Ophion surveyed his hoard. It had grown, indeed, and it was protected by the king, who must surely be fuming in his castle. But something became clear the more he looked at it.
"It's too small," Ophion said bitterly, almost with a splash of self-loathing at his inability to make more money. Tinknob looked down and approached the mighty dragon, guilty at having caused him distress by accepting his previous gift. He held the gold coin, as big as his furry hand, and timidly said:
"Boss, we kobolds are happy to serve you, and the hoard could grow so much quicker if..."
"NO!" Ophion roared. Unknowingly, Tinknob had insulted his draconic pride. He lifted his head as he thought of that one scout who complained to the party's sword-dancer about not being able to afford housing on an adventurer's wage. Ahead of him, the town of Mistlake. He counted. Twenty, fifty, two hundred and fifty properties.
"Revenue..." He smirked. All he had to do was purchase the houses from the puny landowners and rent them back to them for huge profits. In only a few months' time, he'd recoup costs and start regrowing his seed capital, all, of course, under the name of Dragon's Share Corporation, unrealized and untaxable.
"Tinknob. It's time we diversify. We need to buy real estate," he said confidently, all the fumes of his rage evaporated as if they never truly existed. Tinknob scratched his head, divining his overlord's plan.
"Boss, the hoard may be large, but if it's real estate you're planning to buy, and next to the dungeon? Maybe we'll have enough for two houses, and we'd have to sweeten the deal a lot for that, which means no profits for years. Also, if we use Dragon's Share capital, the investors are going to spook and withdraw. They're already speaking of sending a 'director's board,' and pulling your majority shareholder weight around may have the king's internal revenue ministry piercing our corporate veil, which means we lose everything we've done until now."
Ophion's eyes gazed into the void, seeing through the human town. Speculative, meticulous, methodical. The scout had taught him something: capitalize on basic needs, compound on desperation, sell health to the reckless and security to the rich. Tinknob recognized something was afoot when Ophion's eyes started shimmering like Neptune's diamond storms.
"Tinknob, correct me if I'm wrong: these so-called "adventurers" use 'healing potions,' but they really don't know how effective they are until they try them in the heat of battle. Is this not true?"
Tinknob furrowed his brows.
"Well, not really. Potion quality varies depending on the maturity and purity of the ingredients and the ability of the alchemist brewing them, but the margin is relatively low. Maybe a full-heal potion turns out to be a near-full if the alchemist is just starting out, but they all have family members who are adventurers, so they never rush the process. No one wants to get ostracized for being greedy"
"I see. Is it the alchemists themselves who sell the product, or is it retailed?"
"Uh... Retailed for the most part. Adventurers can commission from renowned alchemists, but that's very costly due logistics."
"Excellent. And is the hoard enough to buy some fertile plots, a mill, and seeds for the potions?"
Tinknob stared agape, surprised by the ambition of the dragon.
"But, boss! You'd need to hire alchemists and wait for the produce to reach maturity, then dry them, wait for them to age! We'd be making a huge loss until the adventurers start choosing our product!"
Ophion extended his scaly finger toward his minion's mouth, although his phalanges alone was larger than Tinknob's head.
"Tinknob. If you were an adventurer, would you rather spend hundreds of coins on a healing potion, or would you rather pick a cheaper option at half the cost? They all "heal the same," was what you said, right?"
"Boss... That's insanity. This is even worse than buying houses! Selling potions at half price? We'll bankrupt in weeks!"
"Do as I say. Purchase the farming plots, rush the harvest, have the kobolds make the potions."
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
"But...!"
"What, the kobolds don't know how to brew potions? Just toss the ingredients into the boiling pot and stir! It can't be that hard. Oh, make sure they look the same; the effect doesn't matter that much."
Tinknob shook his head at what he knew would be the worst retail experience ever conceived.
"How do we brand them, boss?"
Ophion smirked.
"Ah. That's where it gets funny."
***
... A few months later ...
The shop owner nodded to himself as he admired his fully stocked potion shelves. Neatly arranged: Mother Olga's Healing Brew, Karla's Remedy, the Minister's Choice, Healing Supreme, and so many other brands he bought for cheap at the common market. He was happy that not only could he fully stock the permanently half-empty shelves, but the profit margin was huge. So much, he even decided to put them slightly below the cost of the other brands, hoping customers would buy them and give him those juicy profits. And with them? Buy even more! He wiped his tears, muttering:
"Grandpa would be proud." And then, a client in blood-soaked leather armor kicked through the door and pointed a finger accusingly.
