CHAPTER 03

“Business opportunity?” Jack blinked, amused. “Intriguing. One doesn’t often hear a noble propose such a thing to a [Necromancer].”

Roland shifted uncomfortably.

Ignoring him, Ethan leaned back in his chair.

“Let’s just say these are unorthodox times, Jack. And frankly, the problems plaguing Holden call for equally unorthodox solutions.” He gestured towards a nearby chair. “Do have a seat, and allow me to elaborate. It concerns a matter of public health, and specifically, a rather lackluster product currently on the market. One common folk cannot even afford.”

Jack raised an eyebrow, taking the offered seat. “Public health and [Necromancy]? This does get more interesting by the moment, my lord.”

Ethan leaned forward again.

“I’ll be blunt. It’s the Blight, Jack. You’re undoubtedly familiar with its unpleasant effects.” He wrinkled his nose slightly. “The lethargy, the nausea…and the frankly horrendous stench that clings to the afflicted.”

“The Blight has stages, my lord. But yeah, I get the gist. Though, I confess, raising the recently departed isn’t exactly...”

Ethan chuckled. “Not quite, my friend. While your talents with the departed are impressive, I have a different skillset in mind. One that involves cleanliness.”

Jack’s smile vanished, replaced by a wary arch of an eyebrow. “Cleanliness? You want a [Necromancer] for scrubbing floors?”

Ethan leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers. “Not scrubbing floors, precisely. What do you know about the Blight, Jack?”

“It’s more than a mere sickness, my lord. It’s a clinging parasite that latches onto the unfortunate soul and slowly devours their life force. The early signs are subtle—a sickly sweet odor, lethargy, pale clammy skin.”

Jack shuddered dramatically, and continued. “Then comes the hunger. An insatiable craving that gnaws at their insides. The victims start developing a craving for raw flesh instead. Their mere touch becomes corrupting, causing plants to wilt and wounds to fester. Disembodied whispers of the spirits torment them, sapping their willpower—they’re like a sweet escape from their suffering. It chips away at their will to fight, turning them inward until they become shells of their former selves.”

Ethan blinked. Jack had a knack for theatrics and being dramatic, it seemed.

“In the final stages, the body decays into a walking corpse driven by an unquenchable hunger to consume the life force of others.”

“Okay, stop,” Ethan raised his hand with a sigh. “Who does the Blight infect?”

Jack took a deep breath. “That’s the interesting part, my Lord. The Blight only seems to affect those with little to no mana. It’s like mana acts as a shield. Majority of peasants are mana-less. It’s a common disease, my lord. Even nobles suffer from the Blight; mostly children given that their mana is still developing.”

“So, mana is our solution?” Ethan raised an eyebrow. “Why do you think no one’s arrived at this conclusion given that the Blight is such a common occurrence you’d think there’d be a cure?”

“There is a cure, my lord. But—”

“It’s way too expensive.”

“Indeed, that is correct, my lord.”

“Regardless, our solution here is sanitation. You see, the Blight thrives in filth. The stench, the lethargy, it all stems from a miasma that festers in unsanitary conditions. It eats on people’s lifeforce. And the current concoction on the market does little to combat it. There’s a simple solution—people are aware of it—but sadly, it’s expensive, not as effective as it should be, and frankly, an insult to hygiene.”

“Oh, are you talking about soap, my lord?”

“Soap,” Ethan confirmed. “More specifically, newly made soap. As soap’s made with magic here, it has slight mana in it—although it’s a different matter altogether that said mana dissipates. Regardless, if bought new and used, it helps with the Blight. However, we need better soap. The current offerings are woefully inadequate, and at exorbitant prices. I envision a mass-produced, affordable soap that can combat the Blight’s effects, doesn’t lose mana, and can invigorate people.”

Jack considered this for a moment. “And why, my lord, would a noble like yourself be concerned with such mundane matters?”

“Jack,” Ethan’s eyes narrowed slightly, his tone turning icy. “I believe you forget yourself. It is not your place to question nobility. I suggest you remember your place and focus on the task at hand.”

Jack’s face turned ashen. He quickly lowered his eyes. “I apologize, my lord.”

“You are forgiven.” Ethan didn’t particularly enjoy being a noble, but now that he was one, he needed to maintain certain boundaries.

Though Ethan had been slightly taken aback, Jack was right. Nobles seldom cared about peasants. Even less when it came to the Blight. Any and all solutions currently available for this very normal cause of death were expensive. Current brick they sold as ‘soap’ was inadequate, had pathetic fragrance, and performed even less when it came to hygiene. So, most peasants die due to lack of money. They couldn’t buy soap, and the concoction for the Blight was too expensive.

