Chapter 26: The Glassworks Progress Report

A week had passed since the glass production project began its trial phase. At first, the lenses came out slightly warped — a frustrating flaw that made me question whether we could truly master this craft. But after adjusting the diagrams and the way we visualized the process, everything changed. Now, we were finally able to produce lenses that were crystal clear and perfectly shaped, without a trace of distortion.

I had initially drawn a single diagram of the finished lens, thinking it would be enough to guide the craftsmen. But it wasn’t. The more complex the lens, the more likely it was to twist or warp. So I changed my approach — instead of showing only the final shape, I drew a series of step-by-step diagrams that showed the lens gradually taking form.

First, the molten glass was flattened into a smooth, even plate. Next, the center was carefully thinned while leaving the outer edge thicker. Finally, the entire surface was curved to create that familiar eyeglass contour.

The process took longer — each step demanded focus and patience — but the results spoke for themselves. The lenses came out beautiful, precise, and flawless.

It had been surprisingly difficult to imagine the finished product right from the start. Perhaps that was the biggest hurdle — seeing something that didn’t yet exist.

And so, after seven long days of trial and refinement, we had finally succeeded in making proper eyeglass lenses.

— [Meluestat, Baron Merlot’s Manor – Underground Conference Room] —

Today was the day of the official report meeting, held just before the project’s full-scale launch.

In addition to the four of us directly involved, several key figures from the baron’s household attended: Tounis-san and Tobias-san, accompanied by their aide, Sebience-san; the workshop’s operations manager, Eldrus-san; and finally, Corbus-san representing the craftsmen.

Eldrus, ever meticulous and composed, took his place at the head of the table to lead the proceedings.

“Now then, I will begin by reporting the results of the workshop’s trial operation.”

He started with the fundamentals — expenditures for silica sand and furnace fuel, the total glass output, and estimated profit margins.

The summary was impressive. Each 300-gram ingot of glass was planned to sell for six silver coins. After deducting two coins for expenses, four silver coins in profit remained per unit.

At maximum capacity, the workshop could produce up to eighteen ingots a day — bringing in about seven gold coins and two silver coins daily. After accounting for wages and minor costs, the projected net profit was roughly five gold coins a day.

That meant the monthly profit could reach fifteen platinum coins — far exceeding the initial expectations.

“It seems the profits are higher than what was initially reported,” Tounis-sama remarked, stroking his beard with mild surprise.

“When I first explained the plan to His Excellency,” Eldrus replied calmly, “I estimated five platinum coins per month for each alchemist involved. So up to ten would have been within expectations. The additional five simply come from not having accounted for rest days. If we consider twenty-six working days per month, the figure adjusts to about twelve platinum coins — a bit above the forecast, but still within a reasonable margin.”

During the trial week, everyone had worked without rest. It made sense that the numbers came out slightly higher than they would under normal conditions.

“Even so,” Tounis said with a rare smile, “the initial investment was lower than we expected, and the results are better than projected. That’s cause for celebration.”

He looked genuinely pleased as he flipped through the profit sheets, his eyes gleaming like polished glass themselves.

I felt a quiet sense of relief. We had budgeted generously, especially for labor — counting both the alchemists and the glassworkers — so the extra profit was a happy accident.

Next, Eldrus moved on to the topic of accommodations. “At present, we have eight people, myself included. However, our lodging only has six rooms. To make do, the glassworkers are currently sharing rooms. It’s manageable for now, but I understand that permanent guards will soon be stationed here. I’d like to discuss how we’ll allocate rooms once that happens.”

Each room was a small, single-unit space — roughly six tatami mats in size — but still comfortable enough for two people to share. Currently, Eldrus, Corbus, and the two alchemists each had their own room. If guards were added, space would definitely become an issue.

“I see. We had planned for four guards, but perhaps the quarters will be tight,” Tounis murmured thoughtfully.

Tobias spoke up from across the table, “Father, why not have them use the forge workshop’s dormitory next door?”

“Ah, that’s right,” Tounis said, nodding as his eyes lit with recognition. “The forge also has identical lodging. Eldrus, have the guards stay there. Will that suffice?”

