interests—that was the most basic of conversation techniques Satoru Suzuki had learned on the sales grind.
A total stranger or a fellow fan? Even if the product itself, the appearance, the price, and the terms stayed exactly the same, most clients would respond better with the latter.
If this apothecary was passionate about his work, then Ainz had assumed talking shop would be the best way in.
“That’s what I’m making now. Can’t find quine in these parts, so I’m using azen leaves. You might have heard, but once you crush those, they lose their medicinal properties quickly. But if you grind ’em too fast and they get warm, they’re also ruined.” Once he’d crushed enough, the man poured some goopy fluid into the bowl. “Sap excreted from a tap on a nelay tree. Mix the two and you get a stable product. But used like this, it doesn’t do much; you gotta take it one step further.”
The master turned back to Ainz and gave him a long, searching look. He sniffed once and scowled.
“…Don’t smell it on you. Show me your hands.”
Ainz did as he was told. Pretty sure what this meant, he turned his hands palm up, showing off his fingertips. At this distance, there wasn’t much danger he’d try and touch them, but just in case, he prepped excuses to make if the man got up.
“No green scent on you. There ain’t an apothecary in the world who can escape it. That and the stains on your fingertips. I heard you were an arcane caster, but you makin’ your medicines by other means?”
He’d anticipated this question, so he could have crushed some herbs ahead of time to come wreathed in the right odor and win the master’s trust. Ainz’s hands were illusions, so he could easily have made them look right as well.
There were two reasons why he hadn’t done that.
First, the Baleare home didn’t smell like that. Certainly, the odors were quite powerful while they were working, and the workshop as well as their work clothes were similarly intense.
But that smell didn’t linger around him all the time. Nfirea in particular took great care in deodorizing. Perhaps that was unique to the Baleares, but in Ainz’s experience, when pretending to be something you’re not, modeling your false identity on a real individual usually turned out more natural and led to less lying to fill in the gaps.
Secondly, Ainz knew nothing about herbology.
He could fake the smell and the stains and claim to be an apothecary’s disciple, but he would only be able to answer precious few questions about the mixing process. It would not take long to catch him out, and that glaring hole in his cover story could bring the whole charade crashing down, forcing them to leave the village.
“No, I don’t do anything of the sort. I learned what I do know from an alchemist, and even then, it was just a smattering of knowledge.”
Ainz had concocted a cover story to avoid being caught in a lie and skirted the edge of contradiction.
“…Hmm, well, all right.”
He could tell the master had lost interest in him.
A reasonable response. Expected, even.
That was why Ainz had prepped a few morsels to keep him curious. As the man turned back to his worktable, Ainz stepped over and laid one of those tidbits down next to him.
“This is a healing potion obtained from a source of mine.”
The glass bottle itself had been made in E-Rantel and was the opposite of elegant; the contents, on the other hand, were something the Baleares had made in the process of developing red healing potions. They’d now successfully completed their research on said red potions and were currently working on ways to make them with more cost-effective herbs and alchemical substances. As a result, this potion was not widely circulated.
“It’s…purple?” the apothecary asked as he picked up the bottle. “The glass itself isn’t colored, so why isn’t it blue? Something mixed into it?”
He peered into the bottom and gave it shake.
“Looks like there’s some sediment…,” he muttered. “Mind if I try it?”
“Go ahead.”
Before the words had even left Ainz’s mouth, the apothecary opened the bottle, cut his hand with a knife, and doused the wound with the potion.
He used quite a bit, almost half the bottle.
The wound was already visibly closing up. Not exactly instant, but…
“That’s fast. Don’t even need to time it. Assuming herbs and magical solutions…but what’s the sediment?”
This guy talks to himself a lot. And wasn’t he just using that knife to chop stuff up? Is that safe to use on your own hand? Is magical solution what dark elves call alchemical tinctures? And the way he used it… Aren’t you supposed to use the whole bottle no matter how bad the wound? Or is it just that in the heat of battle, no one can risk eyeballing the severity of an injury to figure out the right dosage?
The master licked the potion off his hand and sniffed it.
“I smell azen…?”
Before Ainz could even say anything, he realized his error.
“No, that was on my hand already. So why is it odorless? To disguise it?”
Disguise what?
“No…,” the apothecary said as he turned toward Ainz. “Are all city potions this color?”
“They are not. I’ve heard this came from E-Rantel, the city ruled by an undead king. No idea how it reached me, but it’s quite valuable. Common potions I’ve seen are all blue.”
The master let out a long breath.
“An undead king? No, that’s not the issue here. It sounds like a big issue for somebody else, but so be it. Mm. Mind if I have this?”
He pointed at the half left in the bottle.
“For the right terms.” Certain the man was listening now, Ainz added, “I want some information. You’re doing this job in this forest, so I’m sure you know a lot about the place. I think that knowledge would be worth trading for. If you’re interested, of course.”
There was a long silence.
“What would you be doing with this knowledge?” the master asked.
Given the man’s attitude thus far, Ainz could imagine what answers he’d find amenable. Anything involving self-improvement or becoming a better apothecary. But those were answers Ainz couldn’t provide.
“I don’t have a concrete goal here. That knowledge might come in handy for a trade sometime in the future. Plus, it’ll slake my curiosity.”
Ainz had expected it, but the man’s brow furrowed.
“…That’s it?”
“Like we discussed earlier, I’m an arcane caster. I’m more than a little good at that, but I was a lousy alchemist. My teacher told me I have no potential. I’ve got no intention of entering the apothecary game. But the knowledge itself is a whole other story. Knowledge is power and a weapon. Having it makes all the difference. And it’s worth having you owe me one.”
“……………How so?”
“You know I’m no apothecary. You’re not about to teach me any of your biggest secrets. Right?” Ainz didn’t even wait for the man’s answer. “But I’m offering a mystery healing potion, something extremely rare. Is there anything you’re willing to teach me that can match its value? I have my doubts, and if I’m right, you’ll end up owing me.”
“I might just dole out some basic brewing and medical knowledge and claim my debt is paid. Then maybe I would tell everyone I owe you nothing. I could even say what I provided was worth more and that you’re the one who owes me.”
“Suit yourself.”
The apothecary blinked at him.
“There are two downsides to that. First, you can’t lie to yourself. If you exchange trivial knowledge for something genuinely valuable, you’ll just saddle yourself with guilt.”
“Oh, really now?”
“And second, you’ll gain a reputation for shamelessness. If we have any future dealings, how you behave now will inform what comes later. If I head back to the city and tell this story, what will other apothecaries—those who know more than I do—think?”
“Aha. They’ll think that’s all we provincial barbarians know, and then the dark elves and their apothecary will be a laughingstock. I’d be the fool who can’t even tell how valuable this potion is, or else I’d be someone who didn’t have knowledge worth trading for. Or worse, a man so unscrupulous that I didn’t even bother to strike a fair deal.”
“Then again, perhaps they’ll think you’re clever enough to get top-shelf goods at bottom-bin prices.”
“…Is that how city apothecaries think? Don’t they try to provide good services for fair prices?”
“All sorts of people live in cities, I’m afraid. There may be some blinded by short-term profit, who never spare a thought to where it’ll leave them. But I doubt those people last long; no one would ever deal with them again. Merchants who take good care of new customers pave their own way to future success. Like how people say you have to spend to gain.”
“Heh-heh-heh,” the apothecary chuckled. This was the first time he’d cracked a smile. “You sure know how to talk circles around people. Born with the gift of gab.”