My Lord, Is This Alchemy?

"Hey—!"

From atop the castle wall, Weston threw a stone from afar. It landed in the courtyard with a bang.

One Private Soldier got distracted by the noise and was immediately lashed three times by the approaching Eric. "What are you looking at? You're in formation right now. The training ground is the battlefield! When you get to a real battlefield, are you going to keep looking around like that!? Hold your spear properly!"

After saying that, Eric looked up and shot Weston a dark glare before continuing to drill the formation.

Only after Eric turned away did Weston pull a huge face, then break into a snickering laugh.

Weston had been having the time of his life lately.

Not only had he escaped his private tutor's boring lessons, but more importantly, he got to watch all kinds of hilarious scenes.

Raven's troop training had practically become his source of joy. He never got tired of watching it; every day brought something new.

For example, on the second day of training, the Private Soldiers were standing in the courtyard early in the morning, chests out and heads high. They actually looked rather convincing.

But the moment drills began, they showed their true colors. At the command "Dress right," twelve heads in one squad turned in eight different directions!

Raven had been even more absurd. He actually had those serfs put their left leather boots on their right hands and march in place, then invented a chant: "Cowhide on the right, human hide on the left!"

What surprised Weston even more was that those human-shaped beasts could actually shout such an utterly graceless slogan.

His favorite thing was to chime in with, "Cowhide on the left, human hide on the right," while they were chanting.

The effect was excellent. One shout was enough to throw them into confusion for half the day.

But he had only shouted it once.

Because Raven's fists were also quite effective. His left eye had stayed swollen for three days.

Unexpectedly, in just those three days, those fellows who had been like livestock really did learn to tell left from right.

And for such a simple accomplishment, Raven had actually been willing to buy a sheep to give them an extra meal. Raven had even roasted it himself!

The smell had been so mouthwatering that merely catching a whiff made Weston lose his appetite for the smoked meat in his hand. But that damned Raven had refused to give him any meat, only tossing him two bones.

That was simply an insult to him!

Though the bones really had been delicious...

Once they could tell left from right, Raven began having the soldiers undergo what he called "formation training."

More specifically, he had them form columns by squad, then start marching while maintaining their formation.

This time, before they could make mistakes, Raven had already found a solution. He somehow acquired three poles five or six meters long and had them all lift the poles together and hold them in their hands, keeping the poles moving in the same rhythm as they walked.

Weston did not even need to cause trouble during this part. The sight of those people moving around while holding the poles was entertainment enough.

The moment Eric shouted, "March," two of the three poles flew straight into the air, nearly smashing into Raven. The remaining pole did not fly up; it plunged directly into the ground and scraped open the fingers of two Private Soldiers.

Simply learning how to walk while holding the poles took a full two days, and after that came all sorts of other problems.

Some focused only on their hands and forgot to move their legs, getting dragged along the ground. Some swung both arms at once, punched the man behind them in the crotch, and started fighting. Others got so nervous that they began hopping as they walked...

There was every kind of absurdity imaginable. If someone could think of it, they could do it.

Sometimes Weston even forgot to eat, completely engrossed in watching. This was far more entertaining than a circus.

The fun lasted until two days ago, the eighth day of training, because what came next was the terribly boring "military posture" segment.

Under Eric's lead, the men wore full Leather Armor and held spears as they stood stiffly in place. Whoever did not stand straight, or let the spear in his hands tilt, would immediately get whipped.

And at that time, Raven had also shut himself away in the kitchen. No one knew what he was busy with, but aside from the cook, no one could see him.

That was also Weston's most boring time, but he soon found a new game.

With Raven absent, no one could control him at all. He would shout and yell beside the soldiers, deliberately distracting them so Eric would whip them until they cried for their fathers and mothers!

Watching them get whipped until they looked aggrieved yet could not even cry properly made Weston immensely happy.

What a thrill!

Served them right. Who told them to become Private Soldiers for Raven, the bastard who stole my title? They deserved to suffer!

Who should I bully today?

A wicked smile curled across Weston's lips. He gripped a prepared stone in his hand and looked down from above as he chose a target.

He had carefully selected this stone. It was as large as a cantaloupe and nicely rounded, certain to fly a great distance. It would not merely make a loud noise and scare people like the previous few had.

That big guy? Too dull, no fun. That white-haired fellow? Too ugly, no sense of accomplishment... There!

His gaze settled on a young man with rather handsome features and naturally curly light-gold hair.

Him it was!

He was obviously a lowlife, yet he looked better than me and had even become a "Squad Leader" commanding twelve men. This was utterly intolerable!

It was because Weston disliked Simon that he had deliberately targeted the men in Simon's squad, causing their training results to fall short of expectations. Just last night, Simon had been punished by being denied dinner and forced to stand in the courtyard with his spear until the middle of the night. When his sister came to visit him, she had gone back crying.

