Kays Translations

Chapter 51: A Reversal of Fortune?

As far as I can remember, there was never a time when Mother read any books about the method of manufacturing glass. Then again, before I could understand the language properly, I couldn’t grasp the contents of the books she did read to me. So, perhaps it isn’t impossible—maybe she did read such a book once, and I simply didn’t understand it back then.

Either way, the situation looks… pretty grim for me.

But now, at least, I finally understand why the Viscount demanded that I “speak about the secrets of glass.” He wanted to compare our respective knowledge—our techniques—to judge whose information was genuine.

It made sense, in a cold, logical way. But even if it made sense, I couldn’t just hand over information like that. Once something like this leaves your lips, you can never take it back.

Besides, the Viscount wasn’t accusing my mother of selling the knowledge of glass. No—his accusation was far more insidious. He claimed that her crime was “remaining silent despite knowing it would bring her gain.”

In this world, the prevailing sentiment is that if your techniques are stolen or imitated, it’s your fault for being careless. Because of that, merely selling or losing information isn’t punishable. However, if that loss was the result of betrayal—if trust was broken—then the crime changes its nature entirely. It becomes treachery, a sin against one’s benefactor.

And conveniently, the right to charge someone with treachery is a noble’s privilege. Commoners, or anyone without a title, cannot invoke that law at all. It’s one of those elegantly cruel examples of how laws in this society are crafted—to always favor those above.

But setting that aside for now, what I need is proof—proof that my mother didn’t know how to make glass during her time at the Viscount’s estate.

One way to do that, as the Viscount himself mentioned, would be to compare the technical information. But that’s impossible. I can’t reveal my own knowledge. And even if I were to look at their methods and simply say, “This is different from what I was taught,” who would believe me?

So, I tried another approach.

“Viscount-sama, you mentioned a book concerning the manufacture of transparent glass. Would it be possible for me to see it?”

The Viscount raised an eyebrow, his lips curling faintly.

“You would ask me to show you something, when you refuse to show anything yourself?”

As expected. I’d have said the same thing if I were in his position. Still, if I could just see the contents, it would expand my hand of cards—give me something to work with.

So I pressed on.

“But if you believe my mother sold this knowledge, then there should be no problem showing it to me—since I would already know it, wouldn’t I?”

“And you expect me to take your judgment as truth? To trust you in this matter?”

“Not at all,” I replied, keeping my tone even. “You don’t have to trust me. I just thought it would be faster to prove my mother’s innocence if I could read it.”

If the Viscount truly believed the glassmaking secrets had already been stolen, there was no point in hiding them anymore. But if, on the other hand, he feared revealing them might risk the leak of his own family’s techniques… then perhaps he was trying to lure me into exposing what I knew first.

After a moment’s contemplation, the Viscount turned toward his son.

“Ditnell. Bring the manuscript.”

That surprised me.

“Are you sure, Viscount-sama?”

“There’s no point in glaring at each other forever,” he said. “But I will only show you a copy of the relevant passages—those concerning glass alone.”

“A copy?” I asked, curious. “Does that mean the book contains other forms of technology as well?”

“Indeed. Which is precisely why I cannot show it in full.”

That concession caught me off guard. I hadn’t expected the Viscount to bend even that much. I couldn’t tell what his real motive was—but I couldn’t deny that my curiosity about that mysterious book had grown.

A few minutes later, Ditnell returned, carrying three sheets of paper.

“Father, please confirm.”

“Mm.”

Viscount Bosman skimmed through the pages first, ensuring nothing sensitive remained. Then, he handed them to me.

I read through the content—and quickly found myself frowning.

“Um… you said this was the part concerning glassmaking, but… isn’t this a bit incomplete as technical information?”

The Viscount gave a small, knowing smile.

“So you do understand. You’re right. What you see here isn’t purely about glassmaking—it’s a broader technology with several applications. The core principles are recorded elsewhere.”

Ah. So that’s why he’d shown it to me so easily. He didn’t truly believe I understood the subject well enough to extract anything useful. And this manuscript wasn’t a guide to manufacturing glass—it was a technical compendium of various methods, with glass being merely one of its applications.

But if that was the case… and the technique still wasn’t in practical use… that could only mean one thing: the method was incomplete.

“Viscount,” I asked carefully, “were you able to reproduce this technique yourself?”

He hesitated.

“…We’re still in the experimental stage.”

So, they hadn’t succeeded after all. And yet, he really believed my mother had perfected it?

“Viscount-sama,” I began quietly, “believe me or not, but this technology is completely different from what was given to Baron Merlot.”