But I don’t really think like the nobles, as I am not one.

Silence stretched between the two for several long moments, and in that silence, Ethan considered the consequences.

The consequences of Ethan’s plan would be far-reaching. There definitely would be a political firestorm. Soapmakers, likely well-established guilds with ties to influential nobles, would see their profits plummet and their influence challenged. They’d spread rumors about Ethan’s soap being inferior or even dangerous, and might even resort to sabotage, threats, blackmail, or the like. Ethan might also face resistance from other barons who profit from the inflated price of Blight remedies.

I need to be prepared for whatever they throw at me, ‘cause they definitely will.

Beyond the immediate political struggle, there could be social unrest. Slower, more expensive production methods often employ a larger workforce given that [Mages] weren’t always available to make soap. There had to be a manual process discovered by the [Mages] of this world—though having tried the soap himself, it was quite lacking.

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Ethan’s plans for mass-produced soap could lead to unemployment among those currently making soap. He’d need to be prepared to address these concerns, perhaps by retraining displaced workers or offering them jobs in the new production facilities. Though, then again, the guilds he’d poach the unemployed people from wouldn’t take it lightly.

Regardless, I need to do it. Fuck the guilds. I don’t think Theo’s dad will let anything happen to him—aka me now.

Theo’s family was rather big. His father, Lord Alexander Lockheart, was arguably ruthless and cold, but he usually held his family’s interest in his mind—knowing him and his militaristic nature, Ethan didn’t doubt he’d latch onto the opportunities to make some hefty sum of money—money which he could use to fund his militaristic endeavors. The man was ambitious.

Theo’s the 4th child of the Lockhearts. Even aside from Theo’s dad, he’s got five siblings: three older and two younger siblings. Two of whom, I can easily rely on. The eldest sibling, Maximillian, or Juliana, who is the second eldest. Benson’s the third child, and he doesn’t like me much, so Maximillian and Juliana are my only hope—though they’re kind of disappointed in how Theo behaved, they wouldn’t let something happen to me, especially knowing that I, “Theodore Lockheart”, am turning over a new leaf. Not to mention Theo’s mom’s too soft.

Knowing his safety wouldn’t be an issue, Ethan looked at Jack. He had only spoken like Theo to make sure he could set a proper boundary with Jack. Deciding that the awkward silence had gone for far too long, he spoke with a lighter tone.

“Though, if you must know, the Blight doesn’t discriminate. It cripples the poor, yes, but it also weakens soldiers and undermines trade. A healthy populace is a productive populace, one that can pay taxes and contribute to the well-being of the entire barony. Besides,” he added, a sly smile returning, “imagine the profit. Affordable, effective soap for all? It would be a goldmine. I’m especially looking forward to the reaction of noblewomen. They’ll be in a frenzy. They’ll be begging for this soap. We’ll be swimming in coin.”

Which I need given the looming tax and Holden’s fucked up financial situation...

Unaware of what was going through Ethan’s mind, Jack tapped his chin thoughtfully. “And, with all due respect, my lord, why do you need my help? What possible use could a [Necromancer] have in the realm of soap-making?”

Ethan leaned back, a smile playing on his lips. “While your skills in manipulating life force are undoubtedly impressive, Jack, it’s your less publicized talent I’m particularly interested in.”

Jack’s eyes narrowed for a moment. “You mean...?”

“Imbuement.” Ethan said.

Ethan wasn’t too sure, but given that [Necromancers] and [Witches] were infamous classes, he’d heard rumors. They often imbued objects. Corpses in [Necromancers’] case and certain objects in [Witches’] case. It wasn’t just mana they imbued exactly, but a different, mysterious energy—one he couldn’t even begin to comprehend—that granted them control over the imbued corpse or object as well. But, given that these two classes were the most affordable ones that could imbue anything at all and were experts in that regard, Ethan was pretty sure Jack could achieve his goal.

That was his theory, of course. It all depended on how long they could hold the mana inside the soap. Making the soap affordable and high quality—that he could handle. Keeping the mana within it, though, and getting some decent returns? Well, that depended a lot on Jack.

Jack ran a nervous hand through his scraggly brown hair, his eyes glinting.

“What if we could imbue the soap with mana?” Ethan said. “It would disrupt the Blight’s ability to feed on life force. Think of it like a strong-smelling herb that throws off the Blight’s senses, like a hound dog losing track of its prey. It’ll confuse its senses. So, we imbue mana into soap.”

