Ah, This Is What a 'Guitar' Is

Garvan's workshop stretched out far larger on the inside than it had appeared from the street. Anvils etched with countless magical inscriptions ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠crowded the space alongside bizarre precision instruments whose purposes I couldn't even guess at. It felt less like a forge and more like a cutting-edge research lab.

"Come on in. But I'm warning you—don't touch anything without my say-so. Even that hammer rolling around in the corner costs more than your entire life is worth. If you don't want to spend yours as a debt slave, stand there nice and quiet."

Garvan growled the threat as he led the way. I hunched my shoulders like his intimidation had gotten to me, but my eyes were already scanning every corner of the place. True to a legendary craftsman's reputation, every tool gleamed with a razor edge, and the air hummed with thick, heavy mana heat.

"Alright, kid. Here's the wood you talked about for that so-called instrument of yours. Pick what you want."

Garvan hauled out an armful of hefty timber from the storeroom and slammed it down on the floor with a thud.

"This here's frost spruce. Grows in the high mountains, feeding on mana—gives it tough, even grain. And this is abyss ebony, second only to diamond in hardness. Top-grade stuff, usually reserved for custom mage wands. Not that you'd know the value of any of this. There's more where that came from, too..."

I barely heard the rest, my eyes already gleaming as I inspected the first pieces he'd pulled out. Win the bet, and it's free. Lose, and my life's collateral. Only one choice, then.

I pointed without hesitation at the priciest ones he'd just named.

"I'll take the spruce and the ebony. They ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠look like the best."

"What? You greedy-eyed brat! I just said those are wand materials! You're seriously wasting them on some noise-making box?"

Garvan jumped up and down in outrage, but I ignored him and unrolled my blueprint.

"You said you'd make it for free, right? The legendary artisan isn't gonna cheap out on materials now, is he?"

"Urgh... you insolent little punk!"

In the end, Garvan grumbled but went along with my picks. He grabbed his tools and muttered,

"Hmph, I'm a metal guy. Woodwork's not my specialty. If it comes out a bit wonky, don't blame me."

But the moment he gripped the plane, contradicting his words entirely, my jaw dropped. His thick fingers glided over the wood like magic, shaving off paper-thin, perfectly uniform curls with a single stroke.

...Not your specialty? You're kidding. Even the master custom luthiers from my past life couldn't carve like that.

Garvan's movements were terrifyingly precise. When it came to attaching the internal bracing for the soundboard, he grasped my instructions instantly and shaped the wood without a 0.1mm margin of error. Looking closer, I saw he was channeling mana just to carve a single piece of lumber. Damn... no wonder they call him a master artisan.

As we bickered back and forth, the guitar's body took on its elegant curves, and the neck smoothed to perfection. The trouble started next.

Garvan was about to gouge the fretboard slots ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠by eye, eyeballing the spacing from my blueprint. I screamed and grabbed his hand.

"Wait! What are you doing?!"

"What? Gotta cut slots to fix those metal bars... frets, or whatever. This spacing looks about right—matches your drawing."

"Absolutely not! This isn't something you can 'about right'!"

I grabbed my wand and started etching complex equations into the floor with mana. Garvan's eyes narrowed.

"What the hell kind of crazy number game is this?"

"This is the formula for a system of sound. Listen up. To go up an octave, the frequency has to exactly double. Divide that into 12 equal semitones, and each fret position follows the geometric sequence rule!"

Garvan snorted... then froze, staring at the numbers on the floor.

"Call the full string length L. The constant for each fret position is about 17.817. Divide the total length by that for the first fret. Then divide the remaining length again... repeat, and by the 12th fret, the effective length is exactly half—giving you a perfect octave higher!"

Garvan's eyes shook rapidly. He was a dwarf. He might not know music, but he'd never miss the beauty of geometric ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠sequences and proportional harmony.

"...Combining inverse length proportions with exponential law. Kid, is your teacher some mad mathematician? Applying this to mere sound?"

"It's not 'mere' sound—it's sound, so it needs this formula. And I don't have a teacher. Self-taught."

"...What?"

I'm the only one in this world who knows this stuff, so yeah, self-taught now.

Saying I had a teacher would just lead to awkward "introduce me" requests later.

Garvan stared at me like I was absurd, then burst into disbelieving laughter. But he soon pulled out his precision gauge.

"Hmph, logic checks out. Fine. I'll cut it without a 0.01mm error. But if it doesn't make the sound you promised..."

The artisan's focus was fearsome. Under his hands, intricate slots appeared on the fretboard, and silver-white alloy frets slotted perfectly in place. Neck joined body, and finally, a flawless acoustic guitar emerged.

Time for strings. The high ones used Garvan's Mana Bind as-is. The lows were the issue.

"The bass strings need to be heavier and thicker. Twist multiple Mana Binds for the core, then wind thin silver wire tightly around it. Boost the density to slow the vibration speed."

Garvan snorted at my finicky demands and grabbed a bundle of Mana Bind.

"What a pain—why wrap anything? Just do this."

He laid four strands across his palm and crushed them downward with his other hand. Red friction heat flared between his palms, sparks of pale blue-white flame dancing.

What the...?

Incredibly, the threads lost their boundaries where his hand passed, melting into one. The writhing Mana Binds, like living things, reborn in seconds as a single, thicker, heavier string.

"There. Fusion processing. Keeps the rigidity and tensile strength, just adds weight and even density. Satisfied?"

Garvan tossed it offhandedly, but holding the thickened Mana Bind sent shivers down my spine. Unthinkable in my past life. Not wound wire—a solid thick string, yet perfectly flexible and elastic.

This is dwarven craftsmanship? Maintain stiffness while ramping up mass and density? That's practically magic.

Thanks to the dwarf's insane processing, we skipped the hassle and got perfect bass strings. Repeat twice more for three low strings, string it up, and it looked the part.

Holding the finished guitar, Garvan eyed it dubiously and muttered,

"No matter how I look at it, this looks like a club for bashing heads or some weird magic tool. You sure about this, kid? The abyss ebony and Mana Bind alone could buy your house. And that's not counting my labor."

"Don't worry. What you should be worried about is crying from how moved you get by the sound."

I took the guitar with trembling hands and started tuning, twisting the headstock machine heads.

Ting—ding—

The strings tightened with clear tones echoing through the workshop. I secretly hoped Garvan would go, "Ooh! So this is an instrument's sound! Music's awesome!" But arms crossed, he listened quietly... then snorted, interest fading.

"Hmph, novel sound and all, but that's it? What's it got over plucking metal rods? All that hassle for this?"

"Why so impatient? Just wait a sec."

In the silent workshop, only my monotonous string plucks rang out. I finished tuning the last high E, lips pressed tight.

My fingertips trembled faintly. Fail to flip this dry reaction, and I'd really spend my life pumping bellows in this grumpy dwarf's forge.

I sat on a stool, cradling the guitar. Heavier than expected on my lap. The abyss ebony's weight and frost spruce's subtle chill seeped through my thighs. It hadn't played a note yet, but it already felt alive, breathing.

I inhaled deeply to match that breath, fingers falling into the familiar C chord shape I'd gripped thousands of times before.

"Here goes."

Garvan watched with lingering skepticism as I slowly raised my right hand... and brought it down toward the six strings.