A transaction is always an exchange of gains and losses. But since Felix had only just arrived in Londinium and was still an outsider, it was natural that he would suffer some disadvantages when negotiating with the city's nobles.
Of course, as the saying goes, you can't catch a wolf without sacrificing a lamb. At present, Felix had already phased out his older drone models. With a superior prototype in hand, he wouldn't lose much by exchanging the outdated models for resources.
Felix agreed to provide Earl Bolton with a group of hunters. These hunters were equipped with various modules—some highly lethal, others suitable for Casters—which made them a valuable asset for both territorial defense and expansion.
Naturally, before coming here, Felix had done his homework on Earl Bolton. The middle-aged noble had only one young heir. If he wished to preserve his legacy, he would need to build or reinforce his foundation. Earl Bolton, ambitious as he was, chose to build. And so, Felix generously offered modules for crossbows, Arts casting, and other deadly enhancements.
He had completed his part of the offer. Now came the part where he stated his demands—where some verbal maneuvering would be inevitable.
Felix didn't ask for much. He had only two conditions: first, he wanted the blueprints for the piledriver spears and the steam-powered armor housed within the military factory; second, he wished to recruit a few apprentices from the same facility to work under him.
"You're quite bold, Lord Felix. Surely you're aware that these two blueprints are classified as Victoria's military assets. Even I don't have access to them," Earl Bolton said, narrowing his eyes. "What you're asking for borders on treason."
Felix curled his lips inwardly. He had seen plenty of Victorian dramas in his past life. Not just barons or viscounts—even dukes were constantly scheming against each other, nearly tearing Victoria apart from within. It was a miracle the nation still stood.
The nobles were anything but united. Londinium had fallen into the hands of Theresis, an invited outsider. The Tara were engaged in internal strife. Meanwhile, the nobles either holed up in their own territories or took up arms and marched to battle, staking their lives on the most worthwhile goals.
"Lord Felix, have you ever heard of the Steam Knights?"
Though he already knew, Felix shook his head out of courtesy.
Lord Bolton leaned back on the sofa, lips curled as he took a puff from his pipe, clearly pleased at having the upper hand. "The Steam Knights is a special forces unit established by the Victorian Parliament. Its predecessor was the Victorian Exemplary Army. Their main task is to carry out special operations assigned directly by Parliament. Their activities span all of Victoria, including various enclaves... I trust you understand the significance of this unit."
"And the steam-powered armor and piledriver spears you're asking about? Both are standard equipment of the Steam Knights."
Felix smiled. "I'm only interested in the blueprints, Earl Bolton—purely from a scientific research standpoint. Our company is developing a new type of mecha. Understanding the internal mechanisms of those two weapons would significantly accelerate our progress."
"…Mecha?" Earl Bolton repeated the unfamiliar word with a frown.
Felix smiled once more and took out his portable terminal, tapping to play the second video. On screen, an experimenter clad in sleek white-and-gold armor slowly advanced, emanating an imposing and icy aura. Attached to his arm was a baton-shaped weapon. With the aid of jet propulsion, the armored figure delivered a barrage of powerful punches, each one smashing into a concrete wall. With a single sweeping motion, a hole was cleanly carved into the solid structure.
"…What is this?" Earl Bolton's eyes widened in astonishment.
Felix raised a finger to his lips. "This is a test subject from the Columbian military. I believe it won't be long before we see them deployed on the battlefield."
He added calmly, "Of course, I can develop a simplified version of the mecha exclusively for you, one that won't raise any alarms with the Columbian military."
Earl Bolton took a long draw from his pipe, using the veil of smoke to conceal his stunned expression. Slowly, he closed his eyes, silently weighing the pros and cons.
A cup of tea later, he reopened them.
"I'll give you the blueprints and the apprentices—but only three," he said nonchalantly. "You can have them, but in exchange, I want the simplified version of the mecha."
He held up three fingers. "I want three units."
There were three adjutants under Earl Bolton's command. Equipping them with such machines would be akin to giving wings to a tiger.
