Chapter Thirty-Seven: The Functions of the Telescope (Part One)

The "telescope" is a type of ornamental equipment. When carried, it enhances the wearer’s range of vision to a certain degree.

The craftsmanship involved in making a telescope is a combination of a series of incredibly complex and unprecedentedly elaborate processes. To successfully craft one, one must first refine "rough glass" from large quantities of quartzite jade. This glass is then repeatedly purified, gradually yielding "transparent glass," "crystalline glass," and finally the completed "pure glass." These are then ground into various thin sheets of different sizes and curvatures using special molds. I must also extract brass from copper ore and process it into thin, malleable sheets. Finally, following a specific sequence, I arrange these "pure glass convex lenses" in order and fix them onto the brass sheets, then roll the brass to secure the lenses together, forming a peculiar, elongated tube—only then is the telescope considered successfully crafted.

Before this, I had only attempted to extract certain substances from natural materials, perhaps purifying them, but never had I endured such complex manufacturing procedures. The requirements for these processes are exceedingly strict, especially the grinding of the lenses—a single careless moment can produce waste, undoing all previous efforts. This is the part that most troubles me.

The blueprint indicates that both alchemists and mechanical artisans can learn the techniques for making telescopes; I suspect that these steps are more suited to the mechanical artisans’ expertise.

The attempt to craft a telescope was excruciating. I spent a fortune buying mountains of quartzite jade ore from a mineral dealer, then melted them in a specially designed magical furnace, removing all impurities. By the end of this process, the weight of the ore was reduced to just one-fifth, and this refinement had to be repeated three times. Calculating by this ratio, even if I filled my magical backpack with ore, I could only produce a fist-sized piece of "pure glass" at most. Such a mercilessly cruel yield made me almost wish to take an axe to Mount Uzig and throw it whole into the furnace for refining.

And this was only the beginning. When I started grinding these glass sheets, my real ordeal began. I had to cut an entire block of solidified glass into thin sheets, then grind them into various slender shapes, and a single slip could shatter them into pieces.

After spending three full days turning a warehouse of quartzite jade ore into a small piece of glass that could fit in my hand, then into thin sheets barely thicker than a finger, only to carelessly break it all into fragments, you can well imagine my utter despair and hopelessness at that moment.

By the time all the required lenses were ready, I had no idea how many of these white-glimmering minerals I had personally destroyed.

My personal feeling was: relying on my own strength, I nearly melted an entire majestic mountain into a few transparent lenses so small they wouldn’t even serve as condiment dishes. This Herculean perseverance to move mountains and fill seas moved me to tears.

When the first telescope was finally born in my hands, all my previous toil was rewarded: not only did my alchemy level leap directly to six, but my personal level also rose to thirty-three.

I excitedly tucked the telescope onto my person, eager to test its effects. Peering through the window of Professor Edgewell’s house, I found my field of vision had indeed expanded significantly.

Previously, standing here, I could only see within three blocks; past the intersection facing the city gate, my vision would blur, leaving only vague human figures, indistinct and unrecognizable.

Now, I could clearly see the shapes of pedestrians at the intersection of the fourth street ahead. With the magical power of the telescope, I could even discern the appearance of an elven man walking from there: tall and slender, with fair cheeks and a prominent nose, his flaxen hair soft and long draping over his shoulders, fluttering in the wind, exuding a handsome and carefree air.

This pureblood male elf’s emerald green eyes held a sensual and mysterious allure, calm yet hazy, as if concealing unknown secrets.

He carried a beautifully carved blue composite bow on his back, walking lightly down the street. Ahead of him, two elegantly dressed human women approached, chatting animatedly. Their conversation was so engaging that they didn’t notice the elf walking toward them. Though the elf wore a warm, friendly smile, he showed no intention of giving way.

Eventually, the three converged, barely half a step apart. Only then did the two chatting ladies notice the pedestrian before them.

