The Watchman of the Herb Fields (2)
"Oscar, what do you make of this situation?"
"Hard to say."
Oscar gave Franc only a half-hearted reply and kept observing.
The man in the white suit spoke with an oily smile.
"Isn't it about time you dropped this stubborn act? I'll offer you ten times what the other plots are going for."
"......Even if you promised to build me a castle out of mithril, I would never sell you this land."
"Tsk. Look, boss, I can play nice for only so long."
The eyes visible beyond the sunglasses went cold as ice.
But the old herbalist refused to buckle, meeting his glare head-on.
After a brief staring contest, it was the white-suited man who raised the white flag first.
"Haha! Just kidding, kidding. But do be careful. Living all alone in a herb field right beside the wild hills, you could drop dead one of these days and no one would ever know."
Hurling that thinly veiled threat, he pulled a cigar from his breast pocket and clamped it between his teeth.
As one of his underlings stepped up to light it, he exhaled a thick cloud of smoke and went on.
"Once the factories go up on the surrounding land anyway, the value of this place will fall straight through the floor. Sell while you can still fetch a good price, and stop being so damn stubborn."
"Amusing. If I don't sell, then no construction permits will be approved for the land around here, will they?"
"......Tsk. You really never lose a war of words, do you?"
Shaking his head wearily, the man in the white suit climbed back into the back seat of his car. Then he rolled down the window and tossed a white envelope onto the ground with a flick of his wrist.
"Oh, and this is for the herbs. I trampled a few on my way in."
Wearing that insufferable smile of his, he waved and shut the window.
BUUURRM!
The procession of automobiles left nothing behind but a choking haze of exhaust as it vanished beyond the horizon.
"......Phew."
Letting out a weary sigh, the old man turned to them with tired eyes.
"So then. Where did you two say you were from?"
"Ah, forgive us for the late introduction."
Oscar bowed his head slightly.
"We've come from the White Tower."
A low hiss filled the room as steaming hot tea poured from the kettle.
The old man, who had introduced himself as Ivan, offered a brief apology.
"I'm afraid I have nothing on hand that young folk these days would care for."
"Not at all. I love this tea."
Oscar smiled, took a sip, and savored it slowly.
"Excellent. It's been a long time since I've had top-grade Rivor tea with such a rich, nutty aroma."
"......Oh? So you know how to appreciate this tea, do you?"
"I happen to be quite well-versed in herbs and tea."
"He really, really knows his stuff."
That answer seemed to please him, for Ivan's eyes grew noticeably warmer.
"Much obliged. As it happens, these leaves were picked fresh from the hills behind us just this dawn. Finest grade there is."
"Our luck is in today, then. I'd heard that Shilin's herbs are the finest on the continent."
"The finest on the continent......"
A bitter smile tugged at the corners of Ivan's mouth.
"That's a tale of the past, I'm afraid. Not anymore."
"What do you mean?"
"......There are two main reasons, I'd say."
After a moment's thought, he explained the current situation slowly and carefully.
"The first is the land's depleted fertility."
"Fertility?"
"That's right. This land has been called blessed since time immemorial. Whatever you planted here, it yielded crops above the average."
It was a well-known fact.
It was the very reason Shilin's herbs commanded a premium and sold at such steep prices.
"But over the past eight years, the fertility of Shilin has declined sharply."
"......Why is that?"
"Opinions vary, but the way I see it, the blame lies with the factories that have been springing up with no thought or restraint."
Firm certainty hardened Ivan's voice.
"The factory zone to the west, where they produce magic engineering products. The wastewater and pollutants that pour out of it day after day flow down the river and poison the land. That, I'm convinced, is the main culprit behind the ruin of Shilin's soil. The timing fits nothing else."
"The factories......"
There was no doubt a connection.
Above all, the people working the land were always the first to feel such things in their own skin.
Franc, who had been listening quietly, spoke up.
"Then what's the second reason?"
"......The loss of any reason to grow the herbs with care in the first place."
A bitter smile crossed Ivan's lips again.
"Do you happen to know why this blessed land was planted with herb fields, rather than wheat or fruit?"
"Because of the promise with the previous Tower Master."