Jack frowned, considering this. “That’s an interesting idea, my lord. But how would we create such a thing? Soap is expensive to make; you would have to employ mages—”

“Leave the soap to me. Deal with imbuing mana instead. As a [Necromancer], you have a unique understanding of life force and how it can be manipulated. I believe that with your help, we can develop a method to imbue soap with mana that stays in for as long as possible—you are the expert in imbuement, after all. The soap would then not only clean the body, but also create a sort of protective barrier against the Blight.” He leaned back in his chair, watching Jack’s reaction closely. “So, what do you think? Are you up for it?”

***

Ethan hummed as the carriage came to a stop near the house where those infected by the Blight were being kept under quarantine, in the company of Roland. The house wasn’t luxurious by any means, it was quite small really. But it had been secured to allow them to observe the tainted. Ethan exited the carriage along with Roland and Jack, and soon they were greeted by a tall, slender man in robes.

“Ah, Lord Theodore. It is my utmost pleasure to meet your esteemed self.” the robed man bowed. His voice was even, but there was a wariness there—clearly, the man was not comfortable dealing with Ethan, or more like, Theodore who was infamous for his... nature.

Ethan wasn’t happy with how the people of Holden and everyone acquainted with Theo regarded him, a reputation that likely spread more than just this town, but he couldn’t do anything about it. Logically, he’d just need to deal with it one step at a time.

“No need to be so tense... Sir Miller.” Ethan briefly checked his memory to bring up the information of the man.

Miller was the head physician of Holden.

“Esteemed guest,” The man was still bowing, clearly uncomfortable and unable to bring himself to stand straight before a notorious lord such as Theodore. “Do not concern yourself with trivial manners and come in. The tainted have been secured, and preparations made, so please, this way.”

The man led Ethan inside and after crossing through an empty room, they reached a space sectioned off by iron grills. A group of men armed with spears surrounded the door from the outside—they were armed with spears so they could deal with anyone that reached the third stage and became a brain-dead zombie without getting near them. The tall and burly men eyed Roland and Ethan, on alert at a noble’s presence.

Ethan covered his face in a mask, stepped over the grills, into the open hall with rows of beds lining both sides, where about ten people lay, most on their back. If they noticed their Lord, the people lying on the bed didn’t act like they noticed anything. “Please, Lord Theodore...!” Miller said. “You mustn’t get near!”

“Nothing to worry, I won’t become tainted,” Ethan said. He was a [Mage] after all, and unranked one, but a mage nonetheless. He looked at the patients one by one.

They do look sickly... it is one thing hearing about it, but this is far more eye-opening... Sighing, Ethan turned around and walked out.

“Jack, do your thing.”

“Yes, my lord,” Jack said as Ethan made it to Roland.

“Roland, we need to go to the Deadwoods, you and I.”

Roland appeared apprehensive but did not question Ethan’s intentions.

As Ethan and Roland walked out, Jack got started on the subjects. Ethan looked ahead. Grassy meadows stretched far and wide, dotted by occasional trees and bushes. The sun’s golden rays washed over the land, leaving an orange tinge on the distant mountains. To the west of Holden lay the Deadwoods—easily spotted, as it stood as an ominous expanse of darkness in the otherwise brightly lit region. A mountain range stretched behind the Deadwoods and clung to the earth, meeting the borders of Corinth.

Ethan had to admit, the place was a sight to see despite how much the Deadwoods stood out like a sore thumb amidst all this greenery. Even then, the Deadwoods held a unique allure. Ethan got into the carriage with Roland in tow, then with a light jolt the carriage started moving. It was being pulled by two horses.

“With all due respect, my Lord, this seems unwise, no?”

“It’ll be fine,” Ethan reassured. “We have guards with us, and I have you to protect me.”

“Why, is it not better to simply let us know what you require so we may fetch it in your stead?”

Ethan smiled, but didn’t answer.

The Deadwoods soon came closer as the carriage sped up, drawing near to a stretch of meadows with trees scattered every few paces or so.

The carriage rattled as it went over a particularly large bump. Ethan gave a quick glance at Roland—the man had grown quieter since their departure. Clearly, he was contemplating what sorts of heinous plans his new lord had in store.

Suddenly, the carriage lurched to a halt. Ethan poked his head out of the window and called, “What’s the hold-up?”

The driver gave an apologetic bow. “There’s a large rock in the road, my lord.”

“Then have the guards get rid of it.” Ethan’s voice carried a subtle note of annoyance. He really didn’t have time for delays—as a rule of thumb, he usually hated them.

“My lord,” Roland said. “It’s a trap. We’re under attack.”

An arrow slammed right beside Ethan’s head the next instant.