In the Empire's early days, the aristocracy was the main ruling force, with various nobility levels forming a solid upper class.
But by mid-imperial period, imperial power waned, and supreme authority passed to the Kemitis High Council. Aside from self-proclaimed dukes—holy soul mages—the rest of traditional aristocracy gradually lost influence over long years.
Especially after the Mechanics Guild appeared over four hundred years ago, productive forces surged, finally shattering the feudal system based on traditional nobility's land monopoly. Many aristocratic houses vanished into history's river.
Of course, thanks to supernatural powers' existence, some traditional aristocrats endured to this day, holding power in isolated regions. But their number is small, and they're usually called "old nobility."
In opposition to old nobility arose new.
New nobility no longer relied on land and taxes. Instead, they engaged in trade and commerce, founded factories, managed companies, amassed vast wealth through bolder, more enterprising methods, thus gaining power and noble titles.
This new nobility's titles were mostly honorary, symbolizing status: mainly baronial and viscount, plus lower knightly orders and noble ranks.
Moreover, honorary titles were lifelong and non-hereditary.
Titles from count upward, conversely, were real; most entailed land ownership, borne by either old nobility or ducal family members.
Winter Thunder county was precisely such a rare real title. Over three hundred thousand lived in Winter Thunder city alone, with the whole holding exceeding a million.
The holding featured a vast lake at key waterway crossroads. Its value and benefits were so immense that few better counties existed in the entire Empire.
Additionally, the Count of Winter Thunder held a seat on the Imperial Council.
Becoming Count of Winter Thunder automatically made one an Imperial Council member, placing them at the Empire's power center and peak of success.
Who could resist such temptation?
Even Reyn himself, if given the chance for Winter Thunder count title, would exert every effort to claim it, sweeping aside all obstacles.
He looked at Viola. Clearly, she too was determined to seize this count title.
But achieving the goal was no easy task.
The decision on who got the count title belonged to the Duchess of the Silver Star.
And the Duchess of the Silver Star was guided solely by profit: whoever showed best management skills and brought more wealth earned her favor.
Standing out among a dozen competitors in a year was extremely hard. Family members trusted with managing family assets were no fools.
Moreover, it was mid-August now, with just over four months to year-end.
Unless some entirely new money-making method was found and gained the duchess's approval.
Reyn recalled his earlier idea and thought it might not be so complicated. It all depended on Viola's attitude. Once clarified, he might be able to help her.
If Viola became countess and gained vast holdings, he might benefit too.
Of course, he couldn't mention it now.
Reyn no longer brought up Winter Thunder county, instead asking:
"If Phyllis returns and finds the mountain giant's demonic soul fake, she won't know it's Galloweyna's scam and will come demanding compensation from you. What then?"
Phyllis had lost over twenty thousand gold shields. Given her unscrupulous nature, she surely wouldn't accept it quietly or seek fair resolution with Viola.
Viola couldn't outright say it was Galloweyna's doing—without proof, Phyllis wouldn't believe her.
The best way was to catch Helinni.
But so much time had passed since the deal that Helinni had surely fled Longsand by now.
"She publicly declared it had nothing to do with the Violet House. If she wants to make a fuss, let her—it doesn't bother me," Viola was utterly calm and said confidently: "This is Longsand, not Pallas. I'm in the right, and one word to the duchess will make her back down."
Reyn nodded:
"Good, if you have a way to handle her."
He glanced at the clock—it was late—and decided to take his leave.
"Rest then. Thanks for today,"
Viola stood and escorted him to the door. As Reyn approached the elevator, she suddenly said:
"Your clavichord playing still isn't good enough. Come to me every day after lunch to practice."
Reyn turned and looked at her. He noticed her slightly averted gaze—this invitation was almost a direct hint.
He smiled and nodded:
"Alright, until tomorrow noon."
With that, he elegantly waved and left.
Exiting the Violet House, he hailed a carriage and got in.
Reyn keenly noticed that before boarding, several pairs of eyes had watched him from the street's dark corners, then unobtrusively followed.
"Interesting—lackeys sent by so-called 'rivals,' or Galloweyna's minions?"
Reyn was somewhat annoyed.
He fully understood that from today, his name would likely gain some notoriety in Longsand's upper circles, firmly linked to Viola. His life would probably cease to be peaceful.
Crossing the bridge, Reyn randomly chose a spot to alight from the carriage and, using the Voice of All Existence, easily shook all pursuers.
