"Oscar, what do you think is happening here?"
"Who knows."
Oscar gave Fran's question a vague answer and watched the situation unfold.
The man in the white suit spoke slyly.
"Isn't it about time you let go of that stubbornness? I'll pay ten times more than for the other plots."
"......Even if you built me a castle of mithril, I'd never sell my land to a bastard like you."
"Tsk. Old man, playing hard to get is only amusing for so long."
The eyes behind the sunglasses turned cold.
The herbalist refused to yield and glared right back at him.
After a brief staring contest, the man in the white suit was the first to raise the white flag.
"Haha! I'm joking, just joking. But be careful. If you live alone on an herb farm beside the mountains, no one will know even if you die alone one day."
Having delivered the veiled threat, he pulled a cigar from his coat and placed it between his lips.
When a subordinate approached and lit it, he exhaled acrid smoke and spoke.
"Once factories go up on the surrounding land, the value of this place will plummet anyway. Sell while you can still get a high price. Stop being so stubborn."
"Ridiculous. If I don't sell my land, won't that prevent you from getting permission to build factories on the surrounding plots too?"
"......Tsk. You just have to get the last word in."
Shaking his head, the man in the white suit climbed back into the vehicle's rear seat.
Then he lowered the window and tossed a white envelope onto the ground!
"Oh, and that's for the herbs. I crushed a few on the way in."
With an infuriating smile, he waved and raised the window.
VROOOOM!
The convoy disappeared into the distance once again, leaving nothing but acrid smoke behind.
"......Haa."
The old man sighed wearily and asked in an exhausted voice.
"So, where did you say you came from?"
"Ah, forgive my late introduction."
Oscar bowed his head slightly in greeting.
"We're from the White Tower."
***
Pour.
Steaming hot tea flowed from the kettle.
The old man, who introduced himself as Ivan, offered a brief apology.
"I'm sorry I can't serve the sort of drink young people enjoy these days."
"It's all right. I like tea."
Oscar smiled, took a sip, and savored it.
"This is excellent. It's been a long time since I've had top-grade Ribo tea with such a deep, nutty aroma."
"......Oh, do you know how to appreciate this tea?"
"I know a fair bit about herbs and tea."
"He really does."
Ivan's gaze grew warmer, apparently pleased by the answer.
"Thank you. As it happens, I gathered it fresh from the mountain behind the cabin at dawn today. It's a top-grade variety."
"Then we're fortunate today. I understand that Sirin's herbs are the finest on the continent."
"The finest on the continent......"
A bitter smile touched Ivan's lips.
"That's all in the past. Not anymore."
"Why is that?"
"......There are two main reasons."
After taking a moment to organize his thoughts, he slowly explained the current situation.
"The first is declining soil fertility."
"The soil's fertility?"
"Yes. Since ancient times, this land has been called blessed. No matter what was planted, it produced above-average crops."
Oscar already knew that.
It was also why Sirin herbs commanded such high premium prices.
"But over the past eight years, Sirin's soil has rapidly lost its fertility."
"......Why?"
"Opinions differ, but I believe it's because of all the factories being built without restraint."
Ivan's voice held firm conviction.
"The western industrial district produces magitech goods. Wastewater and pollutants spill from its factories each day, flow downriver, and damage Sirin's soil. Judging by the timing, I can reach no other conclusion."
"Factories......"
There was surely some connection.
More than anything, those working on the ground are always the first to feel such changes firsthand.
Fran, who had listened quietly, asked.
"Then what's the second reason?"
"......We lost the motivation to work hard at growing herbs."
A bitter smile appeared on Ivan's lips.
"Do you know why this blessed land is covered with herb fields rather than wheat or fruit?"
"Because of a promise made to an earlier Tower Master."
Ivan looked slightly surprised by that answer.
"How curious. I haven't met a single person these days who knows that fact."
"Haha......"
Ivan continued as he watched Oscar smile awkwardly.
"Long ago, herbalists were viewed very poorly."
If one had to draw a comparison, they were treated much like the 'witches' people shunned at the time.
They boiled grasses whose effects ordinary people could not even begin to guess in pots, then sold the concoctions.
In those days, herbalists were scorned and despised, which naturally forced them to live as wanderers.
"Then Leonard Ayers, the fourth Master of the White Tower, gathered herbalists from across the continent."
He was renowned for exceptional discernment (keen insight).
After gathering every herbalist on the continent, he told them this.
"Come to Sirin. This place shall be the eternal home of you and your descendants, and here, no one shall ever scorn you."
Ivan looked bewildered by Oscar's words.
"Hmm? I didn't know he even said that."
"......I think I read it in a children's storybook."
Oscar offered a vague excuse.
In truth, he had read it in an ancient book passed down only to Tower Masters.
"In any case, herbalists from across the continent gathered in Sirin for that reason, and countless herb fields were created. This area also has many rugged mountains, making it the perfect environment for people like us to roam."
"Then when you said you'd lost the motivation to plant herbs......?"
"The White Tower gave our ancestors a home and pride. How could we do anything that would aid in its downfall?"
Selling their herbs to another tower would mean the White Tower losing a corresponding share of the potion market.
Oscar was struck speechless by this completely unexpected reason.
"We could make a living from the herbs gathered in the mountains alone. That gives us even less reason to stab our benefactor, the White Tower, in the back."
"That's...... something I'm deeply grateful to hear."
At the same time, it was terrifying enough to send a chill across his skin.
If they had wholeheartedly pursued money, the White Tower's fall would have arrived at least ten-odd years sooner.
"Then Dvor Powell, that greedy bastard, appeared."
The young businessman had arrived in Sirin three years ago and urged the herbalists to sell their land.
At first, the herbalists refused in order to honor their loyalty to the White Tower, but he was persistent.
