Chapter 128: Productivity with a Soul

Thanks to Vichem, a friend who is a skilled craftsman and also an artisan of remarkable ability. In just three days, a custom-made large ceramic jar, combining a smooth shape with reliable thickness, was delivered from the "reliable friend" to the priest's room behind the church.

Upon delivering the finished product, he stated there was no need to worry about the other party being a talkative person. Craftsmen are accustomed to keeping their unique techniques secret; industry rules can sometimes be described as harsh, and their awareness of confidentiality is very strong.

In view of Vichem's repeated assurances of reliable quality, the priest confidently added a large portion of green vitriol powder.

"It's been quite a while since I saw William; I've never encountered a time when he didn't come to collect the wine himself."

"He needs some time to turn a single sentence of news into enough gold coins to last a lifetime, perhaps even more. So please give him some time."

The main reason he couldn't come was that the captain absolutely refused to disembark, but the transaction itself also occupied a huge amount of time.

After the news was released, William began frequently meeting with intermediaries and peers, seeking connections through acquaintances within the church, and even inquiring whether the church had any intention to purchase. The interpersonal relationships and commercial operation models are difficult for outsiders to understand; this professional handled everything with full authority, leaving others with no room for participation other than sharing the profits.

"We had better produce a finished product while things are getting heated over there, to make it more credible." Kraft covered the ceramic container, sealed the filling port, and opened the room window.

The glass bottle the priest used for wine was temporarily borrowed; a square piece of wood was placed underneath to raise the height, ensuring the curved neck of the ceramic vessel could be inserted into the bottom of the bottle.

Unfortunately, there was no conduit, so they made do; excess gas was vented directly out the window. Anyway, no one would come knocking within several hundred years to discuss with him the impact of acidic gas on the atmospheric environment and rainfall.

Of course, correspondingly, there were also teammates whose concepts of experimental safety lagged behind by several hundred years.

Heating such a large ceramic jar to several hundred degrees Celsius is not something two candles can achieve; for this, they moved in a small stove. Vichem's ability was temporarily insufficient to create a thermometer; the operator added charcoal based on feeling, and whether the temperature was high or low depended on fate.

"Before we begin, I must reiterate one last time: if anything goes wrong..."

"Run, right?"

"Exactly. Then what if you get the liquid in the bottle on you?"

"Wipe it dry, then rinse with the large basin of clear water at the door?" After two days of repeated instruction, Father Adrian could basically give the answer Kraft wanted without hesitation.

"Very good." Kraft nodded and lit the stove fire. Based on past experience, no matter how well one recites theory in daily life, in actual combat one will most likely freeze, especially when things happen suddenly and life is at risk. Let alone making operational errors; standing stunned on the spot is normal. He hoped the priest would react in time.

The charcoal burned, the flames licked the bottom of the bottle, and the room fell silent.

The two moved stools over and sat side by side, watching the bottom of the bottle heat up continuously. There was nothing to do for the moment; they just waited.

This would not be a very fast process; after sitting for a while, the priest became somewhat anxious. Compared to the rapid distillation of alcohol, staring at a large ceramic jar where no reaction could be observed was like a download with no progress bar, making one feel bored and doubtful.

He found it hard to believe the answer was that simple: throwing a mineral that was neither common nor rare into a bottle and heating it could turn water into a magical alchemical potion capable of eating through iron sheets.

After a long time, a few sluggish bubbles emerged from the tube inserted at the bottom of the glass bottle; the priest looked at Kraft with delight. The latter shook his head and added more fuel to the stove.

It shouldn't be that fast; it was just expanding air overflowing, but at least it showed the device's airtightness was good.

Just as the priest began to worry whether the ceramic bottle could withstand even higher temperatures, the curved neck began to spit out a new wave of bubbles; they took a little more time to stabilize after being intermittent.

Afternoon sunlight passed through the arched stained-glass window, shining on the square table that had just been scorched with a black spot two days prior; inside the wine bottle the glassblower had made for his good friend to save materials, a string of translucent bubbles like beads swayed upward.

As they rose, they gradually shrank; some dissolved into the water, while others were released into the air.

A foul, irritating smell; most of it drifted out the window, while the rest dispersed in the room, reminding one of burning, rotting poultry eggs, and other negative things.

"It really stinks." The priest waved his sleeve in front of his mouth and nose, but still couldn't disperse the smell; perhaps this was why many people didn't like alchemists.

"Let's step away for a while." This smell was much worse than Kraft had imagined, and inhaling too much was harmful to health.

He pulled Adrian up and left, going downstairs to taste a few sips of the priest's new alcohol substitute—various dried fruit snacks. These little things allowed a drunkard to temporarily shift his attention away from the wine bottle, and also allowed his stomach to get another round fatter.

By the time they returned to the half-full room on the second floor, the ceramic vessel had spit out its last few bubbles.

Using a glass rod, also sponsored by Vichem, he dipped a little and dripped it onto a scrap of iron pilfered from the workshop, obtaining a dangerous hissing sound as gas bubbled out acidic froth.

