Kays Translations

Chapter 19: The Glass Workshop, Lien

“So, what shall we do now?”

That was the quiet question that broke the momentary silence.

Originally, the plan had been to visit the Opsidio Trading Company first and then head straight to the glass workshop. But even after leaving the company, the faint but unmistakable sense of being followed lingered behind us. So instead of proceeding as planned, we wandered idly through the streets, pretending to window-shop while subtly checking our tail’s persistence.

After some time, it became clear they had no intention of giving up. Seeing that, the escort turned to me, seeking a decision—should we proceed to the workshop despite being watched, or retreat to the Baron’s mansion for safety?

“I can tell from just a glance at these glasses that they’re made of glass,” I said, my tone calm but firm. “There’s no point in hiding the location of a glass workshop.”

“Then, to the glass workshop it is?”

“Yes, please lead the way.”

“Understood. Leave it to me.”

—[Meluestat Glass Workshop – Lien]—

The glass workshop stood near the outer wall of town, clustered together with other artisans’ shops. It had once been a temporary facility built during the town’s expansion, but when construction was complete, it was shut down and later purchased by the Baron’s family, who owned the land.

“…The Lien Glass Workshop, is it?” I murmured.

To its left stood a shared warehouse, used by nearby craftsmen to store their materials. To the right was a smithy, long abandoned—its forge cold and silent.

“There aren’t many people around,” I noted.

“Well, that’s to be expected,” my escort replied with a shrug. “This area’s mostly for workshops, not homes.”

“So there are no residents at all?”

“Not none, exactly,” he said with a wry grin. “But few live near the forges. Too risky, what with fires and all that. And the smithies are noisy, too—no one wants to live next to all that hammering.”

Indeed, it made sense. In any town, people avoided living too close to workshops that used furnaces—glassmakers, blacksmiths, smelters. Fire was always a danger, and the ceaseless noise deterred anyone seeking peace.

“Then… what about that?”

I pointed toward the shadow beside the smithy. Two small figures peered out from behind a wall—children, wide-eyed and wary, watching us. They looked curious but made no move to approach.

“…Al,” someone beside me said quietly.

“Ah. Those kids? They’re from the orphanage.”

The words carried a subtle heaviness.

This district, cheap and largely deserted, was perfect for an orphanage—affordable land, unused buildings. The two children watching us were thin, their clothes ragged and patched over and over.

“The Baron does provide aid,” my companion added, scratching his cheek awkwardly. “But since the orphanage’s tax-exempt, increasing its funding tends to stir up resentment among the townsfolk.”

Ordinary citizens paid a poll tax starting from the age of five. Of course, demanding that orphans pay was absurd—they had nothing. Thus, orphanages were exempt, their residents sheltered from the tax.

By the age of ten, the children were expected to take on simple jobs, saving what little they could. At thirteen, they would leave to fend for themselves.

“The future of an orphan,” the man said bitterly, “is usually one of three things—adventurer, prostitute, or street thug.”

His words struck me harder than I expected.

If Mother had accepted that marriage proposal years ago, I would have ended up in an orphanage too. The children hiding in the shadows could easily have been me—the version of me that was abandoned.

The thought made guilt well up in my chest. It wasn’t rational—I knew neither I nor Mother had done anything wrong. But I couldn’t shake the feeling that I had survived by chance, that only I had been spared.

Still… I would remember this feeling. I needed to.

“Diederick-san, please make sure no one approaches the area,” Mother instructed quietly.

“Understood,” he replied with a respectful nod before stepping outside to stand guard, ensuring our followers couldn’t get close.

The workshop itself had a simple structure: a storefront in the front, a warehouse and working space behind it, and, at the very back, a small dormitory for the workers.

“Rugena, please inspect the furnace.”

“Yes, Martine-sama!” the girl replied cheerfully.

“Fana, Al—let me know if anything seems off.”

“Got it.”

“Understood.”

We began our inspection, moving through each section in order: shop, warehouse, workshop, dormitory.

The storefront contained a counter and several empty display shelves where glassware would have once sparkled under the light. Beside the counter stood a double door leading to the warehouse, where rows of sturdy shelving resembled those of a library.

The workshop housed two furnaces: one for melting raw glass, the other for keeping it at a workable temperature. Rugena moved carefully between them, tapping lightly on the furnace walls with a small hammer, listening for irregularities in the sound—a craftsman’s practiced inspection.

The dormitory, the final area, was two stories tall, holding six single-room quarters.

Everything was surprisingly well kept. Though unused for years, the Baron’s household had maintained regular biannual cleanings and inspections. Most of the furniture had been removed, meaning we’d need to refurnish—but otherwise, the place could be reopened immediately.

“Mother, are you planning to use this shop?” I asked.

“The building is solid,” she said with a thoughtful smile. “And at first, we’ll only be selling raw glass as material. This should be more than sufficient.”

Indeed, it was both a glass workshop and a glass shop. However, we couldn’t allow outsiders to wander freely—our transparent glass and lens-making techniques were confidential.

Those who came to buy glass—trading companies and other workshops—might also come to steal secrets.

“I think only authorized personnel should be allowed inside,” I suggested.

She nodded slowly. “You mean to prevent information leaks?”

“Yes. Even though we’ll use restriction magic to prevent workers from revealing secrets, it only forbids them from intentionally speaking about our techniques. If someone overhears while they’re explaining something to another craftsman, information could still leak out.”

I explained further that even among authorized staff, only glassmakers and alchemists should have access to technical data. Everyone else—merchants, clerks, helpers—should remain uninformed.

“Wouldn’t that be inconvenient?”

“I don’t think so,” I said. “As long as the alchemists and glassworkers know the process, that’s enough. The sellers only need to understand the product, not the method.”

The key was to keep outsiders from coming and going freely.

“In that case,” I added, “we should make the workshop a production site only. The sales should happen elsewhere.”

Mother considered it for a moment before nodding. “Understood. That decision isn’t solely ours, but I’ll propose it.”

“And the building structure needs renovation, too.”

I pointed out the flaws.

The workshop sat between the warehouse and dormitory, but one section of the outer wall had been removed, allowing easy entry from the outside. Worse, to move between the dormitory and the warehouse, one had to pass directly through the workshop—completely exposing our work process.

At this rate, confidentiality would be impossible.

My proposal was simple:

• Seal off the workshop completely with solid walls.
  
• Create an interior passage connecting the warehouse and dormitory, separated from the workshop itself.
  
• Restrict entry so that one could only enter the workshop through the warehouse.
  
• Since the enclosed space would trap heat, install magical ventilation devices.
  

Additionally, I requested soundproofing—no conversation within should ever leak outside.

They mentioned a sound barrier device, but its range was limited to five meters, and its fuel consumption was too high for constant use.

That gave me an idea. If the core material’s vibration-absorbing property could also absorb sound waves, perhaps layering core sheets along the walls could create a passive form of soundproofing. I suggested testing it.

“Arthur-sama, the furnaces are in good condition,” Rugena reported after her inspection.

“Good work,” I replied.

The glass and heating furnaces needed only cleaning and a fresh coat of heat-resistant sealant. We’d place an order for the protective agent soon.

While a construction workshop would handle the renovations, Rugena would personally maintain the furnaces. The alchemy workspace required little—just a workbench and a few organized shelves for tools—so we’d set that up after the remodeling.

With that, our plan for the workshop’s renovation was complete.

All that remained was to draft the blueprints and submit the remodeling proposal. Once approved, the transformation of the Lien Glass Workshop would begin.

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