Chapter 22: The Gift of Gratitude

Victor was in a terrible mood. If the harpsichord couldn't satisfy his needs, then the newly written piano concerto would barely reach the standard required to perform at Sacred Hymn Hall — far too little to earn the admiration and praise of the nobles, musicians, and critics who attended his concerts. Wolf might even savage him in the Musical Review afterward, and he might never again be invited by the Musicians' Association or the Grand Duke to perform at Sacred Hymn Hall.

Victor had seen many such musicians. Every year, several outstanding performers failed to make the leap from "outstanding" to "renowned" for a long time because their first Sacred Hymn Hall concert hadn't gone as well as they'd imagined. Some were so crushed by the setback that they gradually sank into mediocrity. As for those wretched souls who fell into despair and took their own lives after failing their first Sacred Hymn Hall concert — there was always one every two or three years. A musician's spirit could be sensitive, delicate, and fragile at times.

So when he heard Lucian interject so blindly and receive Xavier's harsh rebuke in turn, Victor couldn't help but feel a surge of irritation. But he understood that Lucian was trying to help — his heart was in the right place — so he restrained his rich, mellow voice and said, "Lucian, thank you for the suggestion. But if combining a harpsichord with a hammered-clavichord could solve all the problems, the matter would have been settled long ago."

Rhein regarded Lucian with a half-smile, as though anticipating his response, while Lot, Herodotus, Phyllis, and the others looked at him with undisguised distaste. Interrupting when gentlemen were in the midst of a discussion was hardly well-mannered behavior, and he was spouting nonsense to boot. They all muttered curses under their breath: "As expected — a rude, arrogant ignoramus from the slums."

Though Lucian had only had a brief time and hadn't really managed to absorb much of Piano Making and Tuning or Modern Piano Mechanics — having read only the first dozen or so pages — he had still grasped the key differences between the two historical types of pianos and the modern piano. Comparing that with the exposed inner workings of the harpsichord that had been opened up before him, he already had a rough idea of what to say. "Perhaps by using some mechanical devices to amplify the distance of the finger's press, you could increase the volume produced by the hammer striking the strings."

Lucian spoke vaguely, deliberately positioning himself as nothing more than a commoner who had happened to hear about the shortcomings of two ancient pianos at the Musicians' Association and had picked things up through daily immersion in Altor's musical culture. He avoided any more precise terminology, such as vibration amplitude.

"Amplify? How would you amplify it?" Xavier's gaze grew even sharper, his white eyebrows knitting together tightly. Over the past three hundred years, instrument development had surged forward — it wasn't as though no one had ever had a similar idea. But after a string of earlier failures, no one had bothered trying again.

Under the puzzled stares of Victor, Rhein, and the others, Lucian took a flute from the instrument rack, walked over to a nearby desk, picked up a bottle of ink to serve as a fulcrum, and began demonstrating the principle of the lever. "I once happened to see a farmer use a stick and a small stone to pry open a huge boulder. Afterward, I realized that life is full of phenomena just like this one. Doesn't this perfectly amplify the up-and-down distance?"

"So it does..." Xavier didn't argue. Instead, he fell into thought. "But the speed of the hammer strike would become slower..." As a harpsichord maker, he quickly identified the additional problem this change would create.

What had started as idle curiosity on Rhein's part turned serious as Lucian demonstrated. He now stepped forward and said with a smile, "That's remarkable, Lucian. You actually discovered the principle of leverage through everyday life — truly impressive powers of observation and synthesis."

Lucian feigned complete bewilderment, as though he didn't understand what Rhein was saying, but inwardly he was deeply startled. Rhein actually knew about it and even called it the principle of leverage?

Meanwhile, it was clear that Victor, Phyllis, Lot, and the others — even including Xavier — either had no idea about it at all, or, even if they had noticed such a phenomenon, had never synthesized it into a concept or known what to call it.

The principle of leverage had been formulated quite early on Earth. Deducing the general state of the continent from Altor's level of development, Lucian figured that discovering the principle of leverage here wouldn't be all that remarkable. It had perhaps long since appeared in other nations of the continent — it was just that in a world devoted to pursuing Divine Arts and bloodline powers, such knowledge spread slowly.

Lucian mused to himself. A summary of everyday physical phenomena like this wouldn't cross the Church's threshold of prohibition. After all, a Church that possessed genuine Divine Arts was far more self-assured than its Earthly counterpart — it hadn't even suppressed the development of music. Otherwise, he wouldn't have dared to step forward and demonstrate.

Rhein noticed everyone's peculiar expressions and explained with a gentle smile, "This is a phenomenon of everyday life. I heard about it during my travels in Holme — local scholars discovered and formulated it centuries ago. They call it the principle of leverage. But Lucian, did you notice? The distance of movement and the magnitude of force are inversely related."

Of course I know, Lucian said silently to himself. But he forced a confused expression onto his face. "Really? Is that how it works? Then couldn't you link several of these levers together?"

Lucian intended to leave it at that. A three-stage lever transmission system wasn't something a commoner would be expected to grasp. As for whether this could inspire them, and to what degree — that was beyond his control.

Rhein's silver-moon-like eyes suddenly lit up. "Connected together? A multi-stage transmission? It's worth trying." He walked over to the harpsichord, whispered something to Xavier, and took out a feather pen and some paper to sketch out an idea.

Watching this scene quietly, Lucian appeared just as curious as Lot and Phyllis. But in truth he was calmly observing Rhein's every move, thinking to himself: He really is unusual — far more than just a violinist or a Bard on the surface.

Victor watched Rhein and Xavier's busy collaboration with a mixture of tension and anticipation, and eventually joined the discussion himself, offering his professional advice as a musician.

This left Lucian, Lot, Phyllis, and the others standing by the doorway.

Regarding Lucian, who had sparked this whole change, Lot was filled with curiosity and finally spoke to him. "Actually, I've seen that phenomenon before too, but I never thought deeply about it. Lucian, you have a rare quality. How did you come up with that idea?"

Although Phyllis was also somewhat curious about Lucian, she pointed at Rhein and Victor hard at work inside the music room. "Quiet. If you want to chat, go downstairs." Then she turned back, watching the three men's diligent work with full attention, though what exactly she was watching, no one could tell.

Lot hadn't yet reached the point of wanting to get closer to Lucian, and he was more interested in the harpsichord modification anyway, so he nodded, said nothing more, and walked into the music room, observing from a respectful distance.