The real drivers behind this turmoil weren’t Lynch, but the Prime Minister and the Emperor.

Lynch had merely identified some underlying problems and triggered the dissatisfaction that noble groups had long harbored toward imperial policies—resentment that had been suppressed by the Emperor and his ministers.

In essence, the nobles had lost money during the war. Lacking the means to recoup their losses, and with no outlet to vent their frustrations due to the imperial clampdown, their grievances only deepened until eventual eruption was inevitable.

The Emperor believed that once the Amellia region developed and created opportunities for the nobility to make money, their anger would subside.

The ministers held similar views. Though they too invested heavily in the war and didn’t get returns, they didn’t harbor much resentment—because they were ministers.

They still held power. In fact, for many, investing in the war was about consolidating that power.

But Amellia’s development didn’t go as smoothly as expected. Beyond earlier sharp conflicts and armed resistance, even now, it was difficult for nobles to find viable business opportunities there.

A completely open and free market was unsuitable for merchants who had grown accustomed to profiting through connections and influence. They preferred resolving competition the noble way—behind closed doors.

Just like in the movies: a few nobles sit around a round table on a lazy afternoon—some arrogant, some rebellious, some silent, some disdainful. After perhaps heated or calm discussion, they divide up the territory and industries. Everyone gets their slice, and no one steps on another’s turf.

This monopolistic business model worked well back home. Merchants didn’t need to worry about competition—only about how to extract the last drop of value from the market.

All the negotiation, compromise, and decision-making was left to the nobles. The merchants made money without even thinking.

But in Amellia, the competition from the Federation was overwhelming. Their aggressive market strategies—even willing to operate at a loss—pressured the domestic nobility to a breaking point.

They just wanted to make money, not incur more losses. The Emperor and ministers stabbed them in the back again, breaking promises, which only fueled their resentment.

The marginalized noble class became the only real losers of the war. Some of them even felt betrayed by the royal court and ministers.

“We agreed to go to war and make money. Yet I’m the only one who lost…”

Lynch seized on this. Known worldwide as Mr. Billionaire—even if that sum was now worthless—his name carried weight.

People saw him as young, handsome, rich, and skilled at making money.

After being ennobled, Lynch actively participated in noble gatherings and quickly bonded with marginalized nobles. The core groups in the Privy Council—the hereditary aristocracy—had deep roots and old bloodlines. They didn’t care much for Lynch, nor did they need to—they wouldn’t go hungry just because a war didn’t pay off.

Those who sided with Lynch were desperate to make money: barons, viscounts, and a few unlucky earls. With shallow foundations, they hoped to strike it rich quickly and improve their dire situations.

Noble life was lavish and costly. Balls, banquets, social events—all required significant spending. Some were unavoidable.

They’d already squeezed themselves dry trying to keep up appearances. Just short of pawning family heirlooms and making national headlines—So-and-so sells off ancestral estate to survive.

Lynch gave them that opportunity—and in doing so, destabilized the fragile balance between the noble class, ministers, and the Emperor.

What seemed like a small event was, in truth, the linchpin.

The nobles’ anger led them to disregard national interests and follow Lynch’s lead in shorting the market. To shift blame, they redirected public anger toward the Finance Minister.

If the Finance Minister’s people hadn’t taken bribes and approved the IPO of Harmony Capital, none of this would have happened. If they had conducted proper oversight, they might have prevented Harmony Capital from draining the public’s wealth.

With the Finance Minister under fire and Lynch leading nobles to short the Empire’s financial index, the otherwise quiet Prime Minister spotted his chance. He attacked the Finance Minister, diverting imperial attention away from Lynch.

The matter shifted from Lynch shorting the market to a struggle over national financial power. As they fought, Lynch kept making money and rallied nobles to his side.

Back when Lynch first ended up in a small room with a powerful figure, that man asked if he knew why he was there.

Lynch said he thought it was because he made things too big, caused too much trouble, and got exposed.

But the man told him he was wrong.

It wasn’t the scale—others had gone bigger. It wasn’t the influence—others had more. His mistake was failing to allocate the benefits properly.

Some people who should’ve gotten a cut didn’t. Others who shouldn’t have, did. That created resentment—and greed. Worse, those people were all around him, unavoidable.

Resentment and greed fueled each other, and he became the epicenter.

That same dynamic was now playing out in the Gephra Empire. Lynch had recreated his past, but this time on a national scale.

He now believed the Emperor should thank him—for triggering, within controllable limits, what could have become a national disaster.

This wasn’t a crime—it was a service.

Once the power struggle between the Prime Minister and the Emperor over control of the national finances ended, the financial index would stabilize. Reaffirming financial authority would be a major boost to the Empire’s economic ecosystem.

If power landed with the Prime Minister, the nobility would have more leverage against the royal family, promoting stability and restoring public confidence in the nation.

“Mr. Lynch… what should we do next?” asked a noble in his early thirties, strikingly handsome.

“These things you mentioned have already happened. The conflict between the Prime Minister and Finance Minister has erupted. I’ve heard from reliable sources that the two had a confrontation at the palace gates.”

“Their feud will inevitably affect us. When that happens, we’ll need to take a stance, right?”

Maybe it was Lynch’s success, maybe it was his composure—but these nobles had begun to consult him like a seasoned leader, not a twenty-two-year-old youth.

Others in the room also looked to him. Sometimes, having someone to follow was a blessing—it meant they didn’t have to think for themselves.

Lynch didn’t dodge the question. He smiled. “Pick a side, gentlemen.”

“Politics is about rallying those we can unite and striking those who oppose us. The victors write history and become the just. The losers disappear, condemned as evil.”

“We need to choose between the Prime Minister and His Majesty—and help our choice win.”

The nobles all nodded. This thinking fit perfectly within the aristocratic political landscape.

The term noble faction was born of choosing sides. It wasn’t unfamiliar. Whether forming a new group or building on the old, this was business as usual.

“Who do you support?” the questioner pressed. The benefits of backing the winning side didn’t need to be explained—this was tradition in Gephra.

Winners take all. Losers crawl back to lick their wounds and wait for the next chance.

Lynch sat in his chair, fingertips pressed together, calm and smiling. “Which side we stand with doesn’t depend on our personal opinions—it depends on who offers the greater benefits.”

His answer made the nobles in the room slightly uncomfortable. Nobles cared about appearances.

They usually chose sides based on personal connections—someone had ties with them, or with someone else in their circle—so they followed along.

They didn’t think much about winning or losing. After all, they were nobles; even the Emperor couldn’t just have them killed. That made them stubborn—bluntly put, foolish—about certain things.

Lynch’s benefit-centered logic was different from their usual way of picking sides. It sounded too much like something a merchant would say—and merchants were the people nobles looked down on most. Naturally, they felt uneasy about his approach.

But no one objected. None of them were in a position to challenge him now. Lynch was the one calling the shots.

In fact, having profited from this national crisis alongside Lynch, they were still riding a wave of excitement. By using only the smallest of connections, the numbers in their accounts kept climbing. It was far more elegant than sitting at negotiation tables clashing with other nobles.

And the money came easier, faster, and in greater amounts.

This, finally, felt like how nobles ought to make money.