Both cried out in surprise and stopped instantly. At that moment, the elven ranger with the bow also seemed to realize the presence of the ladies ahead. Unable to halt in time, he was about to collide with them head-on. Suddenly, he deftly stepped half a pace to the left, pivoted on his left foot, and, using his forward momentum, spun lightly to the right, skirting the shoulder of the lady on his right and winding up on her other side.

This casual evasive move was as fluid as drifting clouds and flowing water, showcasing his remarkable reflexes and body balance, yet with the grace and agility of a dance.

Watching his nimble turn deftly avoid the two ladies, he was about to successfully dodge this unexpected collision, but regrettably, he hadn’t noticed the tall iron inn sign standing to their right rear. With unmatched elegance and unwavering resolve, he dashed straight into it, pressing himself flat against it like a gecko whose tail had just been snipped, producing a crisp "thud." I imagine the impact was no light one—the sound was faintly audible even to me dozens of steps away.

This unforeseen mishap instantly brightened the mood of the two startled ladies. They ran off hand-in-hand, casting curious glances behind and pointing at the elven ranger still sprawled on the inn sign, leaving a trail of "silver bell-like laughter." You must have guessed by now: this clumsy elf, blind to obstacles, is none other than my former adventuring companion, comrade-in-arms, whose hopeless eyesight and uniquely dreadful marksmanship left a deep impression—the nearsighted elven ranger, Song of Elegance.

From that street to the city gate avenue, a mere few dozen steps, the poor, weak-eyed elven ranger collided with pedestrians five times, walked headlong into walls twice, was tripped by stones thrice, and once, after hitting a pillar so hard his head bled, lowered his head in embarrassment and muttered something, clearly unsure what he’d struck, apologizing to the pillar.

With such frequent accidents, it’s hard not to worry he might accidentally knock himself out before reaching the city gate.

Watching Song of Elegance stumble so haphazardly, I thought of the tool I’d just finished crafting and suddenly had a bold idea: If Song of Elegance wore this "telescope," might his vision improve?

With this thought, I rushed downstairs, running toward the city gate.

The city gate area was crowded, teeming with people of all sorts—some waiting, some seeking tasks, but most were selling their wares from small stalls.

It’s common knowledge that the native shopkeepers are stingy, greedy types. They always want to buy your spoils at the lowest possible prices. For them, a decent sword or ornament fetches less than fifty silver coins, while gathered minerals and herbs are priced so low it makes one sick.

Yet, those same items, once in their hands, are sold at triple the price or more. So, more and more dissatisfied adventurers found other ways to trade.

They set up stalls in the busiest parts of the city, displaying their goods with price tags, waiting for interested buyers.

This way, sellers earn more, and buyers pay less for what they want.

I am a regular here myself, having purchased many alchemy materials and sold finished products through this channel.

The stall vendors not only offer cheaper prices but a far greater variety than the native shops, including highly sought-after premium equipment.

Among the goods offered, two items are most frequently mentioned: "game cards" and "Renminbi." Walking among these merchants, you’ll often hear loud cries like, "Selling game cards at a loss, five hundred gold each, no haggling!" or, "Professional gold-farming team, fifty yuan per thousand gold, opening discount, twenty percent off!"

Curiously, whether in Campnavia or Valen Fortress, I’ve never seen these two popular items in physical form.

I only saw many people, seemingly bewitched, scrambling to throw piles of gold coins, yet leaving empty-handed and delighted, as if their money bags would explode if left full.

Occasionally, someone would stand in the city center cursing loudly, claiming someone cheated them, didn’t hand over the game card, wishing their family all manner of ill.

Though I’ve never seen the actual items, "game cards" and "Renminbi" seem to be currencies much like gold coins, perhaps units from other realms. They’re considered hard currency on the continent of Farvey, forming the backbone of the Deranmeya Kingdom’s financial system, with "Renminbi" being the most stable in value. No matter how exchange rates fluctuate, its price remains steady and slowly rises, making it the most reliable hard currency across the continent.