Tarini saw Reyn off on Viola's behalf all the way to the doors of the Violet House. Confirming once more that the Soul Transformation Ritual would take place tomorrow at noon, she watched him go.
Reyn glanced at the sky and realized he'd spent more than two hours in the Violet House. Noon had just passed, and he wasn't very hungry yet, so he decided to stroll down Brent Street.
The street buzzed with life: streams of carriages and pedestrians, people darting back and forth between shops.
Reyn watched with interest. It had to be said that the people on this street were at least middle class or supernatural beings, or students of supernatural academies. Their overall demeanor and appearance starkly differed from Longsand's other districts' residents.
It was evident even in how they moved.
The wealthy rode in automobiles, noble ladies preferred luxurious carriages, mighty knights sat tall on steeds, supernatural beings were accompanied by exotic beasts on which they sometimes rode. Occasionally someone walked, but even their pace was noticeably faster than ordinary people's.
Reyn also spotted a very familiar mode of transport—a bicycle.
He recalled that back in the academy, he'd once had a used bicycle, but it was stolen after just half a month, leaving him lamenting for a long time.
Bicycles had been popular in the Empire for many years, were inexpensive, and besides public transport, were the most favored way to get around the city.
Many professions required bicycles, like postmen and newspaper deliverers. Some modified them into tricycles for street vending.
"It's a shame this world already has bicycles. One less idea for making money," Reyn thought regretfully, but didn't dwell on it.
In a world where steam engines and mechanical tech had developed for several hundred years—even without oil or electricity—something as simple as a bicycle was bound to be invented sooner or later.
"Ma'am, please hold the pose, don't move, absolutely don't move... Good, just like that, good... It'll be ready soon!"
"Getting ready to shoot, three, two..."
A thin male voice caught Reyn's attention. What was happening here?
He pinpointed the sound, took a few quick steps forward, turned the corner, and... suddenly—click!—a bright flash of white light blinded him, making him instinctively shield his eyes with his hand. He was quite startled.
"What the hell?"
The white light faded as quickly as it had flashed. Only then did Reyn see a man nearby holding something like a spotlight. The light had come from there, and now thick white smoke billowed from the device.
The man, hunched over, stuck his head into a wooden box mounted on a tripod. The front of the box had a hole with a glass lens, and a large piece of black cloth was attached to the back, draping over the upper half of his body.
Opposite the box, under a tree at the edge of Brent Street, stood a young woman. One hand rested on the railing, with a panoramic view of the Mages Tower behind her. Her face held a strained smile, her pose unnatural—clearly, she'd been standing like that for quite a while, and her body had gone stiff.
Reyn understood immediately—they were taking a photograph!
A crowd of onlookers had gathered, mostly young people—boys and girls—watching the shooting process excitedly and occasionally discussing with their companions which poses looked best in photos.
Reyn got interested right away and joined the crowd.
The photographer was a middle-aged man of slender build, intellectual appearance, wearing glasses. He extracted something like a sealed box—a photographic plate—from the wooden box and handed it to the carriage nearby.
"Daguerre, plate's ready."
This carriage was tightly covered in black light-proof fabric, like a tent. Someone inside took the box, and a voice came from within:
"Good, Eastman."
The man called Eastman turned to the woman being photographed:
"Ma'am, your photo is taken. Please wait a moment; it'll be developed now."
Then he faced the onlookers and announced loudly:
"Who else wants a photo? No better spot on Brent Street! The whole Mages Tower fits in the frame from here, guaranteed satisfaction. One photo—just one silver crown! Pay after development; if you don't like it, only ten copper liso, and reshoot!"
"I want a photo!"
"I'm first, let me!"
Several young people rushed forward eagerly. Eastman hurried to calm them, asking them not to rush and to come one by one. A satisfied smile spread across his face.
Reyn had no intention of getting photographed and left the crowd.
But thoughts stirred in his head. Photography had existed for many years across the Empire, with photo studios everywhere; just on Brent Street, there were seven or eight, and business was booming. Even in his hometown, a modest photo studio had opened last year, and his whole family went for a group shot. His mother, Marinda, framed the photo and hung it in the living room.
Photo prices weren't cheap. In a studio, one shot cost fifteen copper liso.
Street shooting with background choice was pricier—twenty copper liso per photo, or one silver crown, equal to a commoner's daily wage.
Yet people still flocked to capture themselves, indicating high demand and huge potential in this consumer market.
