The War on Drugs (2)

In a small newly built cabin on the outskirts of the village, the sharp scent of boiling medicinal herbs and the constant bubbling of potions filled the air without pause. This was the temporary workshop of the alchemist Pyotr.

“Hmm...”

Pyotr studied Otto’s back carefully through his magnifying spectacles. The spot where a bear’s claw had once torn through flesh was now covered in delicate pink new skin instead of a hideous scar. He pressed firmly on the area one last time and asked, “Any pain?”

“No. None at all.”

Farmer Otto, sitting shirtless on the chair, shook his head. His broad shoulders and back were packed with the solid muscle that only hard labor could forge.

“Good. We can call this fully healed,” Pyotr said, nodding with satisfaction. “Keep applying the ointment diligently for another four days and it’ll be completely cured. Of course...” He pulled a small jar from the shelf. “Some scarring may remain. If you want, I can give you this. It’s excellent for removing scars...”

Otto burst into loud laughter. His booming voice filled every corner of the tiny cabin.

“Ah, no need!” He waved both hands. “This is a man’s badge of honor! Once our Yan grows up a little, I’ll brag to him every chance I get—‘Your father killed a bear with his bare hands!’”

Otto puffed out his chest as if he were already showing off to his son. “It’s also perfect for getting free drinks from the villagers. I can use it as a conversation starter while we drink. Hahaha!”

The man’s simple, hearty attitude made Pyotr chuckle despite himself. “You really are impossible.”

“Still, I’m truly grateful, Master Alchemist. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Without you, I’d either be crow food right now or spending the rest of my life as a cripple.” Otto bowed his head with genuine sincerity. “Our Yan would have grown up without a father, and my wife... Just thinking about it is terrifying.”

“Thank His Highness the Grand Duke, not me,” Pyotr replied with a shrug. “If not for him, a ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠skilled alchemist like myself would never have been sent to a remote backwater like this.”

“Ah, that’s right!” Otto clapped as though he had been waiting for the cue. “Speaking of His Highness! Remember those few poppy plants I was growing in the corner of my vegetable patch for emergency pain relief? When I voluntarily reported them to the authorities, they gave me such a generous reward! He truly is a benevolent ruler!”

Pyotr narrowed his eyes and teased, “If you had tried any funny business with them... you know what would happen, right?”

“No way!” Otto waved his hands and stood up. He pulled on his shirt, laughing brightly. “I have no desire to end up catching crabs! Haha!”

Otto bowed once more in thanks and left the workshop with light, energetic steps.

Ding-ling—

The small bell on the door rang clearly. Pyotr watched Otto’s healthy retreating figure for a moment, then let out a satisfied sigh and stretched.

The money was better than before. He had far less work than in the small city where he used to live, yet his salary was one and a half times higher. Above all, the work felt meaningful.

Saving people on the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠brink of death with his own knowledge and skill, then restoring smiles to their families—could any job be more rewarding for an alchemist?

On top of that, gathering research materials had become much easier.

“Master, look at this! I brought you a really fine specimen!”

“They say this mushroom is good for medicine...”

The villagers, grateful for his help, competed to bring him rare herbs, insects, and mushrooms. Every one of them was a fresh, precious ingredient he had only ever seen in books.

Pyotr smiled warmly as he organized the bundle of herbs Otto had left as a gift.

Living long enough, you really do meet all kinds of rulers.

He turned his gaze to the notice posted on the wall. It was a new bill issued in the name of Grand Duke Mikhail.

Pyotr clicked his tongue in awe. It was an astonishingly radical bill. Not only did it effectively ban narcotics, it even declared that the entire cost of enforcement and management would be paid for with his own business profits. On top of that, even when people broke the law, the most they would face was hard labor in the mines or catching crabs. He really was an incredibly merciful ruler.

But why were the rumors about him in the capital so vicious and ominous?

It was completely incomprehensible. Pyotr tilted his head, then returned to his workbench. He placed herbs in the mortar and began grinding them with the pestle. The steady rhythm echoed through the cabin.

“Right, then... back to work.”

The public health center built in a small village on the edge of the Far East Maritime Province was already bustling in the early morning. Instead of the smell of fresh bread, the air carried the bitter aroma of medicinal herbs. The place had become as familiar to the villagers as the local mill.

“Cough! Cough!”

A child’s pitiful coughing filled the examination room. The boy’s mother fidgeted anxiously, watching the white-bearded alchemist Dmitri with nervous eyes.

Dmitri pressed a wooden stethoscope to the child’s small back and listened for a long time before nodding.

“It’s a simple cold. There’s a slight fever, but nothing serious.” He took a small brown medicine bottle from the shelf and handed it over. “Give him one spoonful three times a day after meals. Mix it with honey and he’ll enjoy it more.”

“Thank you! Thank you so much!”