At that answer, a flicker of surprise crossed Ivan's face.
"Remarkable. I've never once met anyone in this day and age who knew that."
"Haha......"
Ivan studied Oscar's awkward smile for a moment, then continued.
"A very, very long time ago, herbalists were held in the lowest regard."
If one had to draw a comparison, they were shunned much like the witches of that era.
Ordinary folk watched them boil unidentifiable plants in pots and sell the brews, unable to fathom what good could possibly come of them.
Back then, herbalism was a trade that drew suspicious glances and scorn, so its practitioners naturally had to live as wanderers.
"Then Leonard Eyers, the 4th Tower Master of the White Tower, summoned every herbalist across the continent."
He was a man famed for his penetrating insight.
Having gathered all the herbalists of the continent in one place, he declared:
Oscar's recitation left Ivan looking bewildered.
"Hm? I didn't know it went quite that far."
"......I believe I read it in a book of fairy tales."
Oscar offered a vague excuse.
In truth, he'd read it in an old tome passed down only to the Tower Masters.
"In any case, that is why the herbalists of the continent flocked to Shilin, and why so many herb fields took root here. These parts are ringed by rugged mountains — the perfect terrain for people like us to roam and work."
"Then what you mean by losing the drive to grow herbs is......?"
"The White Tower gave our ancestors a home and a pride to hold onto. So how could we ever lend a hand to its downfall?"
Every herb sold to another tower would bleed that much of the potion market away from the White Tower.
Faced with a reason he had never once imagined, Oscar found himself at a loss for words.
"As it stands, the herbs we gather from the mountains alone are more than enough to live on. We owe the White Tower everything — we have even less reason to drive a knife into its back."
"That is...... more grateful a thing to hear than you know."
At the same time, it was a statement so chilling it raised the hairs on his neck.
If they had set their minds on chasing profit, the White Tower's decline could have been hastened by a decade and a half or more.
"And then, into all of that, came Dvor Powell. That greedy son of a bitch."
The young entrepreneur who had appeared in Shilin three years ago urged the herbalists to sell their land.
At first they refused, honoring their pact with the White Tower — but he was relentless.
"He was the sort who thought nothing of kidnapping, intimidation — even murder. A textbook thug in a businessman's skin."
"......What on earth could drive someone to buy up land through such means?"
"He means to turn this place into the largest factory zone on the continent."
It made a certain sense. Shilin might be a backwater now, but it had been the crossroads of the north since ancient times.
Even with the White Tower in decline, its innate geographic advantage had not vanished.
"Two questions, if I may."
"Go on."
"Why hasn't that man killed you already, sir?"
"Simple."
Ivan pointed to a commemorative plaque hanging on one wall of the cabin.
"Because I'm a Living National Treasure of herb cultivation."
"Ahh."
Oscar nodded, understanding at once.
The title of Living National Treasure was granted to masters who had reached the very summit of their craft and could reproduce its techniques at any moment.
Naturally, such titles were conferred by the Imperial Court, and their bearers received special protection.
"Even a man who dabbles in every dirty trick imaginable wouldn't dare lay a finger on me."
"Understood. Then why hasn't this herb field been sold all this time? If you wished it, you could have held a staggering fortune in your hands."
"You ask the obvious."
Ivan chuckled softly, gazing out the window at the herb fields steeped in the glow of the setting sun.
"I love this land. From the moment I was born, it was my home."
And that was precisely why he could never sell it.
"Our family's herb fields and the wild hills are the widest in all of Shilin — and set dead center besides. If I were to sell this land...... construction of a colossal factory would begin."
Merely a handful of small factories running in the western region had sapped the land's fertility within a few short years.
What then, of an industrial complex so vast it would require carving through several rugged mountains?
The outcome needed no imagination.
"If that day ever comes, Shilin will never recover its fertility. Not in a hundred years."
"......"
This was the old man's war — fought to protect his convictions, his memories, and his bond of loyalty.
A lonely, desolate battle that no one would ever acknowledge or praise.
Oscar's head bowed of its own accord.
"Thank you for everything you have endured."
"What do you mean by that?"
