Nobles are a very peculiar group, with strange habits and values hard to understand.

In the past, noblewomen often appeared in public wearing daring outfits.

In this feudal monarchy dominated by men, such things happening was truly remarkable.

These noblewomen became objects of admiration, their goal being to make knights fight duels for them.

It sounds unbelievable, but this actually happened in history.

A noblewoman’s popularity was measured by how many were willing to die for her.

The capital had the most famous noblewomen, so knights seeking fame would flock there.

Knights could gain fame through battle achievements, but wars didn’t happen all the time.

Another way was to sleep with high-ranking noblewomen—tasting noble beauty and gaining great renown.

It was like two groups naturally drawn to each other: knights would fiercely court a noblewoman, and if rivals pursued her too, they fought duels.

Only the victor could become the noblewoman’s companion; losers lost their lives.

It was a brutal game, but knights eagerly participated, confident no one could defeat them.

Noblewomen needed these duels—blood and death nurtured their fame.

If a noblewoman had no knights pursuing or fighting for her, she’d be shunned by society.

At that time, the most famous in the capital was a princess consort of a prince, with at least a hundred knights dying in duels over her.

Interestingly, from today’s perspective, nobles didn’t oppose their wives having direct relations with knights; some even took pride in it.

This is a modern misinterpretation of past mindsets. Most male nobles didn’t see their wives as equals.

To them, wives were not only not always meant to bear heirs but were also ornaments.

The louder their fame, the prouder the nobles felt.

Every era has its absurdities; judging past customs by today’s standards is unfair.

The young Count tried to calm himself and entered the salon.

He returned home after nine at night, unsure when was the right time to go back, so he delayed as much as possible.

At home, Lynch was gone. His mother, the former Countess, was watching TV, occasionally covering her mouth to laugh.

He glanced at the screen and heard unfamiliar speech—definitely a Federation drama.

Since the cultural exchange delegation brought back many Federation works, the people of Gephra finally recognized authentic Federation shows.

There was even a local program teaching how to properly watch Federation dramas, complete with a sofa in front of the TV, instructing viewers to lie on it, eating high-fat, high-sugar snacks for a deeper experience.

Otherwise, one couldn’t grasp the essence of those programs.

This was a joke and satire, but Federation shows were very popular in Gephra.

No serious politics, no heavy social issues, no aggressive patriotism—just silly, crude fun.

No brain cells needed—just laugh foolishly at the screen. The craze made people more curious about the Federation.

What kind of society could produce such idiotic dramas?

The young Count’s gaze flicked from the screen as he sat on a bench, picked up a fruit from the table, then put it back.

“Lynch left…” he said, as if questioning or confirming.

The former Countess nodded. “He left after dinner.”

Silence fell between them, though some truths are hard to accept.

His fingers intertwined, then quickly separated. “What did he say?”

She tore her attention from the TV and looked at her son with a new kind of joy and curiosity, as if discovering something.

“He said things I hadn’t thought of before, but I can’t tell you now…” When she finished, the young Count seemed ready to stand.

He respected her but sometimes voiced his opinions loudly, like any normal child.

This time, she didn’t give him the chance. “It’s Lynch’s request. He said not to tell you until things progress further.”

“But don’t worry, we’re not going to the Federation.”

The young Count, once dissatisfied, sat back and exhaled. “Looks like things are better than we thought?”

She nodded. “You still have to maintain your little group, and keep in touch with everyone at the Privy Council…”

The young Count knew only Lynch would say such things.

“Anything else?” He looked at his mother, who shook her head. He stood. “I’m tired, I’ll rest. You should too.”

After watching him leave, the former Countess returned her gaze to the TV but with no smile—only deep thought.

Earlier that afternoon, Lynch shared some ideas and plans with her that shocked her but also made her realize this was a rare chance—a chance to enter the heart of power.

Sometimes fate is cruel, taking her husband at his prime.

But sometimes fate is kind, giving support when she and her child struggled.

A bright future was beginning to unfold.By the second Monday of November, the economic aid from the Federation finally arrived, perfectly timed.

Neither the Emperor, the Prime Minister, nor the other ministers expected this to be easy.

But after the Finance Minister made a call, they actually agreed.

It wasn’t a loan, but aid. If they wanted the money, they had to accept the Federation’s terms. It was aid, not a loan—though essentially similar, both requiring repayment and interest, the phrasing mattered.

This difference brought diplomatic implications: loans imply equality, aid implies a donor-recipient relationship.

Given the country’s troubles, the deal was finalized. The blame fell on the ousted Finance Minister—if anyone called this humiliating later, history would name only him, not the Prime Minister or the Emperor.

Once the funds arrived, the Royal Bank regained confidence. Monday morning, as offices opened, the Prime Minister held a press conference announcing use of treasury funds to stabilize the financial market and quell the bank run.

Those responsible for the turmoil would face legal consequences.

The Royal Bank and some noble banks raised interest rates by 2.2% annually to encourage people to redeposit money.

With news spreading, banks saw the biggest change. The Royal Bank opened all its counters for withdrawals.

People are strange—when only two counters were open, they’d wait all day to withdraw money.

But once all counters opened, they hesitated, claiming they still trusted the Empire.

The bank run subsided; the financial market stabilized.

With cash in banks, loans to listed companies resumed to maintain shareholding ratios and boost stock prices.

Luckily, Lynch’s short selling reached settlement. Though earnings were slightly less than before, he still made a huge profit.

Some cried, others laughed. While many lost money, some got rich fast.

Seeing the rising numbers in his bank account, Lynch felt great satisfaction.

Some say number changes don’t matter to the wealthy, but that’s because the changes are too small. Try big numbers instead.

In the same room, Lynch and the young nobles gathered again.

They shared in Lynch’s profits, each achieving noble financial freedom. They sincerely thanked Lynch and pledged continued support.

Everyone smiled—nothing feels better than making money. The atmosphere was relaxed, except Lynch, who appeared calm.

He showed no particular joy, no smile.

The young Count asked curiously, “Mr. Lynch, you don’t seem very happy?”