"Thank you so much!" Hasse could feel the air suddenly freshen. Rorschach’s Magic was remarkably effective.

Rorschach observed the workshops. Much like Glass Town, many similar buildings were clustered together. Thanks to the Guild’s coordination, all the businesses coexisted peacefully, concentrated on both sides of the stream.

The two found a dye Workshop Master and explained their purpose, using the name of the Balderom Chamber of Commerce to arrange a tour. The first Workshop Master was an old man with a red nose. Although he didn’t understand why someone from the Logistics Guild was visiting, he received them anyway.

Entering the building, they found the workers inside busy. They labored over heavy dye vats, hauling up weighty bolts of cloth and washing them in colorful water. The vats were filled with hot water, since dyeing fabric required heat. The rising steam carried the ammonia, sulfides, and acids that Hasse and Rorschach had smelled earlier, filling the entire room.

The wastewater from the final rinse was all collected together. The result wasn’t a vibrant rainbow, but a fusion of grayish-brown sewage, which was poured directly into the stream.

"You just pollute the stream like this?" Mr. Hasse asked, unaccustomed to such a sight.

The old Workshop Master was completely unconcerned. He rubbed his nose and said, "Where are you from, sir? We’ve paid our taxes!"

Rorschach didn’t comment. Instead, he observed the pigments being mixed into the vats: indigo, reddish-yellow, lead green... In short, what he saw were primarily mineral-based dyes.

"Sir, are these all mineral dyes you’re using?"

"That’s right... If you’re looking for the producers, they’re just upstream."

This wasn’t what Rorschach was looking for. He continued, "Are there any workshops that produce purple dye, or ones that can make colors from coal?"

Hasse was baffled. ’Isn’t coal pitch-black? How can it produce other colors?’ But apparently, such a place did exist. The Workshop Master was still rubbing his nose, and Hasse noticed the man’s large hands were an unhealthy purplish-red. "Go on, then. It’s the smelliest one upstream! You two gentlemen had better hurry. Go any later and you might not find it at all."

After leaving the dye works, Hasse pondered the old man’s last words. Further upstream were the workshops that actually manufactured the dyes; they imported ore, crushed and purified it, and then produced mineral dyes.

There was one exception, however. To find the "smelliest" one, Rorschach deactivated his Air Filter Bubble. Sure enough, a pungent smell of ammonia hit him, growing stronger the closer he got to a large, impressive red-brick factory building.

"Bayern Aniline Soda Factory..." Hasse read the brass plaque hanging on the main gate as Rorschach stopped in front of the factory.

"This must be the place." Rorschach let out a long breath, trying to expel all the foul air from his lungs before reactivating his filter bubble.

Unlike the other workshops, nothing was coming out of its chimney. The factory gate was shut tight. In the empty lot in front, they could see a coal cart and a wagon carrying large wooden barrels.

The spigot on one of the barrels wasn’t closed, and a black, viscous liquid was dripping out. DRIP, DRIP, DRIP. It wasn’t petroleum; it had to be coal tar. Despite the desolate scene, the more Rorschach looked, the more he liked it.

"Did it go out of business?" Hasse observed, noting the lack of movement or the noise of machinery. Rorschach decided to try knocking on the gate.

There was no answer. Rorschach didn’t give up and knocked again.

The metal gate finally creaked open a crack. There was indeed someone inside: a haggard young man who seemed nervous and fragile. "Please, just give me a little more time..." But then he got a clear look at the visitors, and his eyes widened. "It’s you!"

At the same time, Hasse let out a similar cry.

"You know each other?" Rorschach was confused. The young man threw the gate open and eagerly pulled his two guests inside the factory. Rorschach saw a lot of familiar-looking equipment whose functions he could roughly guess. It was all very new, however; only one set showed any traces of coal tar.

"Mr. Hasse, save me!"

The young man’s name was Angerhorn. He had started out as a goldsmith, then partnered with someone to open a gas company. After being ruthlessly squeezed out by the Mining Guild, the young man was forced to change careers. But his career change wasn’t a complete departure. He set his sights on the business of synthesizing aniline dye from coal tar, once again angering the Mining Guild—after all, they supplied the raw materials for the dye!

The purple flags Rorschach had seen in Wertzburg were made with dye he had supplied, which was how he knew Mr. Hasse. After receiving the final payment for that job, the unlucky and reckless young man felt he could make it big. He took the money he’d earned, borrowed another sum on top of it to expand his small workshop, and then...

’You want to make it big?’ The Mining Guild came knocking again. They didn’t do anything illegal; they simply instructed all the dye workshops not to buy the company’s magenta, aniline dyes, or the alkali used for color-setting—the "soda" in the company’s name.

And so, his cash flow cheerfully snapped! For a moment, Angerhorn had mistaken Rorschach and Hasse for debt collectors.

Rorschach scanned the entire factory. There wasn’t a single skilled worker to be seen. He asked about the current situation.

"I didn’t fire them, but I can’t pay their wages either, so I told them to start looking for other work..." The young man scratched his hair in regret. "It’s all over!"

Rorschach didn’t understand why this man had jumped from being a goldsmith into the fledgling field of organic chemistry. The young man recalled, "Back when Munich was installing gas streetlights, I figured gas would be a sure sell, so I went into business with a friend... Later, nobody wanted the coal tar, but I learned from a university in Munich that someone in Istani had figured out a way to make dye from it..."

’Here was a young man with a sharp business sense and a love for learning, who, just like me back in the day, had underestimated the vile Guilds and ended up in this state.’ Rorschach and Hasse couldn’t help but smile and nod at the same time.

"Are you laughing at me? Then... then go ahead, laugh all you want," the young man said, his face a mask of misery.

Rorschach quickly pulled out a small notebook where he had written a brief on the process for making sodium copper chlorophyllin and showed it to him. "Actually, we’d like to do business with you. Take a look. Can you make this?"

Angerhorn took the notebook, his eyes widening as he read. ’This is a perfect business opportunity! The raw material costs are low, and the process is simple.’ "If this process is correct, then of course I can!"

"But you’re all alone right now..." Hasse didn’t understand why they were so quick to hand business over to a factory that was, for all intents and purposes, bankrupt. He didn’t dare contradict Rorschach directly, so he directed his doubts at the young man instead.

"I can! I can do it! You just need to pay a small deposit, and I can hire back one of my workers to get things started. Trust me! For the sake of our last successful partnership, please give me a chance!"

"Please allow me to discuss this with my companion." Hasse still felt it was a bad idea. The factory could be seized at any moment. He pulled Rorschach aside to confer in a low voice. "Why are you so quick to trust a bankrupt factory? We can go look at other producers."

Rorschach replied directly using his Communication Skill. Even filtered through Magic, the joy in his voice was unmistakable. "You’re right. A failing factory isn’t worth partnering with. I was wrong."

Hasse was about to nod in agreement when he heard Rorschach continue, "But doesn’t that make it perfect for an acquisition? Mr. Angerhorn is exactly the kind of talent we need! We have to inject capital immediately and have him bring back all his skilled workers before they find other jobs."

’Talent?’ Hasse just thought he was a devilishly clever businessman.

Rorschach, however, had high hopes for this ammonia-scented factory. "Bayern Aniline Soda Factory... the name’s a mouthful. After the acquisition, we’ll take the first letter of each word and just call it ’Basif’."