Ainz was relieved. He’d thought this dark elf was a bit more emotional.
The fact of the matter was that your average salesman had trouble more often with clients who acted on emotions rather than logic. You could lay out the pros and cons, but if they ultimately went with their gut instead, game over. People like that were far more likely to agree to something one day and change their minds the next.
The best salesmen claimed these people were actually easier to deal with once you won them over, but Ainz—or Satoru Suzuki—had been thoroughly average and preferred to avoid them.
“No one’s ever told me that before.”
It was a genuine first for Ainz.
“I bet everyone thinks it and just keeps it to themselves.”
His mood had certainly improved.
“Really? I find that hard to believe.”
“Heh-heh-heh. Well, if I’m trading knowledge worth this potion, it’s gonna have to be one serious secret. How long will you be staying?”
“We don’t have set plans, but not that long. Seven days at the most.”
The master made a face.
“Oh…then…”
He fell silent, thinking for a long time. Ainz said nothing.
“In that length of time, I can’t teach you any of the true mysteries. Medicines are usually kept secret because they involve minute changes—you gotta harvest the ingredients at the right time and learn to identify that from small shifts in the odor or texture, make slight adjustments to the amount you use. I’d rather spend a good six months pounding that into your skull.”
Ainz would rather the man just wrote the recipe down, but even he could tell that would probably infuriate this master.
“So I can’t teach those and I’m not sure it’ll be worth the price, but I can share knowledge on how to brew some rare medicines. How’s that sound?”
“That’ll be just fine. As you see fit.”
“Then…you’re sleeping here from now on. We’ve got little time. Gotta make it a part of you.”
“Um, what?”
That would be bad. Really bad.
He wanted to minimize the chances of anyone seeing through his illusion. And he didn’t have to eat, sleep, or relieve himself. No matter how good his performance, he’d get caught eventually.
“Sorry, but I have my niece and nephew with me. I don’t mind if that means you teach me less. I’ll take proper notes.”
“…You’ll have to memorize them. No writing allowed.”
“Oh…?”
Ainz trailed off.
He wasn’t sure he could remember things that way.
Certainly, he’d poured his entire self into Yggdrasil and had no difficulty recalling vast amounts of information. But this time, he had no real interest in what he was learning. The thought of trying to memorize everything made him shake his head.
And if employees just listened without taking notes, wouldn’t that make the boss nervous?
Satoru Suzuki certainly thought so, but his silence was interpreted otherwise.
“That doesn’t work for you?” the apothecary master said. “I haven’t asked about how that potion was made. Remember that while you consider these terms.”
“No notes at all? I dunno. My memory just isn’t that reliable. The notes are to help me learn things.”
“Absolutely not!” The master’s spittle flew. “Your body is supposed to remember it! Any apothecary apprentice learns how to measure things by the weight on their palm!”
It felt like insisting that wasn’t possible wouldn’t go down well. Ainz wondered if he should lie.
He wasn’t about to insist lying was inherently wrong. The concept of the white lie existed for a reason. But he did want to avoid any malicious deceptions here.
Well, this is a pain.
The way this was going, Ainz was about to become this man’s student and get some intensive training. But he hadn’t been planning on committing to anything so grand. All he’d hoped for was a chance to maybe learn something useful if the man was willing to share. Maybe catch a glimpse of dark elf herbology and, if that proved in any way superior to what the Nation of Darkness had, find a way to acquire it later—sending some interns, maybe.
His only real goal here was to acquire a scrap of knowledge to bring home and investigate. Ainz himself had never intended to study anything in depth.
Honestly, when he’d said the payment would be knowledge, he’d have been perfectly happy to simply take home a potion made here and foist it off on Nfirea. That would have been no—well, not much of a—problem. Nfirea would likely have been able to analyze the composition.
Hmm. Maybe I blew my lead-in here. But that was the only way I could think to get his attention. That was why we’re talking at all. And there is the possibility we wouldn’t manage to reverse engineer a potion, so this approach isn’t entirely without merit. What do I do? No, first I’ve gotta decide if I should lie here and if I do, how.
“Well?”
Didn’t look like he had time to mull this over. He’d just have to wing it.
“…The man who taught me did say similar things.”
The apothecary master nodded emphatically, pleased that city masters understood the proper way to do things.
“But he also said this: You’re dumb as a post, so write things down. How many times you plan to make me say the same things?”
“…………Huh?” The master’s eyes went wide; then his brows went up. “…Are you that dumb?”
“Well, he said as much.”
“O-oh. No, no, masters are always harsh on their disciples. I’m sure he didn’t mean it. Not entirely. I mean, your arguments were logically sound and smartly blocked all my routes of evasion. That shouldn’t be possible if you’re truly dumb.”
Now he’s trying to comfort me.
Dark elves or not, claiming to be an idiot effectively shut any argument down. This world was hardly a kind one, so Ainz thought there was a chance the master might wash his hands of him, but apparently not.
“I’m sure the fault lies with me. My memory is just that poor.”
“A-ah…”
Ainz must have really sold that line, because the apothecary looked away in discomfort.
There was a long silence.
It was becoming increasingly likely the master would refuse to teach him at all—if he couldn’t even measure things properly, he was liable to end up concocting poison.
But at length, the man said, “Very well, then,” like light had dawned.
Ainz wondered why, and the master looked momentarily impressed—but this quickly faded back to his standard grump. A flicker so brief, it might have been entirely in Ainz’s mind—but wasn’t.
Ainz braced himself. He didn’t know what this meant, but it was clear the man had made his decision.
He felt like he saw a familiar demon hovering over the master’s shoulder, grinning at him.
What’s going on here? This better not be anything weird.
“In that case, we have no choice. Seven days at most—meaning you might leave earlier, right? With that brief a window, I don’t want to waste time repeating myself. Just promise to burn the notes once you’ve got ’em memorized.”
Ainz didn’t know what had changed the apothecary’s mind. That made him cautious, but he didn’t let it show.
“You have my word,” he said.
“Good. You asked for the hard stuff, so I’ll teach it to you. I’m a harsh teacher, but you better not come crying to me later, hear?”
He hadn’t remembered asking for anything like that, but he put that argument aside in favor of saying, “I’d rather you be nice?”
The apothecary’s jaw dropped, and then he made a face like he’d just swallowed a bug.
Ainz wasn’t against harsh instruction but definitely preferred the latter if the option existed.
“Unbelievable…”
“I mean, I don’t want to get beaten with a hot poker here.”
“D-did your teacher do that?!”
“No, he didn’t.”
“Well, neither will I!”
“That’s great to hear.”
Ainz held up his hands, grinning, and the master scowled at him.
“Right, I think I’ve started to figure you out. And I’m beginning to feel sorry for your last teacher. In any case, let’s get started. I’m gonna name a few medicines and what they do—teaching you about anything you already know would be a waste… Well, maybe not entirely. If the components are different, there can be value in learning that. Anyway, you can tell me what you wanna learn.”
“Thank you. But first—one last question. You’re fine with just taking me at my word?”
If he wanted Ainz signing anything, or worse, casting a binding spell of some kind, he might be better off backing out of this whole thing.
“I am. Trust is important. If you turn it into a book, word might get back around to me eventually. I’ll lower my opinion of you then. You and all city apothecaries.”
“Makes sense. I certainly don’t want to cause harm to their reputation, too. I promise I will not be publishing anything learned here.”