(Two days later, Twin Fang Planet, Poisoner's Union, Internal Lab Chambers)
"How long has it been soaking?"
"Two hours exactly."
Eric adjusted his gloves with deliberate precision as he watched the lab rat twitch slightly in the glass enclosure, its movements growing sluggish, its breathing shallower.
Across from him, Master Ralvar leaned over a table cluttered with notes, jars, mana reagents, and a steaming beaker marked with Leo's submitted formula.
The test chamber was sealed. Ventilation units hummed overhead, and three insect cages had already been set aside— each one filled with collapsed bodies of beetles and flies that had stopped moving twenty minutes ago.
"Still no signs of visible reaction?"
"None. No smell. No color. No taste. We mixed it with mashed fruit paste and every subject consumed it fully."
Eric nodded slowly, his eyes narrowing with interest. "But the real brilliance of this poison is that it doesn't kill. It weakens. Quietly. Almost elegantly. Strength reduced, mana output reduced, cognitive processing lowered."
Ralvar tapped the side of the rat's enclosure with a metal stick. The rat flinched, then stumbled as if dazed.
"Down fifty percent in all parameters. Blood pressure stable, heart rate slightly low, but nothing to set off alarms unless someone does a full diagnostic. It mimics fatigue."
Eric raised an eyebrow. "So it's useless for assassination but perfect for cheating in underground fighting rings."
"Exactly."
They both turned to look at the chart projected onto the floating screen above, which showed the before and after metrics of the rat's vitals.
"The market value for this poison won't come from nobles or guilds. It'll come from gamblers. Underground circuit fighters and mob bosses looking for a way to rigg duels"
Eric exhaled with a slight laugh. "They'll pay through the nose for something like this."
"Because it's not banned— yet. And even if it does get banned, detection will be hell."
"What about manufacturing complexity and shelf life?"
Ralvar flipped open the formula page. "Easy to produce. No rare ingredients. Shelf stable for six months."
Eric smiled. "Then we put it through. Let's mark it at 10 million MP for the patent acquisition and 10 percent royalty on all future market units sold."
"Agreed," Ralvar said as he stamped the approval slip. "What's it called again?"
Eric glanced down at the form. "Doesn't have a name. But it's been submitted through the Orange Panthers branch here in Twin City. We can ask them tomorrow."
Ralvar chuckled. "Well this is quite a unique product for sure, if we can control its supply we can charge a huge premium for each bottle sold."
"Let's just hope we can get a patent for 10, because this is easily worth 30-50 million for the formulation alone."
The two poison masters exchanged one last glance before sealing the vial, the paperwork, and the approval slip into a vault-safe case.
Hopefully they could make a bank with this one.
—--------
That same evening, Leo visited the Orange Panthers branch to check on the value of his poison formula, and as soon as he walked through the now-familiar entrance, the staff who recognized him from his last purchase straightened instinctively, their gazes flicking toward the back room as someone immediately darted off to inform the manager.
Moments later, the same shopkeeper who had handled his transaction last time came rushing out with a scroll clutched tightly in hand, his eyes wide, face flushed with disbelief.
"Mr. Skyshard," he said breathlessly, holding up the scroll like a sacred artifact, "You're not going to believe this—"
Leo calmly reached out and took the scroll from him, unrolling it with a flick of his fingers, as his eyes scanned the parchment.
> Offer from Poisoner's Union:
Patent Valuation: 10,000,000 MP
Royalty Agreement: 10% on all future sales, pending product launch.
Leo's eyebrow twitched slightly, the only outward sign of surprise. He hadn't expected a full ten million. He had considered the formula to be useful, yes, but he hadn't thought it would be this valuable.
However, more than him, it was the shopkeeper who looked as if he had just discovered a vault of gold.
"I—I get one percent of the signing fee as the discovery agent," the man whispered, almost in a daze. "That's a hundred thousand MP in my account, just like that… Gods above…"
Leo was about to hand the scroll back when the man suddenly straightened, eyes sparking with something more than gratitude.
"Wait, sir—don't accept this offer yet."
Leo glanced at him, mildly curious.
"You can push back," the shopkeeper insisted, his voice sharp now with urgency. "That's their initial number. They always lowball the first offer, especially when it comes from new creators who don't know the system."
Leo raised an eyebrow. "And you're telling me this because…?"
The man gave a sheepish smile. "Normally I wouldn't. I mean, the union's politics are none of my business. But this time, with how big the numbers are, my cut gets bigger the higher the final value climbs."
He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice as if sharing a secret. "Push for forty million, sir. Minimum. I've worked here twenty years. I know how the higher-ups think. This formula is perfect for the underground doping market. Discreet, effective, and long-lasting. They'll pay."
Leo stared at him for a long moment before folding the scroll back and handing it back to the shopkeeper.
"Very well," he said. "You handle the negotiations. Get me forty or more, and I'll add another one percent from my share on top of whatever the union gives you."
The man blinked, stunned, before his lips curled into a slow, grateful smile.
"You won't regret it, Mr. Skyshard. I'll squeeze them until they pay a hell lot more."
Leo gave a faint nod, then turned to check out the restocked items in the store as he purchased a couple more high grade mana stones for his expedition tomorrow.
With Severus's poison formula rated so highly, he did not need to worry about money in the short term at least, regardless of what final value it fetched.