The mother bowed repeatedly as she accepted the bottle with both hands. She hesitated, then glanced at the young priest quietly reading scripture in the corner of the room.

“Um... should we have Father Pavel take a look as well?”

Dmitri answered curtly, sounding annoyed. “Was the child bitten by a viper? Or struck by lightning? That man already has his hands full treating urgent cases. We can’t waste divine power on a silly runny-nose cold.”

“Dmitri, I appreciate the thought, but go easy on her. She’s a mother worried about her child. All mothers are like that.”

Priest Pavel spoke with a gentle smile. Only then did the woman look relieved. She thanked them again, took her son’s hand, and left the room.

Colds, insomnia, and minor wounds were treated with the alchemist’s medicine. Addiction and severe trauma were handled with the priest’s holy power. The collaboration between the two professions was a little creaky but ran surprisingly well.

As the sun went down, the village tavern filled with the loud, cheerful voices of men who had finished their day’s hard labor. Cheap beer in wooden mugs and a bowl of watery stew were enough to bring smiles that washed away their fatigue.

A heavily bearded man slammed his mug down and grumbled, “Damn it all! These days if my back aches even a little I can’t just use a bit of poppy like I used to. In the old days I’d just pick some from the garden and that was that!”

The young man sitting across from him scolded, “Uncle Ivan! Do you want to end up catching crabs? Just go to the health center and get medicine. It’s practically free.”

“Tsk, that’s true, but...” Ivan smacked his lips, clearly dissatisfied.

At that moment, an old farmer who had been quietly sipping in the corner laughed and joined the conversation. “The rewards are pretty sweet, aren’t they? Last time I reported what my neighbor had hidden in the corner of his garden and made a nice profit.”

“That’s right, the rewards are good!” the young man agreed enthusiastically.

“Oh, but did you hear about that idiot Penya from the next village? The fool secretly grew poppies, then tried to report them himself to collect the reward. He got caught immediately and now he’s... Kyahaha!”

Crude laughter shook the tavern. The men spent a long time drinking and mocking Penya’s stupidity. On their faces was a mixture of small complaints about the new law, greater acceptance, and a hint of fear.

The massive steam locomotive that had departed from the capital slid into the Vladivostok station platform with a heavy metallic groan. As soon as the doors of the luxurious carriages carrying nobles and their luggage opened, the station became a whirlwind of activity. Yet even in the midst of the noise, a cold tension hung over the inspection post set up in one corner.

“Excuse me for a moment. By order of His Highness the Grand Duke, we are inspecting all incoming luggage.”

The young inspector Ivan, wearing the uniform bearing the emblem of a squire in the Far East Maritime Province Knights Division, spoke politely but firmly.

In front of him stood several large trunks stamped with the Cornelius viscount family crest. The middle-aged man who appeared to be the viscount’s servant frowned in displeasure.

“How rude! Do you know whose luggage this is and still dare to open it?”

“The rules apply equally to everyone.”

Ivan did not yield an inch. His eyes held not the awkwardness of a newcomer but pride and confidence in his duty. The inspectors here received high salaries and the honorable status of knights’ squires. Such treatment came with equal responsibility.

The tense standoff between the servant and Ivan drew the eyes of everyone nearby. In the end, the servant was the first to back down. He clicked his tongue softly and reluctantly stepped aside.

Ivan inspected the trunk with practiced skill, checking even the tiniest spaces between the lavish dresses and jewelry. Fortunately, nothing suspicious was found.

“Inspection complete,” Ivan said as he closed the trunk.

The servant was about to sigh in relief when Ivan spoke again.

“Next piece of luggage, please.”

The servant’s face stiffened once more. Reluctantly, he lifted another trunk onto the table. In the final trunk, Ivan discovered an opaque brown medicine bottle.

“What is this?”

“It’s nothing important. Just some basic medicine for the journey.”

The servant waved his hand dismissively, but Ivan did not set the bottle down.

“If you do not answer honestly, I will report this through official channels and request a detailed analysis of the contents.”

The servant’s face turned deathly pale.

“No, it’s... my master has trouble sleeping, so it’s a cannabis tincture he uses as a sleeping aid! It’s only a tiny amount! Surely this much is acceptable?”

Ivan’s expression remained unchanged. “Do you have a diagnosis from a priest or a certified alchemist?”

“Who would bother getting something like that every single time...” The servant’s voice trailed off. Cold sweat broke out on his forehead. The other servants around him began shooting him warning glances—silent pressure to stop causing trouble.

Finally, the servant let out a deep, defeated sigh.

“...I understand. What do I need to do?”

“Please fill out the documents over there. We will hold the item for you. You may retrieve it when you return.”

Grinding his teeth, the servant took the paperwork and grumbled as he headed toward the table. Ivan watched him for a moment, then turned away.

“Next, please.”