Naturally, no one trusted empty promises. What people wanted was something tangible, something real—ironclad results rather than words that could vanish at any time.
Felix, composed and gracious as ever, maintained his polite smile. He responded with diplomatic tact, "Before the transaction is finalized, I will need access to the blueprints of the piledriver spears. Additionally, I'll need to borrow the military factory's workshop to assemble the three units Your Excellency requires. If you wouldn't mind assigning the apprentices to me in advance, it would greatly accelerate the production process."
Earl Bolton gave a small nod. "Very well."
Felix extended his hand, and Earl Bolton chuckled lightly before shaking it.
"As a researcher," Bolton said, "if you ever grow weary or disillusioned with the scientific world in Columbia, know that you're always welcome here."
"Thank you for your generosity, Your Excellency," Felix replied with a bow before turning and leaving swiftly.
Earl Bolton retracted his gaze, thoughtful. Though Felix's proposal had seemed bold and aggressive, he had anticipated it. The other earls and viscounts attending the banquet had long coveted the resources within the military factory, each hoping to place their protégés in leadership roles.
Of course, the Arsenal was not entirely under Earl Bolton's control. There were several dukes above him. But the Londinium nobles could not appeal to those dukes—after all, the dukes were barred from entering Londinium.
The blueprints were a minor matter. The truly classified schematics within the Arsenal were far more sensitive than those of the piledriver spears or steam-powered armor. It was no secret that Steam Knights units had fallen in battle, and their weapons had been scavenged by hostile forces for reverse-engineering. As for apprentices… Londinium was never short on people. If the Arsenal opened recruitment today, one could only imagine how many children from Highbury would scramble to enlist.
As for this deal, what Lord Bolton truly coveted were the drones and mechas—Colombian equipment that embodied advanced technology and refinement.
The scientists in the academic community were only interested in research and showed no inclination toward the olive branch extended by Victoria. The reason was simple: Victoria lacked the scientific atmosphere, as well as the sophisticated instruments and facilities that Colombia possessed. Under such circumstances, if Victorian nobles wished to procure such equipment, their only option was to negotiate with Colombian tech companies and purchase the goods at exorbitant prices. Naturally, such transactions would never come cheap.
Lord Bolton believed he had struck a windfall with this deal. The blueprints were intangible assets—official Victorian schematics—and the apprentices' wages were covered by the government. In other words, he had paid nothing and in return secured valuable technology.
His thoughts drifted toward the Earl of Warwick. The spiritual leader of the Tara people had always maintained a rather distant relationship with the Victorian nobles—cordial at best. A fire last year claimed many lives, and Lord Bolton was well aware that it had been a warning sent by a certain Victorian noble.
Lately, the Earl of Warwick had been frequenting various noble estates, seemingly in a bid to submit or gain favor... or so Lord Bolton speculated.
A mere Tara nobleman—did he truly think money could bridge the chasm between their statuses?
Lord Bolton suppressed the impatience creeping onto his face when he heard a knock at the door.
The door opened. The Earl of Warwick stepped in, removing his hat and offering a courteous smile. Lord Bolton returned the gesture with a warm smile and moved forward to greet him.
---
Felix left with Degenbrecher and Mandragora without bidding farewell to the other nobles. On the way out, he encountered the Earl of Warwick in the corridor. The Earl, ever the gentleman, doffed his hat in polite farewell.
Felix held no strong opinions about this Tara nobleman. The Tara people were indeed pitiful, suffering under the discrimination of the Victorians. Yet, pitiable people often had their detestable sides too. That the Tara noble, despite his identity, flattered the Victorian elites simply to preserve his status and income, was telling.
The Tara nobility loathed their own lineage. If only they were Victorians, they wouldn't have to shoulder such heavy taxes, nor endure the xenophobia and disdain of the Victorian aristocracy.
Even the Earl of Warwick—the spiritual figurehead of the Tara people—was not exempt. In such a society, what power did he truly have?
