Reach the Pinnacle of Life

Translator: Cinder Translations

...

Feces? Urine?

The alchemists present were stunned!

Wells was the first to stand up, unable to contain himself. "Earl Grayman, I must say, how can you associate the great art of alchemy with such filthy things?"

And at a dinner party, no less.

"Filthy?" Paul realized he had misspoken a bit, "Sorry, I shouldn't have brought it up in this setting."

This isn't a matter of setting or not! The alchemists were extremely embarrassed. Their profession was considered respectable, and if the Earl really wanted them to study excrement, it would be no different from working as dung collectors. There was no concept of 'labor without distinction of social status' in this era.

Now, it seemed that the Earl was openly insulting them.

"Cough!" An older alchemist named Hoffman cleared his throat and carefully asked, "Lord Grayman, are you certain you're not joking? Such substances are only handled by the lowest of slaves. We are... we are..."

Wells interjected, "We are alchemists," with a tone full of resistance.

Paul stroked his chin. "Alright, I understand. Let's continue with our meal."

Everyone thought the matter was settled and resumed their eating.

Suddenly, the Earl said, "I just remembered that the finances are a bit tight. The establishment of the chemical laboratory might need to be discussed with the Council."

What? The almost-cooked duck might fly away! The alchemists became anxious.

Clearly, the Earl was threatening them. They had two choices: reject his proposed research project and go back to their boring technical jobs, following the established processes day in and day out; or accept his proposed research project, enjoy ample funding, and explore the infinite possibilities of alchemy in the laboratory.

The alchemists whispered among themselves, discussing what to choose, while Earl Grayman leisurely enjoyed his lunch.

Finally, after some exchange of voices and glances, most of the alchemists reached a consensus: sacrifice a bit of dignity for a potentially brighter future.

After all, the pioneers of their industry had tried everything to obtain gold.

The older Hoffman spoke on behalf of everyone: "Lord Earl, meeting the urgent needs of our employers is our profession's primary principle. After careful consideration, we indeed should first approach the 'problem' you mentioned. Of course, the prerequisite is having a convenient experimental environment."

So quickly abandoning their principles? Wells was indignant and wanted to say a few more words but was immediately silenced by the angry glares from his peers.

These guys sure know how to adapt. Paul happily smiled, "Since your enthusiasm for the work is so high, I will certainly instruct the Council to prioritize support for the construction of the chemical laboratory. Please plan the details and list your requirements, and then we will discuss them further."

"Lord Earl is wise!" Hoffman bowed to Paul.

"However, regarding the solution you proposed—using those... those waste materials to collect nitrate on a large scale, is that really feasible?"

They only knew that nitrate could be scraped from toilets; if the Earl wasn't bothered by the filth, why not just scrape it directly from the toilet?

Paul replied, "You know about microorganisms, right?"

Everyone: "Yes."

Knowledge of microorganisms was among the first things newcomers to Alden Town were taught. Alchemists were no exception; they had even used microscopes—Paul's great invention—to observe things invisible to the naked eye.

That's why everyone in Alden Town had developed the habit of drinking boiled water; high temperatures could kill those tiny, invisible critters, and stomach troubles could often be attributed to them.

Paul continued, "I have a bold hypothesis—certain microorganisms affect the transformation of materials in nature. The presence of nitrate in toilets might be related to some microorganisms we don't yet fully understand."

In another world, this would be a confirmed fact. In this world, it was only a bold hypothesis. People here didn't know about nitrifying bacteria.

The alchemists nodded, though most didn't take it too seriously. Why not say it has something to do with the sun?

"If we can increase the number of microorganisms related to nitrate transformation, we might accelerate the production of nitrate from feces or urine."

"Since they are living things, sunlight, temperature, and moisture could all influence their numbers. Whether these effects are positive or negative will need to be tested carefully."

Oh, so the Earl actually believes it's related to the sun too.

"Lord Grayman, we will follow your instructions and do our utmost to experiment."

What else could the alchemists do? Even if many thought the Earl's theory was somewhat absurd, they had to grit their teeth and proceed, for the long-awaited laboratory. Anyway, if it turned out to be futile, it was the Earl's money wasted.

"Very well, I will find time to work with you."

Without any help to these clueless individuals, it would take ages to produce nitrate, so Paul certainly had to participate himself. He knew the general principles and methods for nitrate production.

However, many interpreted his words as the lord intending to occasionally check if they were slacking off, so they all expressed their loyalty.

Thus, the lunch at the Earl's residence ended with everyone in different states of mind.

"These guys have no dignity as alchemists!"

After leaving the Earl's residence, Wells went to a restaurant called "Flying Dragon Pavilion," where he drank in silence, criticizing his peers for their disgraceful behavior.

But a well-equipped, well-funded laboratory was something he desired too. For a moment, he was deeply conflicted.

"Hey! Isn't that Wells?"

A voice with a Crystal Glare accent called out his name from behind.

Wells turned around to see a familiar face—Guy Burns, the Mechanic.

Actually, calling them familiar was a stretch. They had only had business interactions in Crystal Glare before. Wells had looked down on Burns in the past. Burns hadn't fared well in the capital, being ostracized and ridiculed by his peers, living in misery.

But now, the Guy Burns before him completely overturned Wells's previous impression. Not only was he dressed impeccably, but he also carried an indescribable air, reminiscent of those high-ranking officials.

"Burns? You're also in the Northwest Bay? Come and sit."

Out of courtesy, Wells invited him to join his table and poured him a drink.

In conversation, Wells discovered that this mechanic had done remarkably well in Alden Town. He was highly valued by the lord and even managed the renowned machinery factory—the place where amazing machines like harvesters and shuttle looms were made. Burns was indeed an official, and a significant one within the Alden Town system. Naturally, his treatment was much better, far superior to Wells, the "alchemist."

Wells felt a strong sense of bitterness. In Crystal Glare, Burns had been far below him, but now he had decisively surpassed him.

In Burns's astonished gaze, Wells gulped down a large glass of alcohol.

I must seize the opportunity and reach the pinnacle of my life!

(End of the Chapter)

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