TL: Etude
Feces? Urine?
The assembled alchemists were stunned!
Wells was the first to stand up, unable to contain himself. “Count Grayman, if I may speak frankly, how can you associate the noble art of alchemy with such filth?”
Moreover, this was being discussed during a meal.
“Filthy?” Paul realized he had misspoken, “I apologize, I shouldn’t have brought it up in this setting.”
But this was not just a matter of appropriateness. The alchemists were extremely uncomfortable. They viewed their profession as dignified, and if the Count were to have them study excrement, what would distinguish them from sewage workers? In this era, there was no concept of all labor being equally honorable.
It seemed like the Count was outright insulting them.
“Cough!” Hoffman, an older member, cleared his throat and cautiously asked, “Lord Grayman, are you sure you are not joking? Such matters are only handled by the lowest of slaves. We are… we are…”
Wells completed his sentence, “We are alchemists,” his voice filled with palpable conflict.Paul stroked his chin, “Alright, I understand. Let’s continue our meal.”
Everyone thought the matter was settled and resumed eating.
Suddenly, the Count said, “I just remembered, our finances are a bit tight recently. The establishment of a chemistry laboratory might need to be discussed with the Administration Council.”
What? The almost certain opportunity seemed to be slipping away, and the alchemists became anxious.
Clearly, the Count was threatening them: either reject his research proposal and return to the monotonous work of a technical director in the factories, following the same routines every day, or accept his project and enjoy ample funding to explore the limitless possibilities in the field of alchemy.
The alchemists whispered amongst themselves, debating their choices, while Count Grayman enjoyed his lunch, looking quite pleased.
Finally, after a series of hushed conversations and exchanged glances, most of the alchemists reached a consensus: to sacrifice their immediate dignity for a better future.
After all, the pioneers of their industry had tried everything in their quest for gold.
It was Hoffman who spoke on behalf of the group, “Lord Count, rushing to aid our employer is our primary duty. After careful consideration, we agree that we should first address the ‘challenge’ you mentioned. Of course, this is under the condition that we have a suitable laboratory environment.”
“You’re giving up your principles so quickly?” Wells, indignant, tried to stand and speak, but was forcefully kept seated by his colleagues’ angry glances.
“Well, since your enthusiasm for work is so high,” Paul said with a satisfied smile, “I will ensure the Administration Council gives priority to supporting the construction of the chemistry lab. Please make detailed plans after returning, listing everything needed, and then we can discuss further.”
“Your wisdom is unparalleled, Lord Count!” Hoffman bowed to Paul.
“However, regarding your proposal, is it really feasible to collect nitrates on a large scale using those… those waste materials?”
They only knew that nitrates could be scraped from toilets, and if the Count didn’t mind the filth, couldn’t he just scrape it directly from there?
Paul replied, “You are aware of microorganisms, aren’t you?”
The crowd responded, “Yes.”
Knowledge about microorganisms was the first thing taught to newcomers in Lakeheart Town, and the alchemists were no exception. They had even used microscopes—a great invention of the Count—to observe things invisible to the naked eye.
Also, due to this knowledge, people who came to Lakeheart Town developed the habit of drinking boiled water. High temperatures could kill those invisible microorganisms, which were often the cause of stomach ailments.
Paul continued, “I have a bold hypothesis—certain microorganisms impact the transformation of substances in nature. The presence of nitrates in toilets may be related to some microorganisms that we are yet to identify.”
In another world, this would be an established fact, but in this world, it remained a bold hypothesis. People here were unaware of nitrifying bacteria.
The crowd nodded, though most did not take his words seriously. Why not just claim it’s related to the sun?
“If we can increase the number of microorganisms related to the transformation of nitrates, we can accelerate the production of saltpeter from feces or urine.”
“Since they are alive, factors like sunlight, temperature, and moisture might affect their numbers, whether positively or negatively. That’s something we’ll need to experiment with.”
Ah, so the Count really did think it was related to the sun.
“Lord Grayman, we will follow your instructions and experiment to the best of our abilities.”
What else could the alchemists do? Even though many thought the Count’s theory was absurd, they had to go along with it for the sake of the long-awaited laboratory. After all, if it turned out to be a fruitless endeavor, it was the Count’s money being wasted.
“Good, I will make time to work with you.”
Paul knew he had to be personally involved. Without his guidance, these confused individuals would take ages to develop a nitrate field. He was familiar with the basic principles and methods of nitrate pile construction.
However, many interpreted his words as a warning that the lord would occasionally check if they were being lazy or deceitful, prompting further displays of loyalty from them.
Thus, the lunch at the lord’s mansion ended with everyone harboring their own thoughts.
“These undignified alchemists!”
Wells, leaving the lord’s mansion, entered a tavern named “Dragon’s Inn.” While drinking his sorrows away, he criticized his colleagues’ shameful behavior.
Yet, he too longed for a well-equipped, financially supported laboratory, leaving him in a state of intense inner conflict.
“Hey! Isn’t that Wells?”
A voice with a Crystal Shine accent called out his name from behind.
Turning around, Wells was surprised to encounter a familiar face—Guy Burns, a mechanical engineer.
Their acquaintance was superficial, based on business interactions in Crystal Shine. Previously, Wells had looked down on Burns, who was ostracized and mocked by his peers in the capital, leading a downtrodden life.
But now, Guy Burns appeared entirely different from Wells’ previous impressions. He was well-dressed and exuded an indistinct, official-like demeanor, similar to government officials.
“Burns? You’re in Northwest Bay too? Come, have a seat.”
Out of politeness, Wells invited him to his table and poured him a drink.
Through their conversation, Wells learned that Burns was doing remarkably well in Lakeheart Town—highly valued by the lord and even managing the famous mechanical factory, producing marvels like harvesters and shuttle looms. He was indeed an official, a significant figure in the Lakeheart Town system, enjoying much higher status and treatment than Wells, a mere “technician.”
Wells felt a surge of resentment. Back in Crystal Shine, Burns had fared much worse than him, yet now he had surpassed Wells significantly.
Under Burns’ astonished gaze, Wells downed a full glass of wine in one go.
He was determined to seize the opportunity and reach the pinnacle of his career!
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