Episode 101 — The End of the Artisan, The Birth of the Design

The same day Garam stormed off with that fiery determination, I’d already whipped up several sets of blueprints.

Four days have passed since then.

"Ding... dong... Ding... dong..."

(That’s Garam... even the way he rings the bell sounds exhausted. It’s like the notification sound for when a battery gauge is at one percent.)

The faint, fading sound echoed in the living room. I gently nudged Tama, who was curled up on my lap, and checked the intercom monitor. Standing there was a man who looked like a ghost—he’d clearly forgotten to sleep for the last four days. Even his pride-and-joy beard looked limp and deflated.

"...Zect. Let me in."

When Garam entered the living room, he was carrying a bundle wrapped in cloth. His hands trembled as he laid the contents out on the table. They were magnificent rulers. He’d selected high-quality Felsen timber, and the polished surfaces gave off a beautiful luster.

"...Did you finish them, Garam?"

"...A hundred of 'em. I worked myself to the bone. Put my very soul into these. ...But this is my limit."

I took the master gauge I’d given him as a reference and held it against one of the rulers Garam had made.

"...They don't match."

Garam spat the words out with a self-deprecating sneer.

"To make just one of 'em perfect takes hours... no, more than that. If I take my time, I can reach the 'correct answer' you ordered. But I'll never finish a hundred of 'em that way. On the other hand, the second I try to pick up the pace, this happens. ...A hair’s breadth too long here, a hair’s breadth too short there. The more I measure, the more I stop trusting my own fingers. ...Speed and precision? I can’t do both. Not in a million years. ...I'm a failure as a craftsman."

Garam slumped deep into the sofa, looking utterly defeated.

(Wow, that’s a textbook face of despair. It’s not every day you get to see a veteran Dwarven smith this broken.)

"Hey, Zect. You didn’t make things this difficult when we did the playing cards. You just had Elishua replicate those with magic, didn't you? Why can't we just do the same here? A quick magic copy and we’re done."

I took a sip of my lukewarm Cola and shook my head.

"Garam. The cards are a 'Felsen Specialty.' People buy them as souvenirs even if the price is a bit high. The business model supports a higher price point."

"So you can use magic for specialties, but not for this?"

"With playing cards, it doesn't matter if the specs of 'Deck A' and 'Deck B' are slightly different. As long as the fifty-four cards *inside* a single deck are uniform, the game works. In fact, having subtle individual differences between sets actually helps prevent cheating, like someone trying to sneak a card in from a different deck."

"...Oh, I see. You’d catch the odd card immediately."

"Exactly. That’s why I left that to Elishua’s magical technique. But this is different. A ruler is a 'tool' that commoners will use every single day."

I spread the blueprints I’d prepared in front of Garam.

"If Person A’s ruler is different from Person B’s, then construction and trade stop working. And the most important factor is cost. Think about it. If you’re selling something for a few copper coins, can you really afford to pour rare resources like a mage’s time and mana into it and still make a profit?"

"...No. If we had to call Elishua for every single ruler, we’d run out of platinum coins in no time. We’d be deep in the red."

"Precisely. If you’re making daily necessities instead of specialty crafts, you have to cut costs to the absolute limit. That’s why we have to abandon 'Craftsmanship' and transition to 'Production.' Garam, the job only you can do isn't carving ten thousand rulers yourself."

"Then what the hell am I supposed to do? We’re artisans."

"You make a 'Fixture'—a 'Jig.' A mold that ensures the dimensions will be identical even if the person doing the work is a complete amateur we hired yesterday."

I pointed to one of the drawings—the structural design of the jig.

"You bring the workers to one place and break the process down into steps. One guy just cuts wood. One guy just sands it. One guy just marks the scale. Each of them just moves their hands mechanically according to the 'perfect jig' that you, Garam, created."

"You're saying an amateur off the street is gonna work with the same precision as me?! That’s just devaluing a craftsman’s skill!"

Garam raised his voice, sounding frustrated.

(There it is—the artisan’s pride. I guess hating efficiency is the standard opening move for veterans in any world. Well, I can't say I don't understand the sentiment.)

"It’s not devaluing it. It’s evolving your skill into a higher-level 'System.' A craftsman’s job isn't just moving their hands to shave wood. It’s designing a perfect system and building an environment where anyone can produce the best results. *That* is the job of a craftsman in this new era."

"...Designing a... system?"

"Think about it. One craftsman spending his whole life in solitude to make ten thousand rulers... or a high-level system that puts a ruler into the hands of every child in the world in just one month. Which one makes you feel more proud as a craftsman?"

Garam’s eyes slowly began to regain their spark. He realized his skill wasn't being rejected; instead, he was beginning to feel the god-like power of having his "correct answer" dominate the world as the universal standard.

"So, you’re trying to change the very definition of what it means to be a craftsman."

I looked into Garam’s eyes as he finally understood. I took a slow, deliberate beat, then delivered the line I’d been preparing.

"I intend to move Felsen into the next phase."

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