Blackstone Code
Chapter 302:

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The five sons seated before Provincial Governor Delage remained silent in response to his question. In an environment like this, they had no need for rigorous study or effort—power was inherited. When Delage felt he no longer had the energy to manage the affairs of the province, he would simply pass the governorship to one of his children and notify the central government of Nagalier. After a fair, transparent, and impartial election by the people, his chosen successor would assume office as the next Provincial Governor.

What the central government thought or felt about it didn't matter—they didn't care. This system, nearly tantamount to hereditary succession, had stripped the ruling class of any ambition. Whether they worked hard or not, they would remain part of the elite. So why not enjoy life comfortably?

In earlier years, things were slightly different. Back then, the struggle between political authority and religious power kept rulers on their toes. If those wielding political power grew too incompetent, the high priests would step in to teach them a lesson—or even remove them from power altogether. To maintain their privileged position atop society, these rulers had to master at least some aspects of political maneuvering. But that was no longer true for this generation.

The conflict between secular and religious powers had become increasingly ceremonial. Over time, people had grown accustomed to shouting slogans without taking action. The ruling class had grown more decadent, corrupt, and rotten than ever before.

Disappointed though he was, Delage did not let it show. He looked at his five sons, each with a distinct expression, and pressed his lips together so tightly that they lost color, appearing almost pale.

"Help him, keep an eye on him, and find out what he's up to. Don't trust him completely, but don't reveal hostility prematurely."

One of his sons interjected suddenly, "Just like in the past."

Delage wanted to laugh, but he couldn't muster the strength. If this were someone else's child, he might have chuckled and said, "He's still young; someday he'll learn how to soar through the skies." But this was his own son—he couldn't bring himself to laugh. Times had changed, perhaps…

A flicker of resolve appeared in Delage's eyes. Whether Lynch was here to make money or stir trouble, he could serve as a fine whetstone. One of these boys would eventually take over his position. They needed challenges, setbacks. The temple authorities, wary of causing irreparable damage, wouldn't dare act against these youths. But Lynch? He wasn't from here; his roots weren't tied to this land. Might he behave differently?

Provincial Governor Delage smiled faintly but said nothing, prompting envious glances from the other children toward their eldest brother. Though they may not fully understand much, they knew one thing: only one person could inherit the title of Provincial Governor.

---

By morning, the effects of the previous night's banquet had rippled outward, unleashing its full impact across the entire Magura Province. Everyone sprang into action—it was a golden opportunity to make money.

It was early, and Lynch hadn't risen yet. After disembarking yesterday and indulging in alcohol during the evening, he was feeling fatigued. Young as he was, even he required rest.

Around 6:30 AM, the sky over Nagalier was already bright. A knock at the door roused Lynch from his slumber. His suite occupied an entire floor, guarded by layers of security personnel outside. There was no need to worry about safety.

At this hour, only two people would dare knock: Staff Sergeant or Arthur.

"Come in!" Lynch adjusted his pillow, leaning back against the leather headboard while running his fingers through his disheveled hair.

The door opened to reveal Arthur. Seeing him, Lynch's face softened into a smile. Arthur had done excellent work recently—a commendable effort—and Lynch didn't mind showing appreciation. "Sorry, I just woke up, so…"

His apology was for being improperly dressed, but Arthur seemed flustered by the gesture. After a brief pause, he stood at the foot of the bed, bowing his head. "Mr. Hassanah is waiting in the hotel lobby. He'd like to invite you to visit the hunting grounds."

"Hassanah?" Lynch furrowed his brow, trying to recall who that was. Last night, he'd met countless people, and the wine hadn't helped.

Arthur quickly clarified, "The fur trader—the one who's among the largest fur merchants here."

Nagalier's population was concentrated along the coastal regions and the edges of the grasslands. Few ventured deep into the jungles or heartland, where predatory animals roamed freely. People often claimed humans were the natural predators of animals—but only when armed with modern weapons and numerical superiority. Stranded alone in the wilderness, a human wouldn't last twenty-four hours before becoming fodder for nature.