“And how will you prove that?”

“I can’t prove it directly,” I admitted. “But even just from this text, I can tell this method can’t be executed in a workshop of ordinary size.”

To summarize the document: “Crush silica sand into fine powder, dissolve only the glass components using a specialized solvent, separate impurities, neutralize the solution, and then induce re-crystallization using a catalyst.”

The concept reminded me of a salt purification method in this world—where people dissolve salt mixed with sand in water, then use only the clean brine. The idea of dissolving to separate was the same. Except, of course, glass doesn’t dissolve in water. So they had devised a unique solvent for it.

I didn’t know what that solvent was made of—or how potent it was—but the quantity was the real issue. According to the document, 10 grams of silica required 300 milliliters of solvent and another 300 milliliters of neutralizer.

That meant 600 milliliters of liquid for only 10 grams of glass.

To make just one 300-gram ingot, you’d need 18 liters of these chemicals. And for ten ingots—180 liters, roughly the volume of an entire bath.

That might sound manageable, but preparing and handling that much corrosive liquid safely would demand a vast workspace, proper containment, and ventilation. And then there were the fumes, toxic gases, and disposal issues. The pollution alone could poison the surrounding land.

“Even if the method itself is sound,” I explained, “an ordinary workshop would never have enough space for it. And the environmental risk—if anything went wrong, it would be disastrous.”

When I finished, I noticed the Viscount and his steward staring at me, wide-eyed.
Even Ditnell, standing behind them, looked utterly stunned.

…Had I gone too far? No—at this point, I had no choice but to push through.

“So,” I pressed, “you truly believe my mother could have done this?”

“…Is it really different?” the Viscount murmured.

“Yes, entirely. Though I can’t be certain about the solvent and neutralizer, their preparation alone must take incredible effort.”

“…You’re right,” he admitted reluctantly. “It’s not complete yet.”

So that’s what he meant earlier by “still experimenting.” They hadn’t even finished creating the solvent or neutralizer.

“And one more thing,” I added. “Even if you did make transparent glass this way—could you really sell 300 grams for six silver coins and make a profit?”

Producing those chemicals, waiting two hours for separation, neutralizing, inducing crystallization for another day… All that time and effort—for six coins? It would be a loss.

“…I assumed Martine had solved that problem,” the Viscount muttered.

“Father,” Ditnell interrupted sharply, “you can’t take that as truth. You’re relying on a child’s word. Surely, if the method has flaws, my sister must have overcome them. That’s why it succeeded!”

The Viscount seemed to waver, but Ditnell’s stubbornness only grew.

“If no one has ever solved those issues,” I said, “why hasn’t this book’s technology been put into practice anywhere?”

“Because my sister solved them!” Ditnell snapped.

“How exactly?” I shot back. “My mother wasn’t a scholar—she was an ordinary woman. Are you saying she accomplished what trained craftsmen couldn’t? That everyone else who failed was simply incompetent?”

Ditnell glared daggers at me, face flushed with anger, but I didn’t back down.

“Besides,” I said coldly, “you know better than anyone how little freedom Mother had while she lived under this roof.”

The words hit him like a slap. His mouth twisted, but no reply came.
He knew what I meant. He’d been one of those who mocked her during her weakest days.

“So,” the Viscount asked slowly, “you truly insist it’s different?”

“Yes,” I said firmly. “I can’t tell you everything, but what my mother shared with Baron Merlot involved using a glass furnace. Nothing as convoluted as this.”

That explanation, simple as it was, seemed enough for him. The idea of using a furnace was common knowledge—but to the Viscount, locked in his rigid assumptions, it must have sounded decisive.

“One last question,” he said after a long pause. “Could you complete this technique?”

“Hard to say,” I replied honestly. “You haven’t shown me the full data.”

Not that I wanted to. Judging from the words solvent and neutralizer, the whole thing reeked of toxic alchemy—and I’d rather not touch it.

“So then,” I asked, “does this settle it?”

The Viscount folded his arms, eyes closed in thought. Ditnell, meanwhile, still glared as if trying to burn holes through me.

At last, the Viscount opened his eyes.

“Very well,” he declared. “I will withdraw the accusation of treachery against Martine.”

“…Thank you,” I breathed, shoulders sagging with relief.

“Father—!” Ditnell shouted in disbelief.

It was over. Mother would not be punished. At least, not for this.

But then, the Viscount’s voice hardened once more.

“However… Martine will be reinstated under the Viscount family’s jurisdiction.”

Ah. Of course. So that’s where this was heading after all.

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