Chapter 85

“The Dunling technique?”

This place name has appeared too frequently in recent life.

Upon careful recollection, Professor Karlman’s letter did mention a breakthrough in Dunling’s glassmaking technology, producing entirely new glass instruments, which gave Mo Lisen the chance to discover the black liquid.

At the time, Kraft hadn’t thought much of it, but now he realized the breakthrough had occurred much earlier than imagined, and the level of advancement had leapt far beyond expectations—he didn’t know what kind of “alchemical potion” had caused a qualitative change in glass purity, or how the joining techniques had surpassed all predictions.

Who would have thought that visiting a church would lead to such an intriguing discovery? If gods truly existed, perhaps He really was a perfectly impartial being, granting inspiration even to someone like him, whose ancestors for three generations had never been believers, within the earthly abode of the Heavenly Father’s will.

“Why say it will never exist again?” Could it really be that the Church tore down the bridge after crossing it, making the creators vanish after the church’s completion to ensure this remained the sole masterpiece in the world?

Given the nature of this era, it’s not impossible. Some handwritten manuscripts had the scribe’s finger bones inlaid into the cover, adorned with precious metals and gems, to signify their uniqueness.

This cruel practice was partly used by scribes to express extreme piety, creating a treasure worthy of being stored in the church’s sacred archives. Or was it more often voluntary?

What Kraft least wanted to hear was that the creator of this technology had been erased along with the craft—his beautiful instrument dream would then be shattered.

Fortunately, things were more optimistic than he’d feared.

“I heard it was because the alchemical potion ran out shortly after construction was finished.” The tone of the voice was light, devoid of sorrow or regret, as if reciting a fragment of a hymn.

It was clear he approved of this discontinuation—the logic was easy to grasp: God is singular, supreme, so all works offered to Him must be one-of-a-kind. Any possibility of replication would diminish their essential value.

Just as books with inlaid finger bones were unique, so too should the glass wings be. The eunuch’s own incomplete function could also be understood as a kind of sacrifice.

Kraft had no desire to argue with someone who had spent his entire life within the church, offering everything to serve the Heavenly Father. Though he strongly disliked rampant religious fervor, he had no objection to continuing the conversation to gather more information.

“Like the will of the gods?”

“Yes, I also believe it is a divine will.” The soft-voiced man felt deeply satisfied—this visitor possessed insight, able to grasp the uniqueness of creation for the Lord, “The Lord granted him one chance: his masterpiece will remain eternally unmatched, beyond surpassing.”

The radiant glow of crystal bathed his slightly pale face—an unhealthy pallor, blood drained to the faintest edge—as if he were a fragile vessel made for the divine.

“He?” The listener caught the shift in pronoun.

The eunuch drew his gaze away from the wings, his face as white as if coated in powder, thin lips—lacking color—parting, strangely reminiscent of the white stone statues below, “I mean the one who offered this masterpiece. The priest mentioned him.”

“Oh? What is he doing now?” This was what Kraft cared about—the craft and the man. He asked for little: one of them remaining would suffice.

“I don’t know. I only happened to hear the priest mention him.”

Kraft spread his hands, watching the reflection swirl across his palm, its edges shimmering with a rainbow halo. Before the singer could react, he averted his gaze, masking his true intent of merely extracting information, “It sounds like you’re on good terms with the priests?”

“No, only with Father Adrian.” Speaking of him, his expression softened slightly, gaining a touch of human warmth.

“He’s close with that person; they often meet together…” He abruptly switched to a more formal term mid-sentence—clearly, his familiarity with Father Adrian was such that he deliberately avoided mentioning topics he deemed inappropriate.

“So even the devout befriend those with equally firm faith. If possible, could you introduce me to both of them?”

Having obtained the needed information, Kraft tried to get straight to the point—to meet the astonishing glassmaster, perhaps securing the glass instruments he desired. The hope of mass-producing microscope lenses rested on him.

Hearing an outsider affirm the priest’s faith, the eunuch grew embarrassed—as if bound by some minor but unmentionable reason that prevented him from accepting praise on the priest’s behalf.

“I’m afraid I cannot decide on my own. If the Heavenly Father wills it, you will meet him naturally.” He politely declined Kraft’s request and took his leave.

Kup listened to the entire exchange in confusion, watching Kraft politely bid farewell to the oddly voiced, gender-ambiguous man.

“I thought you didn’t care for these things?” he wondered if he’d misread the situation entirely, leading to a complete misunderstanding of Kraft’s views on faith—something that would severely disrupt his future work.

Kraft walked back with his hands behind his back, asking, “What did you say?”

“The Church—I thought you had a poor opinion of all churches.” Kup avoided directly mentioning God; though the two were inseparable, saying “Church” sounded less jarring—after all, there were plenty who disliked it.

Stopping at the door of the room William had just entered, Kraft leaned against a pillar, gazing again at the crystalline wings of the circular structure.

“I’m only interested in that.”

“Believe in God but not the Church?” Kup had rarely heard such a phrase—the idea of completely separating the two felt more dangerous than outright heresy.

“The glass, Kup—look at this glass. Have you seen anything like it anywhere else? I want the man who made this to craft a set of instruments for me.” Kraft wasn’t discouraged by the refusal; now that he knew the priest’s name, finding the man was merely a matter of time.

The fact that the creator of the wings still resided in Weijie Harbor was an unexpected boon—the information on the new glass’s alchemical potion lay right before him. Even if production had ceased, it wouldn’t stop him from trying.

Moreover, since the church no longer needed this craftsman, Kraft intended to recruit him to Wenden Harbor, to assist his colleagues who had been struggling for days with just a few lenses—his exquisite skill could once again shine in the refinement and adjustment of microscopes.

“I understand,” Kup nodded. No wonder he was Kraft—he was already eyeing the holy wings of the church.

Soon after, William stepped out, looking refreshed—whether from leaving the harbor district or the confessional, it was hard to tell.

Kraft approached this familiar visitor of the Weijie Church and asked, “Have you heard of Father Adrian?”

“Oh! You mean Drunken Father Adrian, right?”