At the dinner table, Priest Greville had rehearsed in his mind a whole strategy on how to engage in friendly conversation with His Highness Ron:
How to steer the conversation from small talk to the topic of Scalevine.
How to subtly probe for the actual production volume of Scalevine.
How to handle any disagreements that might arise during negotiations.
What tone to use to reflect the Elven race's goodwill...
…
On the way here, Greville had mentally prepared an entire list of goals, anticipated issues, and ways to resolve them.
But once the hotpot was served, all of that went straight out the window.
Ahhh~
Greville let out a satisfied sigh as he leaned back in his chair, sipping on a glass of sour plum juice.
He wiped the sweat from his forehead with a napkin as his brain slowly came back online, finally realizing how ungraceful he had just been.
It was just that… this hotpot was too good!
So good that he literally couldn't stop eating.
The moment he opened his mouth, it wasn't to speak—it was to shove food in. When he did make noise, it was either chewing or muffled groans of satisfaction with a stuffed mouth.
A 388-year-old elf of such seniority and standing… completely lost face.
Every single goal he had set out in his mind before arriving? Not a single one was accomplished.
He'd spent the whole dinner just eating…
No wonder Edith kept finding excuses to visit this place. Turns out the food was that good.
Once you'd eaten here, how could ordinary food ever compare?
Greville smacked his lips, his stomach full but his heart still not entirely satisfied.
Human cuisine… truly corrupts the soul…
He shook his head, trying to snap himself out of it. He couldn't fall into this trap of indulgence. He was here carrying out a mission for Her Majesty the Queen herself!
After the meal, Nora and Yuna began cleaning up.
Ron invited Greville to his study for more detailed discussions.
Edith, acting as the bridge between the two sides, followed them in.
And Sylvie, needing to ensure Ron's safety, naturally accompanied them as well.
Inside the study, the two parties began formal negotiations over matters related to Scalevine. After a friendly and productive discussion, they finally reached a mutually satisfactory agreement and signed a formal contract.
Though the contract had many clauses, there were really three key points:
The elves would place long-term standing orders for Nether Orchid and Crimson-Gold Chrysanthemum.
Most importantly: regarding Scalevine—
In short, Ron was to guarantee a monthly supply of at least 3,000 Scalevines to the Elves.
In return, the elves would prepay 50% of the cost every month to secure priority supply rights from the flower shop.
The negotiations went smoothly for two main reasons: first, the elves' expectations weren't particularly high to begin with. Second, their core concerns weren't the same as Ron's.
From Ron's perspective, the most annoying thing about his flower shop was that plant prices were completely fixed.
No matter how large the order, not even a single Two Coin discount was possible.
In the past, this hadn't mattered—bulk orders typically meant only a few hundred plants. Considering how rare and powerful these plants were, buyers could accept the lack of a volume discount.
But this time was different.
This time, the flower shop wasn't dealing with some wealthy merchant or noble.
Nor with a faction like the Radiant Mercenary Corps or Chaos City Magic Academy.
They were dealing with an entire race—the Elves.
Ron, as a powerless mixed-blood seventh prince of the human empire—even if he was a Chosen of the Goddess of Harvest—would never have been able to negotiate personally with the elves if not for the fact that he alone possessed a plant as uniquely suited to them as the Scalevine.
So when Edith requested this meeting days ago, Ron had already been feeling anxious.
What if the elves requested a huge volume of Scalevines? How could he discourage them from pressing for a bulk discount?
But to his surprise, the elves never even brought up the subject of discounts. On the contrary, they were laser-focused on getting as many Scalevines as possible.
Only after the contract was signed and Greville and Edith had left the shop did Ron start to piece it together:
The elves didn't care about discounts at all. What they wanted was quantity—and priority.
If Ron hadn't deliberately capped the available monthly supply, the elves might've easily taken ten thousand Scalevines in a single month without flinching.
To outsiders, this negotiation might've looked downright bizarre:
The buyer was desperate to purchase more,
while the seller kept trying to limit sales.
For the elves, the earlier they obtained and began cultivating Scalevine, the greater the advantage.
Money? Just a tool to convert into racial strength. As long as it was spent effectively, no one minded the cost.
But for Ron, his only concern was completing his mainline quest objectives.
Selling a few extra plants to earn more Wealth Points wasn't very meaningful to him right now.
Especially since, unlike when he first arrived in this world, Wealth Points were no longer in such short supply.
Nowadays, he mainly uses them to expand his cultivation space or deal with emergencies. But he wasn't overly reliant on them anymore.
Besides, the biggest strength of his system wasn't just wealth—it was the ability to continually unlock magical plants through quests.
Of course, Ron wasn't going to reject Wealth Points. But he also wasn't about to start offering tens of thousands of plants at once.
Once that kind of volume became public knowledge, people might start to undervalue the shop's plants.
And that was a situation Ron needed to guard against in advance.
After sending off the guests, Ron returned to his study.
Sylvie watched him walk in, then glanced toward the tabletop room next door and sighed quietly.
Looks like… there'll be no War of the Gods tonight…
Disappointed, she returned to the tavern, planning to wash up and head to bed early—only to be dragged to the bar by Yuna for a round of "demonic trials."
By the time she finally made it back to her room late at night, Sylvie's entire mouth was numb, filled with regret.
Never… let Yuna test new drinks again…!
After Sylvie retreated to safety, Yuna whipped up a few more cocktails, then sneakily made her way toward Nora, tray in hand and a devious grin on her face.
In the study, Ron stretched and had the Conscious Vine tidy up the desk. He was just about to turn in when—
Thump thump thump, two sets of footsteps came stomping down the hallway.
"Nora, don't run~ Just try one more!"
"No, Yuna, please—I really can't take another drink…"
"I swear this one's delicious. Look—I'll take a sip."
"No thanks… I think maybe our taste buds are just built differently…"
"Just a sip~ Come on~"
"Mmmph… mm…"
Ron's eye twitched. He took a single step toward the door—then immediately stepped back.
Nora… on this one, I truly can't help you…
…Except he didn't get off the hook.
Because Nora burst into the study, eyes misty and panting, mouth still stained with what looked like milk, and pleaded:
"Boss… I can't take it anymore…"
Ron fell silent, staring at her dazedly.
From around the corner came Yuna's amused giggle. A small hand crept over Nora's shoulder.
"Oh? Your Highness Ron's here too~."