Poxxon (1)
The sewer reeked with a stench that made you want to clamp your hands over your nose. Beams from a dozen flashlights wavered back and forth, occasionally catching glimpses of something enormous skittering in the gloom.
"Yan! It's bolting! It's heading your way!"
"I've got it! Nothing gets past me!"
The man answered with easy confidence, lowering his stance and raising his shield toward the giant rat-monster charging straight at him. The instant he braced his whole body for the impact that was seconds away—
BOOM!
"Gghk—!"
A dull, spreading pain, as if every bone in his body had been shattered, twisted his face into a grimace. But in the end, he held.
"Got... it pinned... down."
"Nice work, Yan! Everyone, attack!"
At the mercenary commander's cry, the party closed in from behind the beast, and moments later the monster collapsed lifeless onto the filthy sewer floor.
"Whew... hah. That's another job cleared, huh."
"That one was rough."
They were all so worn out they could barely speak between heaving breaths. The sewer was bad enough for the stench alone, but with the water risen to their shins, even simple running burned through stamina like nothing else.
The mercenary leader made a careful check that the giant rat was well and truly dead, then gave the order.
"Everyone, rest up. Drink your potions and regroup. We'll need our strength to haul this brute up to the surface."
"Hooo... roger that."
The first to pull out a potion was Yan. Watching him chug it down, one of his companions snorted.
"Well, well. You rich or something? Still drinking Blue Tower potions? The White Tower stuff's all the rage these days, you know."
"Mm. I figure anything that cheap has a reason behind it."
"There've been comparison tests done all over the place already. They say the White Tower potions actually work better."
"...If that's true, then why are they selling them that cheap?"
"Blue Tower's had a monopoly on the potion market forever. If a newcomer wants a slice of the pie, they've got to bleed money like this—that's just how it goes."
Gulp!
The man drained a low-grade White Tower potion in one go and squared his shoulders.
"And besides, this stuff tastes better too. Soon as they grab market share, prices are going up. So drink as much as you can while it lasts."
"Hmm..."
The truth was, the cheap and effective White Tower potions really were sweeping through the mercenary community like a fever these days. Word had it that anyone not drinking them was a fool.
Maybe it's about time I switched shops too.
The store he'd been frequenting for years was run by a relative of a Blue Tower mage, which was why it carried nothing but Blue Tower potions. Once this job was done, he'd have to shop around.
"So, got any White Tower potions you'd recommend?"
"Of course. Start with the potions, and then there's the nutritional supplements—" he cut off with a choke.
Mid-explanation, his companion suddenly went rigid, and blood burst from his mouth.
"Hey! Hey, what's wrong?! Were you hurt worse in the fight than you let on?"
"N-no, I wasn't injured at all... ghhk!"
"Damn it, Yan! Get him topside first, now!"
At the leader's shout, Yan hoisted him onto his back and climbed out of the sewer, but by then the man's condition had already turned grave.
"Hey! Dawson! Breathe! Come on, Dawson! Open your eyes!"
"Hrk... grrk..."
His companion, frothing at the mouth with his eyes rolled back, died in moments—too fast for anyone to lift a finger to save him.
And across every corner of Moske, similar scenes began unfolding all at once.
"...I'm sorry, what was that?"
Oscar looked up at the woman who had come rushing into the Special Affairs office—Lena White. She repeated herself, as if to confirm that he'd heard her right the first time.
"Mercenaries have died drinking our potions. The articles are pouring in as we speak, and the mercenaries and their families are screaming that they'll sue us into the ground."
Beads of sweat stood out across her forehead as the words tumbled out of her in a rush. She had evidently sprinted here through the stairwells without even sparing the time to wait for an elevator.
"Have a seat. Franc, some tea, please."
"O-on it."
The moment she sat down, Lena began talking again, without even pausing to catch her breath.
"Oscar, something about this stinks."
"What do you mean?"
"I don't think we made a bad batch. The potion manufacturing department didn't put out defective product."
"And what makes you so sure?"
"Plenty of things. To start with, you know our production process is airtight."
He did know. Frankly, the system was structured so that a defective batch couldn't slip through even if it wanted to. Every completed potion was put through stability verification not once, not twice, but three separate times. Even if a flawed batch had been produced, it would have been caught long before it ever left the tower.
"And on top of that, it's only happening in Moske. One city—out of this entire continent, only Moske, and only six cases."
"...That is odd, certainly."
"One more thing. The press started hammering us with attack pieces as if they'd been waiting for exactly this moment."
With that, Lena handed over a fresh stack of newspapers, still warm from the presses.
Every last headline was lurid, every one an attack. And if, as Lena said, these articles had surfaced as if they'd been lying in wait, then manipulation wasn't just possible—it was all but certain.
"For now, let's get the articles pulled."
"No good. I already tried. They won't do it."
"...The magic towers' request to pull a story gets refused?"
Never mind the Four Great Towers—even a lesser magic tower commanded influence far beyond any ordinary institution. The biggest reason was simple: they were armed organizations officially recognized by the Empire.
And the press is ignoring a direct request from a tower to pull articles...
Either the outlet was dealing with a rival of comparable standing—or someone had pumped enough money into their coffers that refusal was simply not on the table.
Lena spoke up carefully. "You don't think it was the Blue Tower?"
Oscar considered it for a moment, then shook his head. "I don't."
"Why not? Anyone with eyes can see who came out of this ahead."
"The handiwork's too clumsy."
