Blackstone Code
Chapter 305:

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"Beautiful fur!" Under the sunlight, Lynch gazed at the corpses of these leopard-lions and couldn't help but exclaim. The fur shimmered in a brilliant golden hue under the sun. If treated properly, it would shine like pure gold!

The love for beauty is an innate human trait. From the time people adorned their heads with vibrant feathers, arrogantly believing that gods shared the same aesthetic preferences, striving to become more beautiful seemed to have become a universal pursuit. People would go mad for such things.

Hassanah, looking at the hanging leopard-lions, chuckled as he spoke to Lynch. "I heard that people from the Federation are all like you—rather slim…" He paused briefly, then added, "I'm not mocking you, Mr. Lynch, but you really are quite thin. Men should be stronger!"

He pointed to the suspended leopard-lions. "The fur from their torsos can be used to make coats, while the fur from their limbs can be crafted into gloves or bags. As for the heads, I suggest you turn them into trophies. I've heard that people from your region enjoy hanging animal heads on their walls!"

This might have been a subtle hint, as his tone didn't seem particularly friendly. Lynch glanced at him, his face still bearing a smile. "Mr. Hassanah, the scientists I know are all rather frail. They don't waste their time and energy on indulgences, yet the things they create play a tremendous role in advancing civilization and maintaining world peace. Do you understand what I mean?"

Hassanah laughed heartily. "Of course, of course, I understand your meaning…" Clearly, however, he didn't grasp Lynch's veiled, understated threat.

Natives were natives—barbaric, ignorant, and foolish.

Lynch had stayed here for three days. On the third day, he witnessed the migration of animals from afar. It was somewhat awe-inspiring. These magnificent natural spectacles often struck the natives with far greater impact than they did those from civilized societies.

Because the natives were so foolish and ignorant, unable to comprehend the mysteries of nature, they felt fear towards the mysterious and unknown. But the gentlemen of civilized society? They thought only of conquest!

Within those three days, hundreds of leopard-lion pelts had been delivered to the city. Here, there were artisans who specialized in tanning hides, serving generations of the upper class and mastering this crucial skill.

During those same three days, to ensure minimal damage to the pelts, at least thirty people lost their lives, and hundreds were injured. Yet despite this, Hassanah still scolded his nephew once.

Those clumsy hunters had allowed over a dozen leopard-lions, which could have been captured alive, to sustain injuries, forcing them to be skinned instead.

These were all money—shining, golden money!

This also led to a deduction in the hunters' pay.

Though the hunters grumbled, they dared not resist. Their families, their descendants, still had to serve Hassanah and his lineage.

Offending Hassanah meant they would go from being envied hunters to ordinary people, just like the majority.

On the way back, Hassanah didn't accompany them. He merely arranged for his nephew to send escorts with Lynch's group. He stayed behind at the camp to supervise those fools. He feared that without someone watching, they'd turn live leopard-lions into dead ones, costing him a fortune—a huge fortune!

"Boss, I'm troubled by some questions. Could you enlighten me?" Arthur, sitting in the car, looked at Lynch with a pained expression.

They spoke in the international common language, but their accents carried a heavy Baylor Federation inflection. It was like how the simple greeting "hello" could evolve into dozens of variations. Even those fluent in the international tongue struggled to decipher all the dialects, let alone the driver, a native who didn't speak the language at all.

Lynch nodded. His gaze was kind—perhaps not the most accurate word, yet somehow fitting. When considering his combined years of experience, his eyes truly held a grandfatherly warmth.

"Of course, Arthur, my friend. If I can answer your question, I will."

Arthur forced a faint smile. "Thank you, Boss…" After pausing for a moment, he asked in a tone tinged with disbelief and suppressed emotion, "Is there any chance for change here, Boss? Actually, even before you arrived, I was pondering this very question. Can everything here be changed?"

