Chapter 44: Chapter 40: A Caustic Tongue Against the Scholars
Velin’s words seemed to suck all the air out of the conference room.
All sounds of argument, complaint, and shouting were choked off in that instant, leaving only a deathly silence.
Dozens of gazes, a mixture of astonishment and suspicion, snapped toward the figure in the corner, who had remained shrouded in shadow the entire time.
"A solution?"
The portly senior deacon was the first to break the silence. His voice was hoarse and weak from hours of shouting, but the venom in his words had lost none of its bite.
"On what authority does this skulking figure get to spout such nonsense? Lady Caroline, is this another charlatan you’ve dredged up from some backwater corner?"
Velin ignored him.
He simply rolled up the parchment, which was covered in symbols, and tucked it into an inside pocket of his cloak. Then, he rose and walked to the enormous sea chart table in the center of the room.
The table was cluttered with scattered reports, waterlogged wood samples, and glass jars containing shipworms that were still squirming with life.
With a leather-gloved finger, he gently pushed aside a report listing the lost vessels, revealing the detailed navigational chart of Tarry Port beneath it.
"The loss of the *Strong Alcohol*, and the other heavily damaged ships, should be financially defined as ’sunk costs.’"
His voice was placid, as if he were stating a well-known mathematical axiom.
"Continuing to invest manpower, resources, or even emotion into them is an irrational waste. What you need to do now is not mourn, but cut your losses."
His words were calm and cruel, and the faces of the captains in the room turned grim. Many of them had spent nearly their entire lives on those ships.
"Cut our losses? Easy for you to say!" an old captain with a missing arm slammed his hand on the table. "They aren’t ’costs’! They’re our homes!"
Velin lifted his gaze to meet the captain’s. Perhaps it was because the mask hid his identity, but his retort was even more scathing than usual.
"Then would you burn down the entire house to save a single room that’s already on fire, Captain?"
The question left the old captain speechless.
"These creatures feed on enchanted wood, but their invasion and reproduction require a key medium: seawater." Velin’s finger tapped the chart, indicating the areas representing the Golden Sail Commerce Association’s berths. "Sever that medium, and you can slow the rate of their destruction."
"And how do we sever it? Drain the whole sea?" someone muttered sarcastically.
"Wrap every ship that has yet to suffer structural damage in heavy canvas smeared with tar and animal fat, from the waterline down," Velin said, his voice still even. "It creates a physical barrier. It won’t eradicate the shipworms, but according to my calculations, it will reduce their feeding efficiency by seventy percent."
"Simultaneously, clear all dry docks immediately. Move the most structurally sound and valuable capital ships into them for priority treatment."
"This is just..." The portly deacon nearly burst out laughing. "Fighting a magical disaster with canvas? Boy, are you insulting our intelligence, or are you insulting Alchemy itself?"
Velin didn’t bother looking at this scientific simpleton. His eyes remained on the chart as he retorted flatly, "Then tell me, Deacon, what solution has Alchemy itself provided? That Alchemy Potion so expensive it could rebuild a fleet? Or your fruitless experiments over the past few days?"
"If you don’t understand, it’s best to say less and keep your foolishness hidden. My method isn’t intended to be a complete cure. It’s meant to buy us time."
"I’m not insulting Alchemy. On the contrary, I am buying precious R&D time for the true solution—which *is* Alchemy. Or do you believe standing here shouting empty slogans is more useful than getting in the water and doing the work?"
The deacon’s face flushed the color of liver. He opened his mouth, but not a single word came out.
"So we wrap our warships in rags? What about the honor of the Golden Sail Commerce Association?" another captain roared resentfully.
"Honor?" Velin scoffed. "When your ships are at the bottom of the ocean, you can hug the Golden Sail Commerce Association’s ’honor’ and drown with it. See if it works as a life preserver."
With that single sentence, the air in the conference room turned to ice.
Caroline hadn’t said a word.
She merely watched Velin in silence, her nails digging deep into the flesh of her palms.
Only when the room had fallen completely silent did she raise a hand.
"Enough."
Her voice wasn’t loud, but it carried an undeniable authority.
"Master Valerius’s Alchemy Potion has failed. The prophecies from the astrologer Mages have revealed only mist. We have no better options." Caroline’s gaze swept over each person. "Now, as Vice President of the Golden Sail Commerce Association, I order the immediate implementation... of this gentleman’s plan."
She deliberately omitted Velin’s name.
"But, Your Excellency..."
"No buts!" Caroline’s tone sharpened, her emerald eyes burning with an almost crazed determination. "Either you carry it out, or you get out of this room—and out of the Golden Sail Commerce Association—right now!"
The fangs bared by the silver-haired demoness in her desperation finally, for the moment, quelled the unrest.
Amid the crowd’s complex stares, Velin walked to Caroline’s side. He leaned in slightly and whispered a few words in her ear, his voice so low that only she could hear.
Caroline’s pupils contracted slightly.
Then, Velin straightened up and turned to the chief alchemist, who had remained silent until now.
"Master Valerius, I require your laboratory, as well as all your books and notes regarding biological tissue and alchemical transmutation. Immediately."
The old man raised his head. He gave Velin a long, hard look, then glanced at Caroline’s solemn expression. Finally, he gave a slow nod.
"My laboratory is at your disposal."
With that, Velin followed the Master and walked straight out of the suffocating conference room, leaving behind a roomful of confusion, resentment, and bewilderment.
...
For the Golden Sail Commerce Association, every second of the following days was an agony.
The docks of Tarry Port became the stage for one of the most bizarre scenes in the Duchy’s recent maritime history.
Sailors no longer swabbed the decks, nor did craftsmen mend the sails. Instead, they stood in droves in the bone-chilling seawater, struggling to wrap the hulls of the surviving vessels with heavy sheets of canvas soaked in black tar.
Tar, grease, and the reek of the sea blended into a sickening stench that permeated the entire harbor district.
The once-majestic warships and merchant vessels now resembled hastily wrapped mummies, moored silently and shamefully in their berths.
Their magnificent hulls and their rams, which shimmered with the light of Magic, were all hidden beneath this filthy ’shroud’.
The crews of other commerce associations pointed and stared, their faces alight with unconcealed mockery and schadenfreude.
Anyone could see that the shipworm outbreak had originated in the Golden Sail Commerce Association’s main berthing area. The few ships belonging to other associations had long since moved away.
The honor of the Golden Sail Commerce Association was sinking to the seafloor, one drop of tar at a time.
The humiliation was only the beginning.
The real storm was brewing in the world of commerce.