Yet the men in his squad had not looked down on him at all. Instead, they respected him even more. What kind of sense did that make!?

Today, this young master would teach you a lesson and smash your face to pieces!

With that thought, Weston spread his legs slightly, gathered all his strength, and hurled the stone in his hand with all his might!

Hearing the wind, Eric turned around. He wanted to stop it, but it was already too late. "Simon, duck!"

Simon had just begun to move, but he hesitated and did not dodge. The stone struck his head with a bang. Blood streamed through the gaps in his Leather Helmet, staining his entire face red before he crumpled limply to the ground.

Eric rushed over and gathered him into his arms, asking anxiously, "How are you? Can you speak? Are you hurt!?"

"I-I'm... fine... sir!" Simon said weakly, his lips trembling. "Just... a little... dizzy..."

"You clearly heard it just now. Why didn't you dodge!?" Eric asked.

Simon coughed softly. "Because if I had dodged... it would have hurt... my comrades..."

At those words, Eric's eyes instantly filled with rage. He raised his head toward the city wall. "Weston! Get down here!"

Weston was startled, then craned his neck and shouted, "I'm a member of House Griffith. You have no right to deal with me!"

Then he muttered under his breath, "He's just a lowlife... What's the big deal..."

Eric's lips trembled. "Everyone, stay where you are and rest. Gaul, go invite Priest Laxus. Link, go 'invite' Young Master Weston down here. Until I return, do not let him leave!"

With that, Eric carried Simon back into the castle and laid him down in a guest room. The moment he removed Simon's Leather Helmet, blood gushed out, revealing a mangled wound as large as a walnut.

"Whew..." Eric let out a breath and began simply bandaging Simon's wound.

Simon was his favorite among this batch of Private Soldiers. He was quick-witted, intelligent, simple, and loyal. He could carry out any order well and valued the bond between comrades immensely. On a battlefield, Eric could completely entrust his back to him.

Fortunately, the wound was not fatal. Otherwise, it would have been such a pity.

After finishing the simple bandaging, Eric crossed the hall and arrived at the kitchen. Just as his hand touched the door, he hesitated.

Did this matter truly need to disturb Lord Raven?

Weston was Raven's brother in name, after all. Would Raven handle this fairly?

After a brief hesitation, he still pushed open the door, only to nearly be driven back by the fumes.

What was that smell!?

The stench of cattle and pigs, a sharp sour smell, and another indescribable odor, like the grime dug out of a belly button, made tears instantly stream down Eric's face.

The cook Bolo came over and shut the door, then handed Eric a piece of wet burlap. Eric hurriedly covered his nose with it, finally feeling as though he could breathe again. In a muffled voice, he asked, "Where is Lord Raven?"

Bolo pointed at the stove. "There. He's right over there."

There really was someone crouching before the stove. He wore a chef's robe yellowed by smoke, with a thick layer of gauze over his face. He was slowly stirring an oak basin with a large Wooden Spoon.

Eric rubbed his eyes. "That's Lord Raven?"

"Absolutely." Bolo said with some dissatisfaction, "If anyone else messed around in my kitchen like this, I'd have thrown him out long ago!"

Having finally found an outlet for his frustration, Bolo began complaining nonstop. "Lord Eric, Lord Raven has gone too far!"

"Fine lard and beef tallow—I saved those up bit by bit to make delicious food with. But... but he ruined all of it!"

He pointed to the things piled in the corner. "A full thirty pounds of lard and fifty pounds of beef tallow, all turned into this garbage!"

Following his finger, Eric was immediately stunned.

What the hell were those things!?

They were piled in lumps in the corner, gray here, black there, yellow elsewhere. Their surfaces were wrinkled, with long, continuous cracks in some places. They looked like a huge pile of... shit!

Lord Raven's stomach was that strong!?

"He said it was that stuff called... oh, right, Soap. The kind rich people in the city use! I don't go to Monen City much, but I often go to Shining Gold Town. I know what it is!"

Bolo walked over, grabbed a piece, and shoved it in front of Eric. "Other people's Soap is transparent and leaves you clean after washing. But smell this. What does this smell like!?"

At his words, Eric also felt that the thing did resemble Soap somewhat. He moved the cloth away from his mouth and took a light sniff. His eyes immediately froze, and with lightning speed, he moved the cloth back into place.

In that brief instant, it felt as though he had shoved his nose into a pile of cow dung, while at least six cows frolicked through his mind.

Doubt rose in Eric's heart.

Two days ago, Raven had said he found a way to make money, then shut himself in the kitchen. Was this it?

Although Soap was useful, its market was actually quite limited. A piece the size of a palm cost fifty copper coins, something ordinary families could never afford.

