Chapter 535: A Man of Influence

In the imperial capital of Typhon, in the noble district of Aldernan, a rather unusual, intimate banquet was underway.

Bright magical crystal lamps illuminated the spacious main hall, golden tassels hanging from the lofty ceiling formed a lavish curtain overhead. Soft, lively melodies echoed through the room—music from Typhon’s “Nightingale Era,” a time known for its intoxicating luxury. Nobles from the central regions of Typhon favored these tunes from a bygone age; they seemed to evoke memories of the “good old days” before the empire’s reforms. Back then, aristocrats still enjoyed vast privileges, ruling over lands and their wealth. Now, years after those reforms, all they could do was indulge in wistful dances to these nightingale-like melodies, mourning an era when nobility held real power.

Such private gatherings, inviting only a handful of close friends, naturally drew few guests. A dozen or so attendees stood in small clusters, chatting casually. The fine wine and delicate hors d’oeuvres barely held their attention. Instead, their gazes kept drifting toward a small, makeshift platform at the center of the hall. There sat a strange contraption—an iron-framed machine with a complex array of rods, gears, and linkages. Rows of neatly arranged cotton threads stretched between metal rods on its upper half, immediately evoking the image of a loom. Yet none had ever seen a weaving machine shaped quite like this before.

Guests lingered around the machine, whispering guesses about its origin and why the host had placed such an odd, even ugly, mechanical device right in the middle of a high-society banquet. It certainly wasn’t decoration. So what was the purpose behind this? The host, Viscount Hermil—a nobleman of impeccable lineage—what was he trying to show?

“Probably some newfangled magical gadget,” a young noble in a dark brown coat murmured to his companion. “After all, Hermil’s known for his obsession with curiosities.”

“I heard he got it from the ‘Imperial Engineering Guild,’” the companion replied. “That grumpy old mage has been hanging around Hermil a lot lately…”

“Grumpy old mage? Is there such a person in the Guild?”

“Oh, he’s quite famous—Lady Windsor personally vouched for him. They say he used to be a senior member of the Royal Mage Association but retired long ago. Now, the Emperor’s summons has brought him back…”

Their hushed chatter was cut short as the music shifted to a slower, deeper tone. All eyes turned toward the grand entrance. Servants clad in dark red opened the heavy, ornate doors, and Viscount Hermil appeared in the doorway. He wore a loose dark coat and a monocle, tall and slender, his face lit with a cheerful smile—the kind that always seemed to promise something good was about to happen. Behind him followed two unfamiliar figures.

One was an elderly man in black mage robes, his face lined and stern, exuding the aura of a difficult, old-fashioned sorcerer. The other was a middle-aged man, short and hunched, his face tight with nervousness. Though dressed in a new, respectable wool coat, he shrank into himself like a lowly servant, trailing cautiously behind Hermil and the black-robed mage, looking as if he might faint at any moment.

The strangers piqued the guests’ curiosity, but no one was rude enough to ask outright. They merely cast discreet glances at the two men behind Hermil before returning their attention to the host.

These visitors were Hermil’s friends, so they were less reserved. One raised his glass with a hearty laugh. “Viscount Hermil—thank you for the fine wine and food. This banquet is truly memorable, especially the centerpiece. My friend, won’t you introduce your new toy to everyone?”

“This is no toy, Viscount Dewey,” Hermil replied with a radiant smile. He strolled to the strange machine at the hall’s center, then turned to face his guests, spreading his arms in an exaggerated gesture toward the contraption behind him. “This is the dawn of a new era!”

“You’ve been getting more and more fond of grandiose phrases lately,” a veiled lady chuckled, shaking her head. “Last time you introduced that ‘writing machine,’ you said the same thing. Too bad it just shredded paper…”

Hermil lifted his chin, his expression serious. “I’m already improving that machine, and I’m confident I can fix those pesky little gears. But this one? Rest assured, it won’t malfunction like last time. This is a practical invention!”

He then stepped aside and beckoned the nervous middle-aged man forward. “Mr. Martin, please come demonstrate this incredible device to my friends.”

So this obviously out-of-place man was here to help Hermil showcase the machine?

The guests watched with a dawning realization as “Mr. Martin” approached the machine. He busied himself inspecting parts, calibrating gears, and oiling crevices. The nervousness seemed to vanish once he touched the machine. Like a skilled craftsman, he moved with dazzling precision, completing all preparations. At Hermil’s signal, he started the machine.

A faint magical hum rose from its base, accompanied by strange creaks and clicks from the gears and linkages. Then, right before everyone’s eyes, the complex engineering marvel began to do something astonishing:

It was weaving cloth.

The machine clattered and whirred for several minutes before Mr. Martin stopped it. The watching guests stared wide-eyed.

Finally, someone exclaimed, “By the gods of knowledge—Hermil, you’ve actually made something useful!”

Hermil smiled modestly, placing a hand on his stomach and sighing melodramatically. “I wish this engineering marvel were my own creation, but noble etiquette demands honesty. This machine is the work of Mr. Martin here, a gentleman from Angray County and the fourth smartest man I’ve ever met. He calls it the ‘Angray Loom.’”

The nobles murmured in surprise again, this time giving Mr. Martin a proper look.

