Chapter 43 : Chapter 43
Chapter 43. The Clarity of the Wise
The doctors said that he was like an oil lamp whose fuel had already burned dry.
All that remained was the final spark in the wick, something that could go out at any moment.
“Grandfather, look what wonderful thing I brought you.”
Sylvia took a deep breath and held up the bottle of Fleeting Youth before the old man’s eyes.
Under the dim light, the emerald-green potion radiated a strange glow full of life.
“This was made by Logaris… the genius I mentioned to you before.
He created a new kind of potion.”
She tried her best to make her voice sound light and cheerful, as though she were sharing some amusing little trinket.
“It cannot grant immortality, but it can let you…”
Sylvia paused and carefully considered her words.
“It can let you return to your younger days, even if… only for three days.”
She told the old man everything without hiding a single detail.
She explained the potion’s effects, its uses, and even her own outrageous business plan.
Including the starting price of five hundred thousand Golden Lion Coins.
She did not know why she was doing this.
Perhaps deep down, she was still the little girl who had once told her grandfather everything.
Or perhaps she needed a word of affirmation from this wise old man, or a word of rejection.
Grand Duke Fenrir listened quietly.
His clouded eyes remained fixed on the potion, and also on his granddaughter.
When Sylvia had finished speaking, the room fell into a long silence.
After a long while, a low laugh emerged from the old man’s dry throat, as though it had come from the depths of his chest.
The laugh was soft, but it made Sylvia’s heart clench sharply.
“Heh… cough, cough…”
“Good… very good…”
Grand Duke Fenrir looked at Sylvia.
In his clouded eyes, there was unexpectedly a trace of comfort, along with an indescribably complicated light.
“My Vya… you truly have grown up.”
He slowly but firmly shook his head.
“I will not use this.”
“Why?” Sylvia grew anxious.
“Grandfather, do you not believe in its effects?
Logaris, he—”
“I do.”
Grand Duke Fenrir cut her off.
“I believe in that boy’s skill, and I believe even more in your judgment.”
His gaze shifted away from the potion and turned toward the pitch-black night outside the window.
His eyes grew distant.
“In this lifetime, I have already seen everything worth seeing.
The blood and fire of the battlefield, the conspiracies and glory of the court, the taste of power, the richness of fine wine… I have tasted all of it.”
“I have already reached the end of my life, like a book turned to its final page.”
He turned back and looked at Sylvia again.
In those clouded eyes flickered the wisdom of someone who had seen through life and death.
“This fleeting youth would be like a dream that is too real.
If I drank it, I would stand again.
I might even be able to swing my sword one more time.”
“But what happens after the dream ends?”
“When I fall once more from those three days at my peak back into this rotting shell, when even breathing becomes difficult again, that immense contrast would only make me hate what I am now even more.
It would bring me nothing but added sorrow.”
“It does not belong to me.”
The old man stretched out his thin, withered hand and gently pushed away the potion Sylvia was offering.
“It belongs to the future.
It belongs to you.
It belongs to the Northern Territory.”
Those words exploded in Sylvia’s mind like a bolt of thunder.
She stared blankly at her grandfather.
At that moment, the last trace of hesitation in her heart, and the last trace of weakness that had treated this potion as an emotional refuge, were completely shattered.
“Go.”
Grand Duke Fenrir’s voice sounded again, carrying an authority that permitted no doubt.
“Go and do what you ought to do.”
“I believe in your plan.
Go and win a true future for the Northern Territory.”
“This is what the bloodline of my Fenrir family ought to be.”
At last, Sylvia could no longer hold back her tears.
They slid silently down her cheeks.
But she did not cry aloud.
She only nodded heavily.
“I understand, Grandfather.”
When she straightened up again, the tears on her face had already been wiped away.
She turned and strode out of the room filled with the scent of death.
…
Half an hour later, the meeting room in the Duke’s Manor was brightly lit.
Grayson, the financial steward, and several core aides had been urgently summoned.
All of them wore confused expressions, not knowing why Her Highness had called for them so late at night.
“Your Highness, you…”
Grayson looked at Sylvia’s expressionless face and spoke cautiously.
“No need to say more.”
Sylvia interrupted him directly and placed the bottle of Fleeting Youth in the center of the table.
“Prepare to discuss the promotional plan for this.”
She swept her gaze across the room and issued her orders in a tone that allowed no objection.
“Grayson, you are to draft the most eye-catching publicity plan possible.
Within half a month, I want the entire kingdom—no, the entire continent’s upper class—to know that this exists.”
“The core of the promotion is not healing, and not immortality, but ‘experience’!
A unique and unparalleled luxury experience of returning to youth!”
“At the same time, have Logaris contact the Golden Griffin family and spread the word that they will be hosting this auction.
The location will be Winter City!”
Order after order came from her mouth, clear and rapid.
Every powerful figure who wanted this divine medicine, whether in the royal capital or in another duchy, would have to come in person to the Northern Territory, to her domain.
“Your Highness, is this plan… not too risky?” one of the aides finally voiced his concern.
“Our publicity may very well be taken as a joke, a scam.
After all, rejuvenation is simply too unbelievable.”
“You are right.” Sylvia nodded.
“So we need proof.”
“Living proof that everyone will believe.”
She looked at Grayson.
“We need a spokesperson.”
Grayson immediately understood what she meant, and his mind began racing.
“A spokesperson… preferably someone highly respected, widely known, and in genuinely terrible health.
Only then would the contrast before and after be shocking enough…”
After thinking for a moment, he made a tentative suggestion.
“The chairman of the kingdom’s Commercial Union, Marquis Barton?
He is wealthy enough to rival a nation, and it is said that he has not left his bed in three years.”
“No.” Sylvia rejected it at once.
“He is a merchant.
Anything he says would only be seen as another commercial stunt.”
“Then… the retired commander of the Lionheart Knights, Marshal Barkley, the ‘Immovable Mountain’?”
“He is a soldier, and he belongs to the Second Prince.
If we bring him in, it will only cause the First Prince and those old men in the royal capital to unite in opposition.”
A sheen of sweat appeared on Grayson’s forehead.
This spokesperson needed fame, but could not have an obvious political or commercial stance.
They had to be so old, weak, and sick that everyone knew it, and yet still possess tremendous public credibility.
Where could they possibly find such a person?
Just as everyone sank into thought, Sylvia’s fingertip lightly tapped the tabletop.
Then a name left her lips.
“Lady Margaret.”
The moment that name was spoken, the entire meeting room fell silent.
Everyone’s eyes widened.
Lady Margaret.
A legendary name.
She had once been the widow of the kingdom’s greatest merchant, yet had donated most of her fortune to establish the kingdom’s largest charitable foundation.
For decades, she had aided countless orphans and refugees, and among the common people, her reputation was no less than the king’s.
Her credibility was beyond question.
And everyone knew that, now nearing eighty, she had long been tormented by illness and was already like a candle flickering in the wind.
She was the perfect spokesperson.
“But… Your Highness,” Grayson said, his voice somewhat dry, “Lady Margaret has despised noble extravagance and opportunism all her life.
If we bring a potion worth five hundred thousand gold coins to her… we will be fortunate if she does not throw us out.”
“That is why we cannot go with only the potion.”
A meaningful curve rose at the corner of Sylvia’s lips.
She turned to the adjutant at her side and ordered,
“Go find Logaris.
As expected, he should still be in the storeroom doing alchemy.”