"I mean that you no longer have to fight this battle alone."
From this moment on, we — the White Tower — will stand with you.
Dvor Powell, the entrepreneur who favored white suits.
The moment he stepped into the temporary office built on his newly acquired land, he ripped the watch off his wrist.
"You worthless bastard!"
CRACK!
The secretary staggered back from the slap across the face, but recovered quickly and snapped back to attention.
After taking his frustrations out on the man for a good long while, the white-suited tycoon finally cooled down enough to strap the watch back on.
"Make that damn old codger sell me his land, one way or another. How hard can it be?"
"......I'm sorry, sir."
"Do you have any idea how much money is tied up in these worthless plots?"
In front of Ivan, he had played the unflappable magnate to the hilt — but the truth was, his situation was far from rosy.
Three years of buying up herb fields had buried him under a mountain of debt.
On top of that, the bribes he'd paid to bury the illegal acts committed along the way had been nothing to sneeze at either.
With each passing day, Dvor was growing steadily more anxious as the interest snowballed out of control.
"One stubborn old man, and the grandest project of my life can't even break ground. And of all people, some half-dead fossil has to be sitting on the crown jewel of the whole region......"
What he was planning was an automobile factory that would be the largest not just in the north, but on the entire continent.
Once it was complete, becoming one of the wealthiest men in the world would be a matter of time.
And now a single herbalist stood blocking that grand dream — it was enough to make his blood boil.
"Damn it all. How much do I have to throw at him before he takes the money and clears out?"
He jammed a cigar between his teeth in irritation, and his secretary stepped forward to light it.
Exhaling a thick cloud of smoke, he asked:
"Hooo. And another thing — who the hell were those kids over there earlier?"
"I looked into it. They're mages from the White Tower, apparently."
"What? The White Tower?"
Frowning at the unexpected answer, Dvor pressed again.
"Why would White Tower mages be out there?"
"Well, they made a lot of money recently."
"Money? Even if those paupers made some, how much could it possibly be?"
"That's the thing, sir — the amount is considerable."
Reading his boss's mood carefully, the secretary gingerly held out today's newspaper.
Dvor skimmed the articles in one sweep, and his expression curdled on the spot.
"......Hey. You goddamn dog."
"Sir? AAAH!"
A kick to the shin sent the secretary crashing down with a scream.
Dvor stomped on him without hesitation, venting his fury.
"Why am I hearing about this NOW, you moron!"
The Cadena Flu had exactly one cure.
It went without saying that the White Tower, having developed it, would rake in an astronomical fortune.
Hold on. Then could this be......?
As his mind began to churn, a low groan escaped Dvor's lips.
It was already common knowledge that factories sapped the land's fertility.
The White Tower would hardly welcome such facilities rising within its own territory.
"......I see. So these rabble have gathered together and conspired to sabotage my business."
Eyes wild with rage, Dvor glared at his secretary and asked:
"Hey — didn't you say those mercenary bastards who handle our dirty work got in touch a while back? Give them a job."
"Wh-what kind of job?"
"What do you think? Kill that damned old man, obviously."
"But he's a Living National Treasure, sir!"
"Hoo...... you truly are a blockhead, aren't you."
Exasperation written across his face, Dvor snapped.
"Tell them to kill him however they like and make it look like he vanished. Once the herb fields are left without an owner, they'll go to auction — then we buy them up. It'll stink a bit, but that's what the bribes to the officials are for."
"And if the White Tower mages are still at the herb fields?"
"......Are those bastards high-level mages?"
"Judging by how young they look, not even close. 3rd Level at most."
"3rd Level, huh. Still — mages of one of the Four Great Towers make me uneasy, no matter how I slice it......"
Dvor fell into thought for a moment, but his conclusion came quickly.
Better to take the risk, finish this fast and clean, and pay off the higher-ups to bury the whole affair — than to chicken out, play it safe, and come home empty-handed.
Besides, no one alive had stronger backers behind him than he did.
Hoooo.
Spewing out dense clouds of cigar smoke, Dvor gave his order.
"Get word to the mercenaries. The payment will be generous — and tell them if anyone gets in their way, they're to kill those ones too."