The scent of earth after the rain lingered in the air. Zog knew exactly what it was—the fart of actinomycetes. Disgusting and educational.
In front of him, the towering smokestacks of a factory belched out white plumes—not toxic smoke, unfortunately, but good old high-temperature water vapor. So much for an environmental scandal.
Zog pulled out a little notebook labeled "Backup Plans to Destroy That Medicine Dealer."
With a sigh, he scratched out the first item: "Launch a greenwashing elf influencer campaign."
No good.
Yep. The owner of this very factory was none other than Lagu Kuhlman, the culprit behind the bootleg yo-yos. The drow had already dug up his entire life story.
From a certain point of view… it was kind of a rags-to-riches legend.
The guy grew up on the streets, ran with gangs, did grunt work like smuggling and delivery. That's how he met a druid deep in gambling debt—and voilà! Their bogus potion empire was born.
Now, to be fair, the potions weren't exactly harmful. Mostly just… placebo goo.
Lagu expanded fast—smuggling, counterfeit books, black-market gear, you name it. Then came the steam engine revolution. He went all in on pharmaceuticals and struck gold.
Still, the man couldn't resist the charm of small-time shady deals. And now here he was, knocking off yo-yos.
A drow emerged from the shadows.
"We've mapped the whole factory. The target is a Level 5 Ranger. He's hired four guards—two barbarians, one monk, one warlock. The highest among them is Level 9."
"Then what are we waiting for? Let's smash the place!" Aisha said, eyes gleaming like she was about to get free dessert.
"Oh, be my guest," Zog offered sweetly.
"…I mean, I can't smash a factory."
"Exactly. Who's the dragon here, huh? And why are you even following me?"
"To watch Zog burn down a potion factory, of course!" she replied, practically vibrating with glee.
Zog rolled his eyes. This kid must be under too much pressure lately—constantly itching to destroy something.
But violence wasn't on Zog's list. Not this time.
For one, the factory employed a lot of people. Blowing it up would just hurt the little guys. And Soren had helped him recently—it wouldn't look good to start torching things in his city.
More importantly, Zog really liked the look of their tech. The fake yo-yos they made? Functionally identical to the real deal. If he could sabotage the company and buy them out cheap, production could shift here—and free up his goblin workforce for other projects.
Zog turned to the second item on his list: "Create a Massive Scandal."
If he could prove something was wrong with the potions, people wouldn't forgive it with a simple apology.
This factory mostly produced healing potions—about 70% of its output. Which also made them the most in-demand potion.
Another drow emerged, this one a priestess.
"We've got the registered formula from the patent office, plus the lab notes from R&D. I've highlighted the exploitable weak points."
"Good work."
Zog flipped open the formula.
"Huh, it uses taro berries. Those are usually animal feed… Okay, note this down—
'Healing Potions Contain Livestock Ingredients?! Feed vendors caution: Not for human consumption!'"
He pulled up the experiment logs.
"Interesting… they tested hellhound blood during development. Spicy. Write this—
'Shocking! The Origins of Healing Potions Tied to the Infernal Realm?! Are They Truly Safe?!'"
He reviewed the patent documents. Credit where it's due—the patent office had been thorough. Even the drow couldn't find a solid flaw.
But Zog wasn't your average underdark schemer. After combing through the documents several times, he spotted a loophole.
"The 'Adverse Effects' section just says: Unknown at this time." Zog smirked.
"New headline—'Who Will Tell the People the Truth? Healing Potions Have Unknown Side Effects!' Oh, and make sure the patent office isn't named."
Zog was feeling good. If this wasn't textbook clickbait from Earth, what was?
He added, "Find a few underpaid research fellows to slap their names on the article. The more incomprehensible their job titles, the better. Have them write some vague expert-sounding commentary."
This was the true peak of journalistic jiu-jitsu: everything is true, but only the truths you chose to show.
Once these articles hit the streets, the potion-drinking masses wouldn't even know how to argue back. It'd be easier than selling snake oil to senior citizens.
Aisha watched, slack-jawed.
"How… how does it all turn into this just from one little thing? Is the newspaper even trustworthy anymore?"
But Zog wasn't done. Words alone weren't enough. He needed a true spectacle—something explosive.
The perfect distraction to let his articles go viral.
As he brainstormed, a crowd gathered outside the factory.
They wore crude clothing stitched from animal pelts, with deer antlers and canine tooth necklaces. Holding hands, they blocked the gate, chanting in some unknown tongue.
As their voices rose, birds flocked above, forming swirling patterns in the sky.
Creepy, but effective.
"Go find out what those weirdos are doing."
A drow vanished into the shadows and returned minutes later.
"They're druids protesting the production of healing potions. They believe steam-powered machines are a blasphemy against nature and will bring about the wrath of the earth."
Ah. Eco-nuts. Turns out Twinspire City was ahead of its time.
"But out of all the factories here, why this one?" Zog's instincts told him there was more.
"They repeatedly mentioned healing potions. We suspect a conflict of interest. Their totems match the Spore Syndicate—a druid group whose primary income comes from fungal-based healing potions."
"Wait, druids do business now? I thought they were all nature-worshipping ascetics."
"Well, their god reportedly disappeared. So they've integrated into society to gain resources."
Talk the doctrine, walk the profit. Honestly, they should just join his Internet God Cult—more worshippers meant more cash flow.
"What exactly are they saying in their protest?" Zog asked, ideas already forming.
"They claim these factory-made healing potions drain the soul and turn users into the walking dead."
Oh-ho. Now that was usable.
Turning into zombies? That was the big story. Nearly everyone used healing potions. The horror potential was off the charts.
Film that druid protest. Turn it into a spine-chilling PSA. The druids would probably even help with promotion. Easy marketing.
Now, where to set the scene?
Of course! The city had just completed its first railway. Major news, cramped setting—perfect backdrop for a disaster horror movie.
"Find out from Yuno how the camera upgrades are coming. We've got something big to shoot—time to create this world's very first full-length magical movie!"