The conference room fell silent.
Even Esli, usually adept at inadvertently offending others, hadn’t anticipated Ghervil’s direct provocation of the Baron.
Ramsey’s expression remained calm, though a hint of amusement flickered in his eyes.
When his gaze met the Baron’s, it transformed into a placid, polite smile as he spread his hands, indicating his bewilderment.
Father Asriel’s face was a mask of exasperation.
The earlier warning had some effect, but evidently not much.
Feeling all eyes turn towards her, a slight upturn of her lips revealed that this was precisely the effect Ghervil had intended.
To extract valuable information from such a person of standing, she first needed to demonstrate her own worth, a feat requiring considerable audacity.
She had conceived a plan to capture the Baron’s attention, even provoke his earnestness and defiance, without crossing any irreversible lines.
Her slight build, youthful age, and modest height were undeniable.
While cosmetics offered some concealment, certain realities remained stubbornly visible, demanding a more striking display of acumen to overshadow them.
Indeed, should the Baron become somewhat incensed, the outcome would only improve, offering her a clearer opportunity to exploit any weaknesses.
“You appear quite young, Ms. Rowan.”
Baron Cambaton observed her with narrowed eyes, his hands clasped together.
“Yes, Baron,” Ghervil replied, “I graduated from the Royal Botanical Academy just five years ago.
While youth and scholarship may often correlate, I believe that holds true only for the majority.”
Ghervil straightened her posture, a hint of arrogance coloring her tone.
The Baron’s lack of immediate anger was precisely as she had anticipated.
Adapting her strategy on the fly, she resolved to present some genuine insight: the knowledge of the Blood Rose (TL Note: A rare, mystical flower used in potions, often associated with dark magic or potent effects.) that Govet-Ghervil had helped her deepen and consolidate the previous night.
“That’s true,” he conceded, “but what makes you so certain you are among that exceptional minority?”
“Graduating from the Royal Botanical Academy suggests a certain level of competence, yet this is no school, and the person across from you is hardly a peer competing on equal footing.
The superficial knowledge acquired in academia might not suffice here.”
Baron Cambaton spoke slowly, his tone unruffled, “Especially not a young person who must bring their pet everywhere.”
He clearly did not believe an ordinary student, fresh from school, could make significant waves in five years; even a decade or two might not be enough.
Govet-Ghervil, who had descended from Ghervil’s shoulder to nestle in her arms, now stood up, resting her front paws on the table to peer over, her two large eyes glaring fiercely at the Baron.
Gently pushing the fluffy creature back down, Ghervil adjusted her spectacles.
“Typically,” she began, “a Blood Rose, when soaked in blood during its seed stage, absorbing more than twice its own volume, can be cultivated into a specialized medicinal ingredient, capable of producing drugs that affect the minds of humans or animals.”
“Its blooming season spans from August to November, with optimal harvesting between December and January of the following year.
During this period, the dry air effectively prevents spoilage and wilting during storage and transport.
Once the petals detach from the pistil, the Blood Rose loses its resistance to decay, and its shelf life becomes shorter than that of ordinary petals.”
The Baron nodded impassively, a subtle gesture for her to continue.
“Ahem.”
Clearing her throat, Ghervil theatrically opened her notebook.
“It has been tested,” she announced, “that whether cultivated with human blood—male, female, old, or young—or animal blood—rats, cats, or dogs—the results are identical.
The Blood Rose flourishes equally, and its efficacy remains unchanged.”
“Allow me to correct a point,” the Baron interjected, his fingers lightly tapping the table.
“Blood Roses cultivated with the blood of a Green-Earth Lizard (TL Note: A fictional lizard species with green blood, known for its rarity and high value.) will have their efficacy enhanced twofold.
Perhaps you haven’t heard of the Green-Earth Lizard, also known as the Green-Earth Monitor Lizard…”
“I know,” Ghervil interrupted him smoothly.
“You are the one who cultivated Blood Roses using Green-Earth Lizard blood.
Their blood is green, and these creatures are exceedingly rare, found only in desert oases.
