Otaku Translation: Lone Adventure V5C3

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Chapter 3: A Growing Affection (Part 1)

If I had known that Elegant Strings’ so-called “great idea” was simply to send me back to the grinding wheel with another mountain of quartzite jade, I would never have entertained the thought of using a telescope to improve his vision in the first place.

The nearsighted elf ranger seemed oddly confident in his hypothesis. He practically emptied his pockets, spending every last coin he had on alchemical materials for glass production. I tried to convince him that a third of what he purchased would have sufficed, but he just shrugged, looking defeated.

“Might as well spend it all,” he said. “Anything left over will just end up in Fei Yin’s hands anyway.”

I couldn’t argue with that.

After gathering all the necessary supplies, we made our way to Edgeville’s lab and dove once again into the mind-numbing monotony of the work.

Let me clarify—when I say “mind-numbing” and “monotonous,” I’m speaking solely for myself. To craft the original telescope, I had spent countless hours in this cramped, decrepit laboratory, grinding away at lenses until it felt like I’d flattened an entire mountain peak. Only Darmos, the omnipresent and omniscient deity, could truly comprehend the tedium and frustration I endured. Now, standing before this oversized coffin-like magical furnace, I felt a wave of dread wash over me. The future stretched out like an endless void, filled with despair. If I hadn’t needed the materials inside, I might have considered tossing myself—and everything else—into the flames just to escape the misery.

But my carefree companion showed no sympathy for my plight. This was his first time in an alchemist’s workshop, and he was utterly fascinated by everything around him. With childlike enthusiasm, he bounded up to Edgeville, nearly pressing his nose against my mentor’s face before squinting and blurting out in astonishment, “Einstein? He’s teaching alchemy?!”

Clearly, Elegant Strings had mistaken my teacher for some eccentric old genius with wild hair, piercing eyes, and a perpetually frazzled demeanor. And to be fair, if you’ve seen one brilliant-but-messy old man, you’ve kind of seen them all.

Undeterred, Elegant Strings leaned over the table, watching Edgeville conduct his explosive experiments with giddy curiosity, completely oblivious to the danger lurking mere inches away. He peppered the poor alchemist with bizarre questions, each more absurd than the last.

“Hey, Jeff, what’s this stuff?” he asked, grabbing a small vial filled with tiny black pellets. Before I could stop him, he popped one into his mouth and began licking it.

“Agh! Spit it out! It’s rat droppings.” I shouted reflexively.

“Ptooey! Ptooey!” Elegant Strings spat furiously, dropping the pellet back onto the table. Then, pointing to a basin-sized contraption on the floor, he asked innocently, “And what about this?”

“That’s a compact rotary rotor solid pulverizer. It grinds large, hard objects into powder. Most people call it a millstone.” I didn’t even look up from my work, my patience wearing thin.

“And this?” He picked up another object, holding it aloft triumphantly.

“Master Edgeville calls those molecular polymers of calcium carbonate and silicon dioxide,” I replied dryly, finally glancing back at him. “But most folks just call them ‘rocks.’” I shook my head in exasperation. “Even with your poor eyesight, shouldn’t you recognize a rock when you see one?” Where did this insatiable curiosity come from?

My irritation must have shown, because Elegant Strings finally fell silent—for a while, at least. He wandered around the lab, poking at tools and examining them with rapt fascination, as though they held some hidden charm invisible to me. But his silence didn’t last long. Soon enough, he piped up again.

“Jeff, I swear this is my last question. Why does your teacher’s face always look so... black?”

“Because—oh, watch out!”

Kaboom! Before I could finish, Edgeville’s workbench erupted in its usual spectacular explosion. A pillar of fire and smoke engulfed Elegant Strings, who had been leaning in far too close to observe.

When the smoke cleared, Edgeville chuckled cheerfully, surveying the scene with his trademark dopey grin. “Don’t worry,” he said, addressing either himself or my singed elf friend. “It’s just a little accident.”

“...Now you know why his face is always black,” I muttered.

Elegant Strings wiped a streak of soot from his face, coughed out a plume of black smoke, and nodded solemnly.

Despite the chaos, my efficiency didn’t falter. Having once driven myself to the brink of madness crafting telescopes, I had reached level seven in alchemy. Producing and purifying glass was now a tedious but straightforward task, requiring little technical skill. It wasn’t long before Elegant Strings’ raw materials were transformed into small, clear discs of pristine glass.

The real challenge lay in shaping the lenses. Elegant Strings needed two concave lenses—thinner in the center and thicker at the edges. Unlike working from blueprints, I had no idea how thin or thick the lenses needed to be. Success depended entirely on my friend’s subjective judgment. Each time I finished a lens, he’d hold it up to one eye, squint with the other, and peer through it. His vacant stare betrayed no spark of recognition. Then, inevitably, he’d shake his head and ask me to grind it thinner—until the lens shattered under my relentless adjustments.

Whether it was my growing mastery of alchemy or sheer practice, I noticed a marked improvement in my success rate. I no longer clumsily smashed entire pieces of glass into shards; instead, I developed a delicate touch, adjusting angles with precision and coaxing subtle changes from the material.

It was a strange sensation. Though the glass barely changed to the naked eye, my fingers grew increasingly sensitive, detecting even the finest variations.

Under Elegant Strings’ persistent tweaking, the lenses grew thicker and thicker—thicker than my shield, in fact. Yet somehow, he still thought they were too thin. I wondered if he realized how impractical this was. Sure, improving his vision was the goal, but at this point, the lenses were becoming absurdly oversized. If he expanded them further, they could double as a protective mask, offering better defense than any steel helmet.

While crafting the original telescope lenses, I’d discovered an interesting phenomenon: convex lenses magnified objects, while concave lenses shrank them. But with these monstrous slabs of glass, the effect seemed lost. Peering through them, I saw only a dizzying swirl of distorted colors, blending together in a nauseating mess. It felt like staring into a kaleidoscope designed by a sadist. How anyone expected such a contraption to “improve vision” baffled me. Truly, the world was vast enough to contain all manner of peculiar individuals.

After hundreds of failed attempts, I had lost all faith in our endeavor. Still, I persisted—for two reasons. First, my ranger friend remained inexplicably enthusiastic, and I didn’t want to dampen his spirits. Second, I noticed that my alchemy skill was slowly creeping upward. Since Elegant Strings was footing the bill, I figured I might as well enjoy the free training.

I felt guilty for taking advantage of his generosity, but secretly, I couldn’t help feeling smug about getting something for nothing.

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