The Wizard's Biological Chip Can Process Everything-Chapter 61: Negotiating with Marcel isn’t as difficult as it seems.
—Why should I do that? How do I know this isn’t fake? Or worse—poison?
I knew this would happen.
Men like Marcel, who had climbed to the top of a food chain as brutal as the one in this tower, were not easily convinced.
But I was ready.
I crossed my arms, keeping my gaze locked onto his.
—You have doubts? Run any test you want. I’m not here to waste your time—much less mine. If you want to verify its authenticity, go ahead. I stand by my product.
For a moment, he remained silent, the cigar in his mouth burning slowly as he studied me.
Marcel was not like the reckless youths I had dealt with before.
He was an older man—someone who had clearly failed to pass the bottleneck to become a mage—but above all, he was cautious.
Even with all his experience, curiosity seemed to gnaw at his reservations.
At last, he removed the cigar from his mouth and covered one of his hands with a blue magical aura, channeling his energy as he lightly touched the powder on the table.
I watched as he pressed the substance against the surface, his sharp eyes searching for any reaction.
The powder remained inert, showing no response to the magical energy.
He lifted his gaze to me, his expression a mixture of surprise and intrigue.
—Interesting... he murmured, leaning back in his chair.
He brought the cigar to his lips once more, took a deep drag, and blew a thick cloud of smoke in my direction.
His eyes now held a cynical glint, and an ironic smile played at the corners of his mouth.
—You think something as mundane as this, he said, gesturing toward the powder on the table, —will have the same effect on acolytes? We are not ordinary humans, boy.
—Most of us here have strong bodies, strengthened by warrior breathing techniques passed down by our families. What works on some random peasant won’t necessarily work on us.
I remained quiet, my expression serious.
My confidence in the product was unshakable.
I looked him straight in the eyes, unwavering, and spoke firmly.
—Just take a sniff. And I promise you’ll see heaven.
Marcel laughed, a deep sound filled with disbelief, but something in my demeanor seemed to partially disarm him.
He looked at me, then at the powder on the table, still hesitant.
After another drag from his cigar, he narrowed his eyes and turned toward one of the girls who had been serving him earlier.
She was a young woman with green hair cascading in curls to her shoulders, her skin glowing with a soft brown tone.
She appeared hesitant, but with a small gesture from Marcel, she slowly approached.
—Take a sniff, he ordered, his voice firm.
She hesitated for a moment, casting a cautious glance at me, but obeyed.
Leaning over the table, she brought her face close to the powder and inhaled deeply, her eyes half-closed.
From what I could tell, she was a Level 2 Acolyte, which made this even more interesting.
When the last grain on the table disappeared, the effect activated almost instantly.
She froze for a moment, as if the world around her had completely stopped.
Then suddenly, her eyes widened, and a loud, uncontrollable laugh echoed through the room.
She began flailing her arms and jumping, as if consumed by an energy too powerful to contain.
—UHHHHHHHH! she screamed, her eyes rolling back as an uncontrollable grin spread across her face.
—THIS IS TOO GOOD! UHHHHHH!!!
She grabbed Marcel by the arm, laughing hysterically, and began kissing his face, leaving lipstick marks across his skin.
He tried to pull away, but she was quick and completely unrestrained.
Her movements were erratic, yet full of energy, as if every cell in her body were overflowing with vitality.
—Thank you for this, boss! UHHHHHHHH! THIS IS AMAZING! she shouted again, hugging Marcel as though he were responsible for her entire euphoria.
Meanwhile, I watched with a subtle but satisfied smile.
Marcel, on the other hand, remained still, observing every detail.
Behind his serious expression, I could see the gears in his mind turning.
When the woman finally stopped jumping, she collapsed into a chair in the corner, still panting and giggling softly, as though even the act of breathing brought her joy.
Marcel brought the cigar back to his lips, took a long drag, and his eyes—which had been fixed on the woman—now locked directly onto mine.
He understood.
Before his eyes, I had just proven that my product was revolutionary.
Not only did it have an effect on acolytes, but it also transformed mundane, cheap ingredients into something of immense value—something that could be traded for magical crystals.
And Marcel knew that if he didn’t control it, someone else would.
Despite the tension, he kept his face neutral.
His fingers, however, tapped lightly against the table—a sign that he was thinking fast.