"That potion you sold me for five gold nearly killed me!"
The shop owner blinked repeatedly, trying to understand.
"What do you mean, nearly killed you?"
"I was trying to push further into the dungeon, with barely a few minor injuries, when I drank your 'Ogrish Regen' and nearly bled to death! The potion made me bleed out faster!"
Before the shop owner could even start to question his client, yet another burst into the shop.
"My wife is still sick after five of your Karla's Remedy! Five! I want my money back, now!"
And another, crying in rage, followed closely.
"My brother died because your potion couldn't heal him in time!"
And another, and another. Eventually, the shop owner had to close to avoid being mobbed and killed, but this scene wasn't the only one in town—not even the only one in the region. Even when the adventurers tried to revert to the old, trusty brands, they noticed that sometimes they healed, and sometimes they didn't. Counterfeits weren't the only issue: as the price went down, and alchemists had to start diluting their own legitimate products just to stay afloat. Adventurers didn't want to pay full price for an untrustworthy product, so they offered less money, which drove good alchemists out the market, which made products worse and less valuable to adventures, the price kept spiraling down, and down...
***
The traveling merchant had returned to Ophion's lair after having iterated through the entire kingdom and eagerly requested another crate of healing potions. How the kobolds managed to acquire so many, he did not care. What he cared about was profit: the margins for the potions here were great. Behind him, an entire convoy of merchants chatted about the strange "potion crisis" phenomenon, but the only thing they cared about was that now they were selling twice as many, all thanks to Dragon's Share Corporation and its subsidiary alchemists.
Tinknob dragged a wooden box to the center of the mob, and clearing his throat, addressed the merchants:
"Gentlemen! Ladies! I'm afraid we had to fire and close all alchemist subsidiaries because of lawsuit disputes!"
The merchants grunted, as their main source of tasty revenue had closed just as it began to swell their pockets. Some prepared to leave, but then...
"But don't worry, because we have taken matters into our own hands! It is none other than the great dragon himself, Ophion, who will now begin the grand inception of Dragon's Ensured Full Heal potions!"
The merchants whispered as they inspected the samples the other kobolds were handling—delicate bottles whose contents looked the same as all the others, but on closer inspection, a dragon fingerprint on the back and the iridescent paper of dragon breath's treatment made them unique, to say the least.
"We are proud to begin selling his lordship's personal brand, 'Draconis Vitae'! Starting price, two gold per bottle!"
Some of the merchants shook their heads and left, but the shrewdest ones remained. An old, experienced merchant held the hand of his son and apprentice, and whispered "Yes, the price is five times that of a regular potion... But dragon-ensured quality? A sure heal? That is well worth the price! No one can counterfeit dragonfire, son!"
Tinknob handed box after box, and an endless stream of kobolds had to carry the profits in miniature wagons—too much to carry by hand.
***
Every muscle of Tinknob's ached, but the ones that hurt the most were on his face from having an ear-to-ear smile plastered for more than forty-eight hours straight. The hoard was greater and shinier than ever. The subsidiaries that took the reputation cost were shells that quickly declared bankruptcy, with Dragon's Share absorbing them and paying off the minor settlements. Even after taxes, the profits of having engulfed the entire potion market of the region—even for a few months—were so large a kobold had actually drowned in the hoard, stinking the entire cave. Several expansions were made after that incident.
"Boss... I'm sorry I ever doubted you."
Ophion nodded dismissively, barely paying attention as he tried on custom-made gold accessories, including several rings, glass frames, and a chain necklace that read "$wagg," a human idiom for "Extremely wealthy and reputable." Tinknob couldn't help himself but ask:
"But, boss, we're so rich, and we're crushing the market, why..." He pointed at the professional alchemists, best of the best, that his practices had driven out of business, who sourly worked for a wage under his membranous wings making "Draconis Vitae." "Why this? We could've just keep producing cheap potions for profit forever"
"Oh, Tinknob. You really have to start to dream big."
"Bigger than that?" He pointed at the real-size solid gold statue of Ophion laying atop a stack of jewels.
"Much, much bigger."
