Iron Hearth Castle Blacksmith. Morning after Baron Gorm's arrival.
The morning sun in Northreach brought no warmth. Its pale light pierced through the cracks of the soot-stained wooden roof of the old smithy.
Inside, the air was scorching and suffocating. Not because of the sun, but because the Furnace was being forced to burn at maximum capacity.
"Hotter! Pump the bellows harder!" shouted Sir Rianor.
Rianor stood near a workbench covered in white powder. His noble robes were discarded, replaced by a linen shirt with sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His face was smudged with charcoal dust.
In the corner of the room, Sir Riven—the eldest brother—was "exercising."
"Haaahh!" Riven grunted. His biceps, thick as tree trunks, tensed as he pumped the giant bellows connected to the furnace.
Normally, this device required two grown men to operate. But Riven did it alone with one hand, utilizing his monstrous new stamina and physical strength.
WHOOSH!
The fire inside the furnace roared blue, licking the heat-resistant brick walls.
"The temperature is up, Brother Rian!" reported Lady Raveena (Vina), who was in charge of monitoring the flame color. The 12-year-old girl wore oversized protective glasses (old blacksmith goggles). "It's bluish-white! This must be over 1,500 degrees!"
"Good," Rianor nodded. He looked at Lady Rumina (Rumi), who stood trembling in front of the furnace.
Rumina held a long iron Blowpipe. Her face was pale, sweat pouring down her neck. Back on Earth, she was just a 15-year-old who enjoyed watercolor painting. Here, her muscle memory told her she had learned the basics of glassblowing, but she was terrified.
"Rumi, you can do it," said Aurelia, standing near the door with wet towels. "Remember when you made pottery in Bandung? This is the same, just... hotter."
"But this is actual fire, Mom... Mother," Rumina corrected nervously.
"Focus on the material," Rianor cut in firmly, his Project Manager mode active. "Rumina, listen. In that crucible is a mixture of Silica Sand from the northern river, Soda Ash from burnt wood, and Limestone. Chemically, when heated, they will melt into a clear liquid."
Rianor stared at his sister intensely.
"The problem is, the people of this world are ignorant. They use dirty sand full of iron impurities, which is why their glass is bottle-green or murky brown. But we..." Rianor held up a handful of fine white sand he had washed overnight with vinegar. "We use pure ingredients."
"Now, blow. Make the simplest shape. A drinking glass."
Rumina swallowed hard. She nodded.
She dipped the tip of her iron pipe into the furnace.
Sizzzle.
Her hands moved on their own. It was the miracle of Dual Memory. Rumina's (Indo) brain was panicking, but Lady Rumina's (Aethelgard) hands knew exactly the viscosity of the molten glass. She twirled the pipe, gathering a glob of glass glowing bright orange.
She pulled it out. The heat stung her face.
"Blow," Rianor ordered.
Rumina blew into the end of the pipe. Her cheeks puffed out.
The molten glass expanded like a glowing soap bubble.
She rolled it on the marble table, shaping the base of the glass.
Her movements were fluid, beautiful, like a dance. Aurelia held her breath watching it.
"Cut!" Rumina shouted suddenly.
Raveena deftly snipped the glass neck with wet iron shears. Crack.
The glass separated from the pipe. Still glowing hot. Rumina immediately clamped it and placed it into the Annealing Oven—a cooling furnace with a lower temperature to prevent shattering from thermal shock.
"One done," Rumina sighed, her legs giving way, nearly collapsing if Riven hadn't caught her.
"We wait for it to cool," Rianor said, his eyes gleaming. "One hour. That will determine our fate."
One Hour Later.
The entire family gathered in the castle's central hall. Duke Lucian sat on his throne-like chair, Sir Roland stood beside him, while Rianor carried a tray covered with dull velvet cloth.
"So," Lucian's voice was heavy. "This is our weapon against the 35,000 gold coin debt?"
"Correct, Father," Rianor answered.
"Open it," Lucian ordered.
Rianor pulled back the cloth cover.
Standing on the wooden tray was a glass.
Not a gold goblet encrusted with diamonds. Not an intricately carved vessel.
Just a simple Tumbler. Plain.
But the glass... looked invisible.
It was so clear it almost disappeared. Candlelight passed through it without obstruction—no green distortion, no air bubbles, no murkiness.
Clear as frozen water. Flawless.
"My God..." Roland gaped. He picked up the glass. "This... this is modern crystal-clear quality. On Earth, this is totally basic, we buy it at IKEA for 20 thousand rupiah. But here..."
Roland held the glass up to the window. The morning sunlight refracted beautifully through it.
"In this world, clear glass is a myth," said Lady Rhea, who possessed memories of noble luxury goods. "Even the Queen's mirrors are said to be slightly blurry. This? This is magic."
"Not magic," Rianor corrected, pushing up his glasses (which didn't actually exist—an old habit). "This is Science. Basic Chemistry."
Rianor looked at his father.
"Father, the capital to make this is near zero. Sand from our river, wood from our forest, labor from Riven and Rumi. Production cost: Free."
"And the selling price?" Lucian asked.
Roland chuckled softly. He placed the glass back down very carefully, as if it were a nuclear bomb.
"Father, leave it to me," Roland said, his 'Golden Tongue' eyes shining cunningly. "I won't sell this as a 'glass.' That's too cheap."
Roland paced back and forth, his marketing soul on fire.
"We will sell this as 'The Goddess's Tears.' An ancient artifact recently discovered in the ruins of Northreach. A holy vessel that purifies the taste of wine."
"You want to scam people?" Lucian asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Not scamming, Father. Branding," Roland smirked. "We need quick cash. We can't sell retail in the market. We have to auction it where rich idiots gather to burn money for prestige."
Roland pointed to the map on the wall.
"Blackmarket Border City. Three days' travel from here. There is an Underground Auction House. No taxes, no questions."
Sir Rianor nodded in agreement. "High risk. If we're caught carrying valuable goods, bandits will target us on the road."
Riven stepped forward. His armor clanked. He patted his broad chest.
"Let the bandits come," Riven said flatly. "My sword needs feeding. It's been a while since I... 'exercised' anything other than pumping a fan."
Rhea also stepped forward, arms crossed. "I'm coming too. Riven is too stiff; he needs someone with eyes in the back of their head."
Lucian looked at his children. He saw steely determination. No more hesitation like when they first arrived.
"Good," Lucian decided.
"Sir Rianor, you stay here and manage production. Make sure Rumina doesn't faint."
"Sir Roland, you lead this trade mission."
"Sir Riven, Lady Rhea. You will be your brother's sword and shield."
Lucian stood up, staring at them intensely.
"Remember one thing. You are no longer spoiled kids from Bandung. You are the Wolves of Sudrath. If anyone tries to take that glass..."
"...Then we will shatter it in their throats," Riven finished coldly.
Lucian smiled faintly. A proud smile.
"Depart."