Back in his apartment, he slept until morning, then upon waking devoted three hours to meditation first thing.
Afterward, he headed to the Basilisk tavern and in Zoltan's yard, using the dwarf's equipment, began strength training. He also brought his purified iron war hammer, now wielding it skillfully.
Using a war hammer also required skill. Though not as complex as fencing, it still demanded years of rigorous training.
These techniques held nothing supernatural, no special "hammer styles." It boiled down to two basics: striking and blocking.
Swinging a hammer and smashing everything around sounded simple, but there were many subtleties.
One-handed strikes, two-handed, horizontal, vertical, forward, backward, half-circle, full-circle, how much force to use, how much to hold back—all needed honing to instinct. In combat, one had to control the hammer's center of gravity, coordinate movements with footwork to unleash maximum power, and after striking, timely recover the weapon without losing balance or exposing to counterattack.
All these moves required endless repetition to combine fluidly in battle, applying them smoothly without pausing mid-attack from overexertion, which a foe could exploit.
Additionally, there was blocking technique. The war hammer was larger than most weapons and often served as a shield.
Not just the head, but the haft and peen—every part of the hammer was used for blocking and simultaneous counterattack on the target.
Sometimes a spinning strike with the hammer head could deal more damage than a direct sword thrust.
Thanks to the "Metallic Touch" element and his innate sense of balance, Reyn quickly got used to the hammer in his hands. The weapon seemed like an extension of his body, obedient to every movement.
The one-hundred-twenty-pound warhammer whistled through the air in his hands, stirring up strong gusts in the courtyard.
After training for over an hour, Reyn stopped, drenched in sweat.
He weighed the hammer in his hand. This heavy weapon was becoming more and more obedient, its weight just right.
Holding the hammer, he looked at everything around him like nails.
Unfortunately, he'd been training in the air for so long. The courtyard was empty, except for a dozen large iron ingots, and there was nothing to smash, which made his hands itch a bit.
Reyn shook his head, suppressing the urge.
"I don't have any offensive body elements yet, or the hammer's power would be even greater."
There were many body elements that boosted attack power. Superhumans usually called these elements skills.
For example, the most common "Heavy Strike," possessed by many close-combat fighters, allowed putting more force into an attack. The berserkers' "Furious Strike" had a similar effect, but with an even greater power boost.
There were also "Charged Strike," "Cleave," "Triple Strike," and many others. Most were universal for different weapons, but some didn't suit the warhammer.
Reyn had none of these skills yet and could only rely on his raw strength and technique.
He suddenly gripped the hammer's handle higher and flicked his wrist sharply, making it spin.
The warhammer spun in his palm like a windmill. Not only did it not fall, it spun faster and faster, turning into a blur and whistling through the air.
"You can spin the hammer like that too?"
Zoltan, who had just entered the courtyard, saw the scene and froze in amazement.
Reyn stopped the motion, and the blur turned back into the warhammer in his hand. He smiled.
"Just tried it, and it worked by accident."
"You little rascal, always holding back the truth!"
Zoltan shook his head, his red mohawk swaying side to side. Amazement showed in his eyes.
He preferred spirit guns and wasn't a master of the warhammer, but as a Dwarf, he knew this weapon far better than ordinary people. In his clan, he'd seen many skilled hammer warriors, but none handled it as deftly as Reyn.
A heavy warhammer with unbalanced weight—one end lighter, the other heavier—what incredible strength control and technique were needed to make it spin like that?
Even rangers with "Nimble Hands" couldn't do it!
Reyn put away the hammer and, taking a sheet of paper from the jacket hanging on the wall, said.
"Zoltan, I want to buy a batch of alchemical materials and a bunch of mechanical parts. Can you get them for me? I've made a list; you set the price."
He'd written it last night before bed, planning to make something.
Zoltan took the list and studied it.
"Phlogiston, enchanted dust, alcohol, graphite, rubber, copper tubes, wax, distilled water, sulfuric acid, megaphone, iron plates, needles, iron stands..." He quickly scanned the list and saw Reyn needed a lot this time, dozens of items, all different. It was completely unclear what for.
But he didn't ask. The more Reyn ordered, the more he earned.
"Most of these materials I have, just not enough. Give me a few days to prepare; I'll let you know when it's ready," Zoltan estimated and said.
"The total cost of all materials will be about five gold shields. You'll need to pay three in advance."
Reyn took out three gold shields and handed them over.
"Wait for news," Zoltan happily pocketed the gold shields and waddled away on his short legs.