Decades of sluggish industrial development had preserved Nagalier's pristine environment. Even now, news of wild beasts attacking villages and causing casualties was common. Such incidents were unheard of in the Federation, where civilization had forced predators into hiding within protected reserves. Here, however, the untamed wilderness persisted.

Beyond the city limits lay hunting territory, teeming with prey. Before the World Wars, adventurers flocked to Nagalier to hunt and revel in conquering nature. But since the wars began, such visitors had dwindled to almost none.

After freshening up, Lynch met Hassanah, the portly fur merchant, in the hotel lobby, accompanied by several bodyguards. They exchanged brief greetings before Hassanah explained his purpose.

"Last night, I consulted my nephew, who informed me that a migration route of animal herds will pass near us today…" He ran a hand over his thinning, curly hair. "We're organizing a hunt. I believe you've never seen anything like it. Perhaps you'd be interested?"

Lynch considered it briefly and agreed. It was, after all, part of the social process. The group split into several vehicles and departed from the hotel.

The city wasn't large. On arrival yesterday, Lynch had observed much of it. Leaving today, he assumed he understood the place well enough. But once they exited the urban perimeter, he realized how wrong he was.

Beyond the city wasn't open countryside or farmland—it was a vast shantytown stretching endlessly. The air reeked of foul odors worse than anything in the city: the stench of excrement, sharp chemical smells, burnt residue, and rotting meat left too long in humid heat. These scents clung stubbornly to the nostrils.

As the convoy passed, people lounging, squatting, or sitting by the roadside rose to their feet—a sign of respect for the upper class. No one enforced this behavior strictly, but ingrained societal hierarchies made defiance unthinkable.

Their hollow, lifeless eyes followed the elegantly dressed figures behind tinted windows—not with envy, jealousy, or hatred, but with emptiness and numbness. Once the convoy moved on, they resumed their positions, continuing whatever they'd been doing.

Hassanah handed Lynch a fragrant handkerchief. "This might help. It's unbearable here. I've repeatedly suggested to the mayor that we relocate these wretches away from the city, but he seems to have his own ideas."

To thrive as a merchant in Nagalier—to amass great wealth—required unique backing. Thus, Hassanah held little respect for the mayor, despite their differing social statuses. Their gap wasn't insurmountable.

"Thank you," Lynch said, accepting the handkerchief. Larger than a palm, it was intricately handmade with a layered design. Inside, herbs or spices emitted a soothing aroma that masked the pervasive stench while invigorating the senses.

"These people… are they refugees?" Lynch asked, observing the zombie-like masses.

Hassanah sneered disdainfully. "They're just poor folk who've gathered around the city for various reasons, relying on it to survive. Some claim we can't do without them, but frankly, the city would fare better without them."

For many reasons—villages destroyed by beasts, natural disasters, or young people migrating to cities, forcing elders to follow—these individuals congregated on the outskirts. They worked odd jobs, indifferent to danger or dignity, driven solely by survival. Families like Arthur's recruited laborers from this pool for their "alchemical factories." For food or meager wages, they'd do anything.

Pitiful souls.

After driving through this squalor for over ten minutes, they finally entered true wilderness. Passing field after field, the convoy reached the edge of the grasslands. By now, it was nearing noon—a considerable journey.

This area bordered the primitive jungle and grasslands, located in Nagalier's central-western region. However, Lynch's experience wasn't pleasant. The grass grew absurdly tall—over a meter, sometimes reaching two meters. Twisted trees harbored carnivorous creatures whose emotionless eyes tracked the advancing convoy.

The distant forest was impressive, but too far to inspire awe. All around stretched endless grass.Please vote for this novel at https://www.novelupdates.com/series/blackstone-code/There are advance chapters available nowAccess will be granted 24 hours after the donationTier 1: 20 Advance chapters Link

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