Reyn hadn't delved deeply into photography or cameras, but he'd once read a history of photography book in the library and remembered details about old camera models.
If he wasn't mistaken, those two were using the wet collodion process. The light-sensitive emulsions and developing chemicals might differ, but the principle should be the same.
This photographic method was outdated and extremely inconvenient. Just look at the bulky carriage—it took a whole wagon of equipment and chemicals for one shoot.
If he could create a portable camera, capturing the photography market would be a breeze!
Ideas flooded Reyn's mind instantly. He only remembered the general principles of camera construction; to actually make one, he'd need time for research and experiments. Only then could he know if it was feasible.
As he pondered earning piles of golden shields with a camera, an automobile suddenly stopped nearby on the road. The driver got out, opened the front door, and politely asked:
"Excuse me, are you Mr. Reyn?"
Reyn eyed the driver warily, then the car. Curtains hid the interior.
But that didn't stop him. Focusing, he listened and caught a heartbeat from the back seat—strong, powerful, nothing like a normal human's rhythm. Definitely a supernatural, and male.
"Mr. Reyn, I mean no harm."
The driver smiled friendly and respectfully lowered his voice:
"My master is in the car. He'd like to meet you and discuss supernatural professions. Please, get in; I assure you, you won't regret it."
With that, he opened the back door himself.
Reyn saw a neatly dressed middle-aged man inside, who nodded slightly in greeting and made an inviting gesture.
He pretended to think for a few seconds while activating his Soul Eye to examine the stranger closely.
"Seventh-level supernatural... Mechanic?"
Reyn was a bit surprised. Why were all the supernaturals he encountered today higher level? First Viola, a sixth-level Omni-Spiritual Mage, now a seventh-level Mechanic.
Seventh level was already the pinnacle of a profession. Plus, a spellcasting Mechanic was very rare. There probably weren't even a few of that rank in all of Longsand.
Currently, the man's soul shimmered mainly white and green with a faint orange tint, indicating a calm, relaxed state, some joy, and a touch of excitement or anticipation.
"He's not hostile."
From long observation of souls, Reyn had learned to roughly gauge people's emotions and attitudes toward him by their colors.
Reyn relaxed a little and got into the back seat. The driver carefully closed the door behind him.
"Mr. Reyn, I'm Kenji Rockefeller, vice chairman of the Guild of Steam and Mechanics Longsand branch. Here's my business card." As soon as Reyn sat, the man introduced himself and offered a gold-embossed card with both hands, his face beaming with a genuine smile.
Seeing such courtesy, Reyn didn't neglect etiquette, accepted the card with both hands, and nodded back:
"Mr. Kenji, hello."
Glancing at the card, he saw the man held several titles.
First: vice chairman of the Longsandy Guild of Steam and Mechanics branch. Then: founder of Rockefeller Mining Company, owner of Anders Machine Works, board member of the Imperial Steel Union, senior member of the Alchemists Association, and so on. He even had a baronial title, making him a true aristocrat. Any of these would mark him as highly influential in the city.
Reyn hadn't heard of him before, but judging by his manners and titles, he was a major magnate in mining and manufacturing.
Whether on Earth or Ellunes, those controlling mines—those who could dig money from the ground—were all big tycoons, the real ruling elite.
"I'm not the chairman; there are several vice chairmen in our Longsand branch, and I'm just one," Kenji chuckled good-naturedly a few times and added: "I'm over a decade older than you; may I call you just Reyn?"
"Of course."
It didn't bother Reyn at all.
"Mr. Kenji, what do you want from me?" he asked.
He already had a rough guess.
"No rush on that. It's lunchtime; I've booked a table at Danbral. We can talk over food," Kenji told the driver: "Meli, let's go."
Reyn had heard of Danbral—one of Longsand's best restaurants, where lunch reportedly cost several golden shields. But he didn't want unearned favors and quickly refused:
"Mr. Kenji, I've already eaten. If you have business, you can say it now."
The driver looked puzzled at Kenji:
"Master?"
Seeing Reyn's resolve, Kenji nodded:
"Alright, then I'll give you a ride. Reyn, where to?"
Reyn planned to return to his apartment but didn't want to reveal his address, so he picked randomly:
"Take me to the Demon Soul Market."
"To the Demon Soul Market," Kenji instructed the driver, and the car set off immediately.
The Demon Soul Market wasn't far; they'd arrive soon, so Kenji got straight to the point without further ado:
"Reyn, I came specifically to invite you to join the Guild of Steam and Mechanics and become a Mechanic."