“That will do nicely,” Eldrus replied.

It was a practical solution. There was only a single wall separating the glass and forge workshops, so having people stationed there would improve safety as well.

“Next,” Eldrus continued, “I’ll report on the glass sales presentation we held at the merchant hall.”

Now that glass ingot production had stabilized, Tobias had organized a demonstration for local merchants and craftsmen to introduce the new product. He had explained that transparent glass would be sold in 300-gram ingots for six silver coins each. However, given current production limits, supply was still short of demand.

During the presentation, some merchants argued that the glass workshop should disclose its production methods and allow others to manufacture it themselves. Tobias had countered that such knowledge had a price — and if they wanted the secrets, they should pay accordingly.

Their response? They offered to buy the method outright — for three hundred platinum coins.

When Tobias recounted this with a laugh, even my mother blinked in surprise.

“They said three hundred?” she asked incredulously.

Tobias chuckled. “Yes. I nearly laughed on the spot. I told them that buying our formula for that price would be like trying to purchase a mansion with copper coins.”

Apparently, the merchants tried to justify it, claiming that since each ingot only sold for six silver coins, the offer was “reasonable.” It was an obvious attempt to lowball him — or perhaps they truly didn’t understand the potential value. Either way, Tobias had simply told them, “If that’s what you think, you don’t need to buy it.”

It wasn’t the same merchant house we usually dealt with — this one was based in another lord’s territory. Even so, I doubted a serious materials merchant would make such a foolish offer.

“Apologies,” Eldrus interjected politely, “but let’s return to the agenda.”

“Ah, right. My apologies,” Tounis said with a sheepish grin.

Eldrus cleared his throat and continued, regaining the formal tone of the meeting. “Since production is limited, we’ve decided to hold glass sales only once per week, distributing fairly among buyers. The glass workshop itself will purchase through the merchant guild, just like any other buyer. This isn’t retaliation for their demands, but to maintain fairness.”

He glanced around the room before adding, “Lastly, regarding eyeglasses — sales are still pending. We’re not ready yet.”

The lenses were complete, but we still needed to produce multiple versions with varying degrees of correction. That would take time. For now, the goldsmiths were crafting test frames based on the prototype lenses we had made during training.

Tobias then asked, “And what about other lens products? Are we allowed to produce those?”

“You may produce whatever you’re capable of,” Eldrus replied.

I had already given Tobias illustrated explanations of simple magnifying glasses using convex lenses, and monoculars combining convex and concave lenses. More complex optical tools — like telescopes that used prisms — I had only a vague understanding of, so I hadn’t taught those yet.

“Then we’ll start with magnifiers,” Tobias decided.

“Yes,” I added, “but be careful when selling monoculars. They have potential military applications.”

“Understood,” he replied with a nod.

A monocular might be useful to soldiers — but dangerous in the hands of bandits or enemy spies. It would need to be handled carefully.

“That concludes my report,” Eldrus said at last. “Are there any questions?”

There was one matter I couldn’t ignore.

“Tobias-sama,” I asked, “what happened with the children from the orphanage you mentioned? The ones who wanted to study alchemy?”

He tilted his head slightly, smiling. “Oh? Curious, are you?”

“A little,” I admitted. “I want to become an alchemist myself someday.”

That wasn’t entirely a lie — but in truth, I think I just wanted to ease the lingering guilt that still gnawed at me.

Tobias’s expression softened. “Ah, yes. Out of all the orphans, three showed both potential and interest. We decided to teach them the basics — magical training and general studies — under the condition that, even if they can’t become alchemists, they’ll work for the barony in the future.”

“I see… I’m glad to hear that,” I said quietly.

Whether that was truly good for them, only they could decide. I just hoped that whatever path they took, they wouldn’t live with regret.

“Any further questions?” Eldrus asked, scanning the room. No one else spoke — until my mother raised her hand and stood gracefully.

“Our role here is complete,” she said, turning toward Tounis-sama. “So, we will soon be returning to our village.”

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