Adrian held up that piece of iron, devoutly as if holding a parchment scripture, "God the Father bless you, you have done it... you have done it!"

This is truly a bit heavy; it's at least the weight of one main hall of the church.

"Looks like it's correct." Kraft, wearing gloves, carefully moved the glass bottle out. Although it hadn't yet reached the concentration where fumes rose, he didn't want to gamble on seeing just how concentrated it was, "But it's not over; it needs to be even more concentrated."

Next came heating; the glass curved-neck bottle blew out a gentle stream of white vapor. After the volume shrank, dry-distilled green vitriol products were introduced again until the liquid took on a form resembling oil.

The priest watched Kraft operate from the side; the latter had already donned a beak mask to prevent accidentally getting sprayed in the face with acid mist.

"Did you find a detailed manual, or did you dig the process directly out of that alchemist's head?" Looking at these highly purposeful operations, unless that alchemist liked to write down precious knowledge word for word, such a degree of precision would be impossible.

But as far as the priest knew, to keep knowledge secret, those guys wrote things even more obscurely than pagans. After all, pagans still had a need to spread their faith and had to make their followers understand, whereas alchemists had no such need. They built a language barrier of pure riddles, capable of competing with prophets and astrologers.

"Neither, but I feel like it is. Could you help me pray?" Kraft used tongs to remove the bottle holder, wiped the surface clean, and unexpectedly made a request he had never made before.

"Very well. May the Lord bless you: may your blessed hands never burn, and may your favored vessels never crack."

"That's a bit perfunctory." Kraft placed a glass stopper on the bottle mouth and added wax sealing. By this point, William and the priest's objectives had been achieved.

And Kraft's goal was only half complete.

"Is there anything else you require?" In a good mood, Adrian took over the glass bottle, placed it in a box lined with dry hay, and improved its appearance.

After all, prayers cost nothing; a few words here and there were nothing. In view of the fact that financial freedom would be realized in the second half of his life, he could afford to add a few more lines without too much violation of his faith.

Kraft opened the wooden crate he had brought and, from among the stuffing of fabric bundles, lifted out several pieces of glass apparatus the priest had never seen before, which looked very delicate and fragile. Although the material used was still cloudy glass, the shaping was precise, clearly the work of Vichem.

"The following steps cannot withstand strong light." He moved the table away from the window to the other side of the room and began assembling the equipment.

"Now, wish me no explosion over here."

"May I ask presumptuously, Kraft, what are you going to do?" There was a reason for the question; the priest had a bad feeling, and the place where he had been scalded by glass shards began to throb again.

"To make something that can make a person instantly drunk." The apparatus was assembled; Kraft found the smallest wine bottle in the cabinet. This was the priest's work that had consumed the most time recently yet was the least liked by him; concentrated to the extreme, it had lost the flavor of wine and was truly hard to appreciate. "Borrow half a bottle of wine; after all, you can't drink it now, right?"

Under the priest's trembling gaze, fresh green vitriol oil was poured into the round-bottom flask, while the wine was added to an elegant long-stemmed funnel with a rotary structure, inserted through the stopper into the flask.

Uh, assuming everything is correct, the general operation now should be to add alcohol drop by drop into the flask and heat it to a suitable temperature.

At this point, it truly required "a suitable temperature"; it couldn't be too high, nor too low, stuck around one hundred thirty or forty. This could be dug out from the pile of memory debris. The problem was there was no thermometer; this degree would be extremely metaphysical.

Forgive me, Kraft, no matter how well I understand the principles, I haven't even attended many high school chemistry lab classes; manual temperature control is too difficult for me.

"Just kidding. Compared to prayers, I need you to help me do another thing: control the heat."

Leave professional matters to professionals. Here was a temperature-control genius who had not used a water bath and had manually controlled candle heating to distill alcohol for several years.

That's right, I'm talking about you, Father Adrian.

As everyone knows, on the side of the otherworldly souls, someone long ago claimed that hand-forged iron woks have souls and can cook dishes with souls. Soul Eaters praised this primitive, inefficient, empiricist operation, convinced it could achieve subtle special effects that electronic control instruments could not.

Although Kraft was mostly indifferent to this, he would admit that there are some people in this world who, after repeated training, can achieve effects in specific areas that machines cannot realize. When there was no other way, he was willing to try and make do for now.

Previously, the spirit of craftsmanship hand-crafted products with souls; today, Father Adrian manually heats, and I manually pour ice water over the gas-conducting neck to condense it. With such soulful craftsmanship, is it impossible to produce a little ether?

"It's like this: roughly a bit hotter than boiling water, not too high, just enough to produce a colorless liquid."

"Are you sure?"

"I am sure." Kraft looked at Adrian with hope; now only the final kick remained, and once crossed, the horizon would open wide. Several hefty volumes of disciplines awaited a master craftsman to create miracles, enabling a single leap across centuries into this wilderness.

A few minutes later.

"Get down!"