Martin stood nervously under their gaze, his hands tightening and relaxing. He was both terrified and thrilled—his ridiculed machine had finally earned recognition and a chance. A respected noble had even hosted a banquet to showcase his invention, with no intention of stealing his credit.

“Ladies and gentlemen, for details about this machine, please direct your questions to Mr. Martin—don’t scare him off, he’s my honored guest,” Hermil announced with a laugh. “And if anyone wishes to purchase one or use it for their own ventures, come find me after the banquet. I’m proud to be the first investor in the Angray Loom, and I look forward to partnering with friends to start a great enterprise.”

With that, the viscount withdrew, leaving the hall to the Angray Loom and its inventor. He and the old mage Daniel retreated to a lounge beside the banquet hall.

“Master Daniel, what a delightful day,” Hermil said happily as they entered the room. “You know, my favorite thing is unveiling something new and watching everyone’s surprised faces…”

The old mage nodded. “Thank you for your help, Viscount.”

Though gruff, Daniel understood basic etiquette. And now, to fulfill his master’s mission, he had to maintain good relations with every “useful contact.”

“Please, no need for formalities, Master,” Hermil quickly said. “Lady Windsor once guided me, and I consider myself half her disciple. You are her mentor, so it’s an honor to assist you.”

Daniel glanced at the young noble. “You do have some talent for magic.”

“Oh, I know my limits. I won’t get far on the magical path, and I’m not one for hardship,” Hermil waved his hand. “That’s why I prefer focusing on ‘curiosities.’ Fate has been kind, letting me find such a valuable one—and meeting a wise, insightful master like you. Honestly, though I see the Angray Loom’s great potential, without your guidance, I’d never have grasped its true power…”

Daniel accepted the compliment calmly, then asked indirectly, “Viscount, do you think your friends will be interested in the Angray Loom?”

“They’re all curious about new things like me, but not everyone has the courage to invest. You know, many nobles, having lost their lands, now guard their remaining assets carefully—even limiting themselves to two banquets a month,” Hermil said, settling onto a soft couch and picking up a fruit from a nearby platter, inhaling its scent. “Still, there are two… no, three among them with both vision and courage. They’ll join.”

“That’s good,” Daniel nodded. “The more participants, the faster we can scale up, and the greater the publicity. The Angray Loom is already registered with the Engineering Guild. You can open a factory and sell licenses for the loom. The profits will far exceed any annuity.”

“To be honest, I can’t wait,” Hermil said, setting the fruit aside. “But honestly… the loom works best with a steady supply of yarn. Mr. Martin… can he really design a new spinning machine before the end of the Frost Moon?”

“He will succeed, rest assured. The spinning machine’s structure is much simpler than the loom’s, and there’s the water-powered spinning machine invented by the Heritans in 714 as a reference,” Daniel smiled—though his smile was more unsettling than comforting. “Besides, I’ll help him. I know a thing or two about mechanics.”

Hermil exhaled deeply. “That’s a relief. Once the spinning machine is ready, I’ll have nothing to worry about.”

“No, there’s actually one more thing we should be concerned about in advance,” Daniel shook his head and offered a timely reminder. “Viscount, don’t you think that if both the spinning machines and the looms start running at the same time, we’re going to need a huge amount of… cotton?”

“…I have thought about that,” the Viscount Hermir’s expression grew a bit more serious upon hearing Daniel’s words. “Most people near the imperial capital grow grains and legumes. The main cotton-growing regions lie further south, and even there, their cotton output probably can’t keep up with the machines’ consumption—the efficiency of these machines is simply astonishing.”

“Why don’t we try persuading those farmers who grow grains and legumes to plant some cotton as well? Cotton can yield quite well in the central regions, after all,” Daniel said, recalling his master’s teachings as he gently guided the conversation. A more noticeable smile appeared on his face—still tinged with an unsettling edge, but to Viscount Hermir, it radiated genuine warmth and kindness. “The farmers would benefit greatly. The factories pay much better for cotton than they do for grain…”

“But… what if they refuse?” the Viscount hesitated. “Many farmers are stubborn, and with imperial laws protecting their rights, I can’t just force them to change what they grow…”

“Viscount, that’s where you need to push harder in the parliament—draw more people into investing in the textile factories. Once everyone becomes our investors, the legislators will naturally realize how important cotton is…”

“Ah, Master Daniel, you’re familiar with how the noble council operates?”

“I know a bit.”

Looking at the insightful and remarkably wise old mage before him, Viscount Hermir couldn’t help but show a look of admiration. “Master Daniel, if I may be frank—you really should have returned to the imperial capital sooner. Your vision and insight are so exceptional. Had you come back two years earlier, you would already be a leading figure here.”

“No, Viscount, this is the age of youth,” Daniel said calmly. “Just keep your hopes up—you’re about to become one of the era’s leading figures yourself.”

Viscount Hermir laughed heartily. Rising to his feet, he personally fetched two glasses and a bottle of red wine from a nearby rack. Pouring a glass for each of them, he handed one to the old mage. “Let us celebrate that, Master.”

Daniel accepted the glass and raised it slightly. “To this wonderful age.”

“To this wonderful age.”

(The comic’s tipping feature has finally launched! So here’s a little promotion…)

(End of chapter)