If the Blue Tower Master had truly set out to bury the White Tower, this would have been airtight. The whole thing would have unfolded so seamlessly that even the victims themselves wouldn't have dreamed of suspecting outside manipulation.
That's exactly how the Blue Tower Master I knew would have done it.
But this affair was crude. Amateurish. It reeked of a rank beginner, not a professional.
Something with real size to it, but not an outfit that's run jobs like this before.
Which pointed toward a newly risen noble house or a young corporation. But then—what reason would a newcomer have to go out of its way to slander the White Tower?
Oscar furrowed his brow. "Has our side issued any official statement yet?"
"I've got a rebuttal piece drafted. But I figured the final call should be yours."
"Good work. For the time being, we say nothing. No official statement from the White Tower."
"What? Are you serious? We need to clear up this misunderstanding yesterday."
"Putting out a rebuttal and a formal position statement won't clear up anyone's misunderstanding."
If anything, a clumsy, half-baked response would only be gasoline on a house fire. Oscar rose from his seat.
"I'm going to Moske myself to look for clues."
He turned to Franc. "Let's go."
"Huh? Me too?"
Franc, who had been quietly trying to melt into a corner after delivering the tea, blinked at him.
"Obviously. You're a party to this too."
"...How am I a party to this? Because we brewed a potion together that one time?"
"No. Because it's your family's merchant guild that distributes our potions across the continent."
Of course, the Sirius Merchant Guild had no reason to stab the White Tower in the back. But if someone did want to stick a knife in, the Sirius distribution network was by far the most effective blade for the job.
"If we want cooperation from the Sirius Guild's Moske branch, things will go a lot smoother with you along."
"Well... if that's the case, fine."
Oscar looked back at Lena. "What happened to the potions already circulating in Moske?"
"We recalled all of them. They're being held in a Sirius Guild warehouse."
"Good. Order them left untouched until we arrive."
Moske was Shilin's neighboring territory—a mere five hours away by car. Naturally, Oscar caught a taxi with Franc. The Chairman had driven them as far as Shilin and then headed back to Vince, meaning that until they hired a new driver, his luxurious vehicle was nothing more than a big, pretty toy.
"...So this is Moske. First time here."
Franc let out a low whistle as he stepped out of the car. The two cities weren't far apart, but the color of this place was different from Shilin's from the very first glance. Where Shilin was bright and clean and white, Moske rose in sullen, gray high-rises.
A different beast entirely from Baran, with its parade of gaudy facades and lights falling like rain.
Oscar gazed out over the gray forest of buildings and spoke. "Word is, this city's full of up-and-coming corporations. Which means plenty of friction—and plenty of mercenaries who've made this their home base because of it."
Where money gathered, disputes and conflict were sure to follow. And there was nothing mercenaries loved more than exactly that kind of place.
"More than that, there are forests and rivers all around the city, so monsters keep wandering in from every direction."
A city where a mercenary's work would never, ever run dry. If he'd been born a mercenary instead of a mage, he'd have been building his reputation right here.
"So where are we headed, anyway?"
"The Sirius Guild. First we take a look at the potions of ours that everyone's up in arms about."
They headed straight for the Sirius Guild's Moske branch. The moment they stepped inside, staff members who'd been notified in advance hurried over to meet them.
"You'd be the gentlemen from the White Tower?"
"That's right. Oscar Crucian, head of the White Tower's potion business division."
At the arrival of someone far bigger than they'd anticipated, the guild staff went stiff as boards. Seeing it, Franc waved a hand to put them at ease.
"Everyone relax. We're not here to eat anyone."
"Th-thank you, young master."
A middle-aged man swallowed hard and introduced himself. "I'm Paul Wagner, branch head of the Sirius Merchant Guild here in Moske."
"A pleasure, Mr. Wagner. If it's no imposition, I'd like to see the recalled White Tower potions."
"Of course, of course."
Paul, recalling the gravity of the matter, hurried them along at once.
"Whoa... this is all just what was being sold in Moske?"
Franc's jaw dropped at the sight of potions filling a modest warehouse room from wall to wall. Stacked so high they nearly brushed the ceiling, there had to be tens of thousands of them.
"Yes. A little over seventy thousand, all told. White Tower potions have been matching the Blue Tower in sales lately—in some product lines, outselling them outright."
"I'd heard the potion division was printing money, but seeing it with my own eyes is a different story."
Overwhelmed by the mountain of potions, Franc suddenly rolled up his sleeves and looked back at Oscar. "Whew. Looks like going through all of this would take days, but should we get started?"
"Started on what?"
"Checking each and every one for actual poison with Scan magic, right? That means taking them down from the top, one at a time."
Oscar let out a hollow laugh. "And when exactly do we put seventy thousand potions back after knocking them all down?"
He could simply sweep through them all at once. As he began to ready Scan, Franc jerked back in alarm and grabbed his arm.
"Are you insane?! Scan a volume that size all at once and the information overload might melt your brain!"
"No problem. I've scanned more than this in a single pass before."
As Franc muttered ...freak of nature under his breath beside him—
"Scan."
Oscar's mana swept through the warehouse room in a single laser-fast pass. In the same instant, his eyes went cold and sharp.
"Well, well. How interesting."
"Interesting? What's interesting? Did you find potions with poison in them?"
To Franc's impatient question, he shook his head slowly. Of the nearly seventy thousand potions filling the room, not a single one had tested positive for a toxin.