There was never a true miracle involved. That flash of light – his death in one world, then the disorienting awakening in another, hadn't involved divine intervention. No, this was merely physics as Elias hadn't understood it until now. Or rather, as the scientific mind shoved into the body of a teenage baron refused to dismiss any potential explanation.
Desperation made him push such musings aside for now. His potion-brewing workshop lay in disarray. Smashed vessels were testament to failed attempts at recreating the work of true genius – himself. Elias had never considered anything he crafted 'miraculous,' yet to the people of this realm, the healing draught and its mana-replenishing counterpart were just that. It was a bitter realization. His scientific acumen, once the stuff of awards and breakthroughs, was now his lifeblood.
With every crash of failed ingredients, his world seemed to shrink. He wasn't in a pristine lab but this drafty, under-equipped room that bore the legacy of centuries rather than advanced innovation. Yet, there was a pattern to be discerned, a variable he still hadn't accounted for.
"My lord," a hesitant voice came from the workshop's entrance. An older woman peered in hesitantly, eyes wide beneath brows heavy with worry. "There are…visitors."
Elias forced down a surge of alarm. Not more vultures drawn by the scent of a decaying barony. "State their business."
"It's…they call themselves the Crimson Hand, my lord. From the tavern." Each word carried an unspoken plea for sensible action. Crimson Hand? Not a promising title. But then, this was a world where brute force often disguised itself in fantastical names.
He'd learned that quickly in the days since his…arrival. It had been a barrage of lessons no well-bred lordling was meant to endure. Elias the baron was meant to be coddled by advisors, focusing on courtly etiquette. Elias the scientist had needed to become an instant pragmatist. These 'visitors' weren't here on a social call.
It was time to see if his gamble paid off. "Then perhaps I should pay them my respects," Elias said, pushing back the memories of his world's version of business attire. Instead, he picked up a worn leather bracer – not for protection, but as a final touch for what he needed to embody. With measured steps, he followed the woman through the castle's oppressive silence.
Word had spread among his skeleton staff. Eyes watched him from shadowed corners – not with loyalty, but the fear of those clinging to what little certainty remained. It was a chilling kind of power, not one Elias desired. He hadn't spent a life seeking accolades from those he worked alongside, just results. Now those results were bound to the survival of people looking to him with terrified, silent expectation.
His boots echoed on the stone as he crossed the threshold of the grand hall. Once vibrant with tapestries, it now lay in partial darkness, precious textiles looted long ago. He paused, letting the dimness work to his favor.
Two figures occupied the high-backed chairs near the hearth. From this distance, one was all imposing bulk, the other a sly twist of shadows barely concealing avaricious eyes. Elias had played enough strategy games in his stolen moments of procrastination to categorize his potential opponents instantly. Brawn and Brains – a typical pairing.
They rose as he approached. Not out of deference, but with the predatory grace of beasts assessing their prey. Elias walked closer, taking note of details: the hilt of a wickedly curved dagger peeking from one man's robes, the subtle twitch of a ring-laden finger as the other examined the room. His own hands remained empty, not in surrender, but to leave nothing for those eyes to latch onto but him.
"Baron Ainsworth, to what do we owe this…pleasant surprise?" It was the shadow who spoke, a reedy voice in contrast to his companion's barrel-like chest. His face held an approximation of a welcoming smile that made Elias think of a jackal.
"Let's speak plainly, gentlemen." Elias kept his voice even, infused with a thread of boredom that was only partially faked. "My lands offer rich pickings for those… enterprising enough. However, it seems our businesses align quite nicely."
It was boldness born of having little left to lose. Brawn bristled, ready to take offense, but Brains cut him off, "Align indeed. Though perhaps our understanding of those alignments differs somewhat."
"Your potions," Brains continued, letting the word hang in the air like a promise, "have brought renown to lands far from here. We have... a vested interest in such rarities."
"And in that interest," Elias interjected, "you see opportunity to profit from their exclusive supply."
A flicker of recognition passed between Brains and Brawn. Elias had read them correctly. He could almost picture a flow chart in his mind: The 'Crimson Hand' controlled the tavern on his land, draining his coffers indirectly. Now, they sought control over the resource keeping him somewhat afloat. It was an embarrassingly simple strategy...likely because it was devastatingly effective on a struggling barony.
Elias sat across from them, a chessboard taking shape in his mind. He was tired of being a pawn played by others. "I am no green lordling to be outwitted by your games," Elias bluffed, projecting the confidence he desperately wished he felt. "Tell me directly - what do you truly offer in return for control over my supply?"
Brains chuckled, the sound like sandpaper on wood. "Refreshing directness! However, Baron, leverage dictates the terms of negotiation." He leaned forward, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial tone. "Our reach extends far beyond this backwater. Protection from those opportunists at your borders…information...these are but a taste of what the Crimson Hand can offer."
Before Elias could formulate a response, Brawn stepped forward, slamming a meaty fist on the table. "We tire of talk, boy! Give us the potions, or face the consequences!"
Here was Elias's opening. He allowed a slight smile to play around his lips– a calculated risk. "Consequences frighten those with something left to lose," he replied, ignoring the rising pulse thrumming in his throat. "Perhaps you forget, gentlemen, that I have little left. And cornered animals…" he paused for effect, "...tend to bite harder."
The air crackled with tension. Brains was weighing his words, but Brawn was a creature of impulse, hand twitching towards his weapons. Elias mirrored the action subtly, a rune etched on his wrist gleaming dully beneath his bracer. He hadn't mastered these marks from the hidden library, but a few he understood enough to manipulate for…theatrics.
Before Brains could intercede, Elias slammed his palm on the rune. It flared with an otherworldly light, causing Brawn to recoil with a yelp. Yet, there was no burst of flame or arcane shock. Just a pulse of energy that seemed to vibrate through the very walls, making the flickering hearth distort wildly.
"My potions," Elias spoke over the stunned silence, "are unique. So too are the…safeguards on them." Bluff piled upon bluff, but ones born of desperation. He had spent those long nights poring over the runes not just for protection, but for rudimentary offensive capabilities. Was his current trick an illusion or a threat? He himself wasn't sure, and that uncertainty was his true weapon.
Brains recovered admirably, covering Brawn's confusion with a forced cough. "Impressive theatrics, young lord. But the Hand holds power older than your little lightshow."
Elias pressed on: "But what is power without value? My potions make even this broken land worth fighting for." He threw a folded parchment onto the table between them. "Here's my offer: a consistent supply, distribution through your channels, and a healthy share of the profits. In return, those opportunists at my borders disappear. Permanently." The unspoken 'or else' hung heavy in the air.
Brains scanned the parchment, a calculating gleam in his eye. This was the moment the entire farce could crumble. If they called his bluff...well, Elias did still have the potions laced with volatile mana. He mentally measured distance, trying to calculate the best target should it come down to a desperate, fiery last stand. Lab safety protocols had never seemed so irrelevant.
Then Brains did something Elias couldn't have anticipated. He laughed, genuinely amused. "The boy has teeth! You drive a hard bargain