Chapter 4. Cashing In
As the first day of the tournament wound to an end, Rhys and Bast retreated, quickly making themselves scarce before any of the tournament’s organizers could corner them and ask a few pesky questions. Their gatherings were immense. In the heat of battle, no one had the time to pause and tip every last drop out of a potion bottle, and so every bottle had at least drops of potions clinging to its sides. Some bottles even had significant dregs in their bottoms, where surface tension had let a good portion of the potion cling to its vial. Secreted away in an empty lot near the arena, they organized the potions by scent and color. Some, like the three they’d taken from Primm, they’d already separated as special, and those were left on their own, for separate investigation later.
There weren’t many pill wrappers. It seemed liquid potions were favored in this kind of fast-paced exhibition battle. Rhys still hadn’t figured out what he was going to do with the pill wrappers, but he was sure he wanted them anyways. Even if he couldn’t combine them the way he could potions, he could still investigate them to figure out what the ingredients of the pills they’d contained were. Not at his current level, no—but eventually.
Rhys already had his salvaged brushes out, and was carefully brushing drops of potion into his half-full bottle, when Straw appeared, walking out of the shadowed corner of two buildings, though Rhys knew for a fact he hadn’t been there seconds ago. With no comment, the man crouched and offered them the bottles he’d collected. “Here. Health potions, mana potions, and…” Straw snatched one of the potions they’d had slotted to be added to Rhys’ health potion bottle away, putting it aside instead. “That’s a speed booster. Though I suppose there are worse things to mix into a health potion.”
“Thank you,” Rhys said honestly. Straw hadn’t needed to help them, and gained nothing from helping, but he’d done it nonetheless. Even now, he continued to assist them.
“No, no. Thank you. I haven’t seen such an interesting endeavor in years. I suppose you’re going to sell the results?”
Rhys’ eyes flashed. He hesitated just a moment, then shrugged. As ever, if Straw wanted what they had, the man just had to reach out. There was nothing he or Bast could do to stop him. “Yes. The townsfolk can’t afford potions, so there’s no market here. But the contestants can afford potions. I figure, if I offer these health potions at the gate—”
“At a discount?” Straw guessed.
Rhys looked down on him, then caught himself. Straw was from this world. He wasn’t familiar with the practice of scalping the hell out of people at special events. “No, no. At a significant markup. We’re offering last minute potion purchases, after all. That’s a service, and it deserves additional coin.”
“What a fool was I! Yes, yes. Tell me more,” Straw encouraged him.
“After all, the contestants don’t know how these potions were made. There’s no need to offer a markdown. If we did, it would only make them suspicious. Instead, if we charge them more, they’ll convince themselves that these items are higher quality.” It was a strange-but-true facet of human psychology that if an item was exorbitantly expensive, the person buying it would assume it was worth more because it was expensive, even if it was visibly, blatantly, and objectively lower quality than the cheaper one. And he intended to shamelessly exploit it.
Straw clapped. “Bravo, bravo! More’s a pity that you only have two potions.”
Rhys sighed, nodding in agreement. “But such is life. Though, I have to say, if we keep gaining potion at this rate, we’ll have three or four by the end of the tournament.”