Even if Raven had found a way to make Soap and solved the foul smell problem, Eagle Town currently did not have enough manpower.

If they produced it in a small workshop, the profits would probably be limited. Making more than a dozen gold coins a year would already be decent, so it was hardly worth investing so much time.

Eric was just about to step forward and persuade him when Raven shot him a glance. "If no one is dead, wait until I'm done before speaking."

Raven had always known Eric to be steady, but what he was doing now was far too important. He could not afford the slightest distraction.

The lumps in the corner were indeed Soap, but they were not Raven's ultimate goal.

What he was stirring now was a basin of Limewater. The main component of Quicklime was Calcium Oxide, which reacted with water to produce Calcium Hydroxide.

It was as if Raven had returned to his chemistry lab classes in his previous life. He poured Quicklime into the basin in small amounts several times, pausing slightly after each addition and only continuing once the temperature in the basin had dropped a little.

Quicklime released a great deal of heat when it reacted with water. He did not want the pot to explode now.

With the experience he had accumulated over the past two days, Raven was already familiar with this step. Then, under Bolo's resentful gaze, he picked up a jar of Baking Soda and slowly poured it in while stirring.

Baking Soda was Sodium Bicarbonate.

Only when nearly half the basin of liquid had turned murky like mud did he slowly stop, carefully pulling an open Glass Flask from beneath the table.

Because magic and alchemy experiments required it, glass already existed in this world. However, most of it was not very pure and contained many impurities. The windows of Eagle Fortress mostly used this inferior kind.

The high-purity glass used to make flasks was quite valuable. Though it held only one liter, it cost an astonishing two gold coins. Together with the Funnel, Separator, and fifty sheets of Filter Paper, the total price came to five gold coins, and none of it was in stock.

Raven had begun working two days ago precisely because he had been waiting for it.

"Calcium Hydroxide mixed with Sodium Bicarbonate, heated to produce Sodium Hydroxide..." Raven muttered words only he understood, yet his movements remained extremely orderly.

First, he placed a Cast Iron Pot on the stove and poured in half a pot of water. Then he placed a Ceramic Deep Dish inside, added a certain amount of water, and only then put the Glass Flask inside. He poured the mixed liquid from the wooden basin into the flask until it was around two-thirds full.

Stoves of this era could not control the heat so conveniently, and Raven was no expert in chemistry either. He did this to keep the Glass Flask from heating too much and exploding.

Two gold coins, after all. He could not afford to let it break!

Keeping an eye on the reaction in the flask, Raven shouted, "Bolo, go watch the pot over there. Don't burn the lard again!"

"I'm a master chef. How could I fail to render lard properly!" Bolo muttered in complaint, but he still walked over to the neighboring stove and continued rendering the lard.

The liquid in the Glass Flask gradually boiled, releasing small, dense bubbles. White fragments could also be seen precipitating from the liquid and settling at the bottom of the flask—that was Calcium Carbonate produced after Calcium Hydroxide reacted with Sodium Carbonate.

Raven watched closely. Once no more new Calcium Carbonate precipitated, he quickly took out the Ceramic Deep Dish and set it on the table, then turned and asked, "How's the lard?"

"It's done, my lord," Bolo answered honestly.

"Then take it out first. Don't overcook it." Raven instructed him, then took out the Funnel and a Conical Flask. He laid Filter Paper in the Funnel and carefully used the Wooden Spoon to pour the upper layer of liquid from the open Glass Flask into it.

After filtering, a bottle of cloudy liquid slowly became half a flask of exceptionally clear solution, looking no different from water.

"My lord, what are you making?" Eric asked, unable to make heads or tails of it. He stepped forward and reached out to touch it.

"Don't touch it!" Raven's voice suddenly turned sharp. "Without my permission, you are not allowed to touch anything here!"

The liquid in the open Glass Flask was primarily Sodium Hydroxide, commonly known as Caustic Soda.

Its corrosiveness was not the least bit inferior to Sulfuric Acid!

"Bolo, bring the lard over," Raven ordered.

Eric's curiosity surged at this point. He took the lard from Bolo and placed it on the table.

Raven gently pushed him aside. Holding the Conical Flask in one hand and the Wooden Spoon in the other, he slowly poured the Sodium Hydroxide into the hot oil, adding a little at a time and stirring after each addition.

"Oh—" Eric cried out in surprise, because a miraculous sight appeared before his eyes.

As the liquid from the flask slowly fell into the hot oil, tiny brownish-yellow grains began to gather within it. At first they were like dust, but as more and more liquid was added, the yellow particles grew increasingly numerous and dense, finally turning into feather-like flakes that sank to the bottom of the bucket.

"My lord, is this... is this the legendary alchemy?"