"He was a bastard who wouldn't hesitate at abduction, threats, or even murder. A typical thug."
"......Why would he go that far to buy the land?"
"He said he intends to turn this area into the largest industrial district on the continent."
True, Sirin was now little more than a backwater, but it had been a major transportation hub of the north since ancient times.
Though the White Tower had declined, Sirin's inherent geographical advantages had not vanished.
"There are two things I want to ask."
"What are they?"
"Why hasn't that bastard killed you yet, sir?"
"Simple."
Ivan pointed to the plaque (an award) hanging on one wall of the cabin.
"I'm a Living Cultural Treasure of herb cultivation."
"Ahhh."
Oscar understood at once and nodded.
Living Cultural Treasure was a title bestowed upon a master who had reached the pinnacle of a field and could reproduce its techniques at any time.
It went without saying that the imperial family made such designations and placed those individuals under special protection.
"Even a bastard who commits every dirty deed imaginable wouldn't dare touch me."
"I understand. Then why haven't you sold this herb field? You could've obtained tremendous wealth if you wished."
"You ask the obvious."
Ivan smiled faintly, looked through the window at the herb fields bathed in sunset, and continued.
"I love this land. It's been my home since the day I was born."
That was why he could never sell it.
"My family's herb fields and wooded hills are the largest in Sirin, and they're located at its very center. If I sold this land...... construction would begin on an industrial complex of enormous scale."
Just three or four small factories operating in the western region had already caused the soil to lose much of its fertility in only a few years.
What, then, would happen if they built an industrial complex so vast that it required leveling several rugged mountains?
The result was obvious without seeing it.
"If that moment comes, Sirin will probably never recover its soil's fertility."
"......"
This was an old man's war to protect his convictions, his memories, and his loyalty.
It must have been a lonely, desolate struggle that no one recognized.
Oscar's head bowed of its own accord.
"Thank you for everything you've done."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean you no longer need to fight alone."
From now on, we of the White Tower will fight beside you.
***
The businessman Dvor Powell enjoyed wearing white suits.
The moment he entered the temporary building erected on the land he had purchased, he removed his wristwatch.
"You fucking useless bastard!"
SLAP!
The secretary went sprawling after being struck across the face, but quickly returned to his place and stood at attention.
Only after beating the secretary for quite some time did the man in white calm his anger and put his watch back on.
"Make that damn old geezer sell me the land, no matter what it takes. Is that so difficult?"
"......I'm sorry."
"Do you have any idea how much money I have tied up in these garbage plots?!"
He had pretended to be relaxed in front of Ivan, but in truth, his situation was hardly favorable.
He had accumulated an enormous amount of debt purchasing the herb fields over the past three years.
Even the lobbying funds used to cover up the illegal acts committed along the way had been considerable.
Dvor was growing anxious about the interest, which swelled like a snowball as time passed.
"Does it make any damn sense that this grand undertaking can't even begin because of one bastard? Of course some fucking idiot owns the choicest plot......"
What he envisioned was an automobile factory larger than any in the north, or indeed the entire continent.
Once it was completed, becoming one of the world's wealthiest men would be only a matter of time.
But a single herbalist was obstructing that grand dream, so he could not help growing furious.
"Damn it. Just how much do I have to offer before he sells the land and gets the hell out?"
He irritably placed a cigar in his mouth, and the secretary approached to light it.
He exhaled acrid smoke and asked.
"Haaa. And who were those bastards there earlier?"
"I looked into them. They're mages from the White Tower."
"What? The White Tower?"
Dvor frowned at the unexpected answer and asked again.
"Why were those White Tower bastards there?"
"They made some money recently, didn't they?"
"Money? How much could those beggar bastards possibly have made?"
"It's a considerable sum."
Watching his expression, the secretary cautiously held out today's newspaper.
Dvor scanned the articles at a glance, and his expression instantly curdled.
"......You son of a bitch."
"Pardon? Aagh!"
The secretary screamed and collapsed when the toe of Dvor's shoe struck his shin.
Dvor mercilessly trampled him and vented his rage.
"Why are you only telling me this now?! You fucking idiot!"
The sole treatment for Cadenna influenza.
It was obvious that the White Tower, which had developed it, would earn an astronomical fortune.
'Wait, then could this be?'
Dvor worked through the possibilities and let out a low groan.
It was already common knowledge that building an industrial complex drained the soil's fertility.
From the White Tower's perspective, it was obvious they would not welcome such a facility in their territory.
"......I see. These vermin have gathered to conspire against my business."
Dvor, eyes wild with rage, glared at the secretary and asked.
"Hey, you said those mercenary bastards who handle dirty work contacted us recently, didn't you? Hire them."
"W-What sort of job?"
"What do you think? Have them kill that damn old man."
"But isn't he a Living Cultural Treasure?"
"Haa...... You brainless bastard."
Dvor snapped in frustration.
"Tell them to just kill him and wrap it up as a disappearance. Then the ownerless herb field will go to auction, and we can buy it. It'll stink a little, but we can handle that by slipping some money to the officials."
"What if the White Tower mages are still at the herb field?"
"......Are those bastards high-level mages?"
"Judging by their young faces, absolutely not. At best, they're probably Level 3."
"Level 3. Even so, mages from one of the Four Great Magic Towers are a little troublesome......"
Dvor considered the matter for a moment, but reached a conclusion quickly.
'Rather than getting scared and taking the safe route, it's better to accept the risk, finish this swiftly, then lobby those at the top to cover up the incident.'
Besides, wasn't his backer more reliable than anyone else's?
Haaa.
Dvor exhaled a dense cloud of smoke and gave an order.
"Tell the mercenaries they'll be generously rewarded. If those bastards interfere, kill them too."