"Brother, I'm still a little hungry," Mandragora said quietly, tugging at Felix's sleeve with a hint of embarrassment. During the banquet, she'd overheard the noble children talking. They never seemed to mention hunger. Banquets, for them, weren't about eating—they were arenas for networking and appearances.
Felix gently rubbed Mandragora's head and gave her ear a light pinch. "Alright, let's go back to the hotel, change clothes, and then find something to eat."
Banquets were meant for socializing and business discussions. Felix himself hadn't eaten much either. Degenbrecher, on the other hand, was no stranger to such events. The annual conference held by the Chamber of Commerce—where the two of them had first truly met—was just like today's banquet. The only difference was that in Kazimierz, business negotiations were more direct, whereas among nobles, the exchange of interests was cloaked beneath layers of etiquette.
At some point, Mandragora's tail had subconsciously wrapped around Felix's waist. Having witnessed the so-called Victorian aristocracy firsthand, she needed time to process her emotions. The children of these nobles stood high above, as if perched in the clouds for too long, forgetting what the ground even looked like. Not only did they exploit the Tara people, but even ordinary Victorians were subject to their oppression.
Wherever power and strength exist, even the most innocent can be reshaped by their environment.
Mandragora was no exception. If Brother Felix hadn't rescued her back then, would she still be lurking in the filthy sewers, consumed by hatred and a thirst for vengeance against the nobles?
Growth is something acquired over time. Among those noble children who mocked and looked down on commoners at the banquet—were they truly born with such attitudes?
"How was today?" Degenbrecher, seated across from them, noticed Mandragora's small gesture. A trace of amusement flickered in her expression, though she masked it well and looked at Felix calmly.
Felix gazed out the window. "It went just as I expected. The Victorian nobles are gilded on the surface but rotten underneath. They certainly wield power and military force, but among them, few are upright in their duties... I struck a deal with Earl Bolton. He gave me the blueprints for the Steam Knights' piledriver spears and steam-powered armors."
"Oh... that sounds about right." Degenbrecher chuckled and shook her head. "They may act noble in formal settings, but in private, they're really just greedy businessmen."
"In addition, I requested three apprentices from the arsenal to assist me in the future." Felix crossed his legs and continued to knead Mandragora's ear, which felt especially pleasant. "To Earl Bolton, this cost him nothing—yet he gained immensely. That's why he agreed so readily."
"The boss had this all planned out, didn't he?"
"Not exactly, but seeing how well-received Lord Bolton was at the banquet did help push the deal forward."
As the three continued chatting, the stretched Lincoln pulled into the hotel in the central district. Felix extended his hand to help Mandragora out of the car.
"I'm not really used to wearing dresses all the time," Mandragora mumbled, smoothing out the wrinkles in her skirt.
"We just need to wear what suits us best and what we truly like," Felix said, taking her hand. "There's no need to wear something every day just because it's luxurious. So, Mandragora, what kind of clothes do you like?"
"Mm... just like Brother Felix—casual clothes," Mandragora replied softly.
"Yes. Even if a dress looks nice, you don't have to wear it daily. It's like taking a day off—after working hard, you need time to relax."
Mandragora's gaze turned faintly distant. During her time in Colombia, she had worked and trained relentlessly—never taking a break, not even on weekends.
"Of course, when making any decision, you should focus on your personal needs and values. Pursue what you genuinely like and what suits you—not what society or others say you should do. That's another truth I wanted to share with you."
After changing into more comfortable clothes, the three of them headed to the night market in the central district and enjoyed a meal of Eastern cuisine and Victorian Desserts.
The next day, Degenbrecher took Mandragora out to explore freely, while Felix headed early in the morning to the factory district in Highbury. As previously arranged, Earl Bolton's butler was already waiting at the entrance.
"Sir, your workshop has been prepared, and the apprentices are currently on break before starting work. Please, this way."
Felix smiled and gave a slight nod. It was time for him to begin recruiting more hands for the production team.