At last, he gave a broad yet restrained smile and pointed to the chair in front of his desk.
—Sit.
I nodded confidently and sat down with the posture of a nobleman.
I placed the container holding the remaining powder on the table and folded my hands together.
—The price is five magical crystals per portion.
—This container here holds enough for fourteen portions. What do you say?
It wasn’t just the substance itself—it was the disruption it could bring to the tower’s drug market.
—Five crystals per portion... he repeated thoughtfully. —You’re bold, boy. That’s expensive for something non-magical. Mundane products that reach the tower are usually cheaper, even the rare ones. But...
I maintained my confident posture as I faced Marcel.
It was clear he was testing my resolve, but that only pushed me further.
—Marcel, let’s be realistic, I began, my voice steady. —What you just witnessed isn’t an ordinary product. This powder you saw turn a Level 2 acolyte into an explosion of energy and pleasure isn’t just good—it’s unique.
—It’s something that will make your clients beg for more. This is premium quality, something no one else in the tower has. Imagine the impact that could have on the tower’s leisure market.
Marcel took a long drag from his cigar, exhaling slowly as he studied me with a calculating gaze.
—Premium quality, huh? I won’t deny the effect was impressive. But let’s talk numbers. A magical recovery potion costs around five magical crystals and has a clear, practical purpose. Your product here... is pleasure. Nothing more.
He gave a faint, cynical smile.
—And let me add something else. I’d have to resell this for six magical crystals to make any profit.
—You know what that means?
—I’d be charging more than a magical potion.
—So tell me, who do you think people would rather buy from? A proven magical product—or your... mundane novelty?
I chuckled softly, leaning slightly forward.
—Marcel, you’re comparing apples to oranges. A recovery potion is practical, sure—but it’s bought by acolytes who venture outside the tower, completing missions to earn magical crystals. Those who haven’t given up on the magical path.
—What I’m offering isn’t for the smart and driven acolytes. My product is for those who want to forget the real world and wander in a realm of illusion. It’s an experience. It’s the sensation of touching the sky, of forgetting everything, of feeling invincible—even if only for a moment.
I lifted the container, turning it in my hand so the light reflected off the shimmering powder.
—And you saw with your own eyes—the effect is immediate and intense. Your clients won’t just want this; they’ll need it. And when they realize you’re the only one who can supply it... well, Marcel, you’ll be swimming in magical crystals.
He shook his head, releasing another cloud of smoke.
—You make a good argument, boy, but I won’t be swayed so easily. I can’t risk losing my clients by charging an outrageous price. Three magical crystals per portion. That’s the highest I can go. I can still sell it for four or five, and everyone profits. Including you.
I frowned, trying to maintain a façade of dissatisfaction.
—Three crystals? Marcel, that’s far below this product’s real value. You saw the effect—you know it’s worth more. That price barely covers production costs!
Marcel gave a cold smile, pointing his cigar at me.
—Boy, you don’t fool me. I know you used mundane ingredients to create this. Producing this amount probably cost you five—maybe ten magical crystals at most.
—Three magical crystals per portion is a great deal for you. If you think you can sell it on your own, go ahead. But if you want my network, my reach, and my protection... three is the number.
I remained silent for a few seconds, pretending to consider his words.
He was partially right—selling directly would be risky and time-consuming, and he was offering something I needed: quick access to the tower’s addicted acolyte market.
But I couldn’t let him see how much I needed this deal.
I took a deep breath, then gave a slight smile.
—Fine, Marcel. Three crystals per portion. But let’s make one thing clear—this is only the beginning. As demand grows—and it will—we renegotiate the terms. And there’s something else. You know Charlotte?
Marcel frowned slightly.
—Miguel’s apprentice? The engineer?
I nodded in confirmation and said,
—Exactly! I want her for myself. You’ll find a way to drug her. Whether it’s having your friends put some narcotic in her drink or something worse. But I want her unconscious. I want to rape her and contaminate her with my dirty sperm.
I gave him a strange smile.
Marcel didn’t react—he had lived long enough to see and hear all kinds of strange things.
He simply stubbed out his cigar in the ashtray, apparently satisfied.
—You’re clever, boy. And you have vision. Let’s see if your powder becomes as successful as you claim.
I extended my hand, and he shook it firmly.
A deal had been made.
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