Given their immense value, no one possesses the financial means to cultivate Blood Roses with Green-Earth Lizard blood on a large scale.”
The Baron showed no displeasure at being interrupted; instead, he raised an eyebrow slightly, a flicker of pride evident in his gaze.
“And I, too, must correct you on a point,” Ghervil stated.
She casually turned a page, causing her two companions beside her to stare in astonishment, for the notebook contained no writing—it was utterly blank.
She subtly shifted the angle, her left hand lifting the cover slightly.
Father Asriel’s attention was not on the notebook; he meticulously observed the Baron’s demeanor, ready to intervene should Ghervil’s words or actions risk truly provoking him.
“Adhering to the rigor of a true scholar, I recalculated,” she asserted.
“Twofold, or more precisely 1.95 times, is the effect derived from the blood of juvenile lizards—those under one year old.
However, cultivating with the blood of an adult Green-Earth Lizard yields an astonishing 10.2 times the potency.
Potions crafted from this, such as ‘Delirium’, can extend a user’s delusional behavior to a full month, or even thirty-five days for those with weaker constitutions.”
She paused, leaving the page open in the middle.
The Baron’s brow furrowed deeply as he began to scrutinize the young woman across from him with a newfound seriousness.
She was correct: juvenile Green-Earth Monitor Lizards resided in oases, scarce but not nonexistent, comparable in size to common lizards, and posed little danger.
Adults, however, were an entirely different matter.
They dwelled deep beneath the desert, their colossal forms ranging from ten to a hundred times the size of their young, capable of effortlessly swallowing an adult human whole.
A caravan of a hundred once met its demise in the maw of such a lizard; rumor had it, a knight was among the fallen.
Obtaining the blood of such a creature required more than just fine equipment and ample manpower.
It demanded guidance from someone intimately familiar with them to locate their subterranean lairs, as adult Green-Earth Monitor Lizards rarely surfaced.
Considering her graduation from the Royal Botanical Academy, possessing such resources was not entirely surprising.
Yet, to claim expertise in Blood Roses surpassing most in the nation, her current display was far from sufficient.
Conclusions drawn solely from experiments conducted with institutional resources and protection remained too superficial and presumptuous.
“At best,” he stated, “this merely proves your time at school was not wasted, that you cultivated good relationships with your mentors to acquire resources, and possessed a degree of cleverness to arrive at these conclusions after five years.”
Evidently, he still found nothing truly noteworthy about her.
“Baron,” the man with the prominent nasolabial folds, whose silence had previously suggested a sharp, aloof demeanor, suddenly interjected, “Ms. Rowan’s research findings are entirely her own.
There has been no fabrication or external assistance whatsoever; I can personally attest to this.”
His unexpected intervention on her behalf surprised Ghervil; she had assumed he would remain a silent spectator.
“She is your ‘expert’,” the Baron retorted, emphasizing the word.
“Of course you would speak on her behalf.
The only reason I have indulged her for this long is out of respect for Bishop Gomor and my old friend here.”
He then turned his gaze to Ramsey.
What could Ramsey do but offer a conciliatory smile?
He certainly couldn’t risk further rebuttal, which would only deepen the Baron’s disdain.
Some prejudices, once formed, are notoriously difficult to dislodge, especially in those of high standing.
“I believe our discussion has run its course, madam,” the Baron declared.
Rising to leave, he shed the veneer of geniality he had worn earlier.
“You are indeed quite capable, and possess a commendable understanding of the Blood Rose, but you are far from the level you claim.
Perhaps a dose of your ‘Delirium’ potion would help you achieve it.”
Ghervil offered no reaction, simply closing her notebook.
Just as the Baron reached the conference room door, the young woman seated behind him spoke once more.
“I neglected to inform you, Baron,” “that what I just presented comprises only the most insignificant aspects of my research.”
His steps faltered at the doorway; he paused, then, turning back in indignant challenge, he watched as the young woman removed her spectacles and placed them on the table.
“My true research,” she revealed, “is dedicated to the profound subject of how to harness the power of dreams through the Blood Rose.”