His gaze grew distant, his voice ethereal. "Back in the Federation, everyone told me that human life is precious, that no one has the right to arbitrarily take away another's will to live. That's how we acted, and I believed it. But here, in my homeland, a person's life might not even weigh as much as a single banknote. The powerful casually strip others of their lives. Can all of this… possibly change?"

His focus returned, settling firmly on Lynch, his tone tinged with urgency. "Even if this place can't become like the Federation, at least it shouldn't remain as it is now!"

Lynch studied him with curiosity, as if examining a fresh piece of food. "I never knew you were someone who pondered such weighty issues!"

Arthur hesitated, suddenly feeling a bit embarrassed as he lowered his head. "I don't know what's come over me. Ever since I returned, I've found everything unbearable, constantly feeling uneasy. Maybe I'm sick."

Lynch raised his forearm, pointing at him. "You're not sick. You've simply seen this society for what it truly is. You think the rulers here are cruel, but in truth, they're not the sole cause. It's the people you believe live in despair who are responsible. It's their constant retreat that allows the rulers to push further until they fall into an abyss, while the rulers stand atop the cliff, looking down on them.

"If someone were to rise up and fight against the fate they endure—even if they die—the ruling class would begin to take notice of the demands of the largest segment of society. Even if they're insincere, they'll start to care, improving living conditions and opening pathways for advancement for some.

"But they haven't done that. Instead, they've retreated further in the face of harsher oppression, leading the ruling class to believe their methods haven't yet touched the people's limits. Things will only get worse."

Arthur felt overwhelmed. He had always blamed the ruling class for these conditions, but Lynch's words made him feel even worse.

What could be crueler than people strangling their own hopes?

He fell silent for a long time, his chest rising and falling heavily. After a while, he let out a self-deprecating laugh. "I shouldn't be thinking about this. I'm just an ordinary person, upset by the fate these people endure. I'm sorry, Boss. I shouldn't have said such things, ruining your mood."

Lynch waved it off. "It's fine. You asked a question, and I haven't answered it yet. Actually, the way to change all of this is simple: awaken society through death and bloodshed. No revolutionary change can be achieved through friendly negotiations. Only death and blood can wipe away the facade of peace, expose the darkest realities, and reawaken the numbed souls of the people.

"Arthur, you're not that kind of person, but I believe that someday, someone will come along to open a path to heaven for all those trapped in hell here!"

The rest of the journey passed in silence. Arthur reflected on Lynch's words, and Lynch himself was deep in thought.

When the convoy entered the urban area, their original plan was to drop Lynch off at the hotel, but they encountered a slight delay along the way.

As the convoy reached the city center, they came across two flower carriages. The drivers pulled over to the side of the road, waiting for the flower carriages to pass.

The flower carriages carried many young women. Their faces flushed unnaturally, their eyes clouded and unfocused. Each of them lounged limply, as if devoid of bones.

"What is this?" Lynch seemed endlessly curious about everything here.

Arthur snapped out of his thoughts, glanced at the scene, then fell silent for a moment. "Flower carriages and holy maidens…" His sentence trailed off. Seeing Lynch still looking at him, he collected himself and began to explain earnestly.

In Nagalier, religious figures—priests, high priests, and other clergy—were allowed to marry and have children. No one dictated that they cannot. To suggest otherwise would be absurd.

For those in the lower strata of society, climbing the social ladder by attaching themselves to the ruling class was utterly hopeless. The rulers looked down on their humble origins and wouldn't give them a chance.

So, they turned their attention to priests and clergy, who were easier to approach.

If a family had a beautiful daughter, they would dress her up beautifully once she came of age and send her to the temple under the guise of a candidate for holy maidenhood, to serve the gods.

The gods supposedly descended upon certain priests and clergy at random times, enjoying the service of these girls and allowing them to fulfill their sacred duties.

If a girl became pregnant and her child received the "blessing" of the gods, the child would be groomed to become a new priest or even a high priest.

The girl and her family would see a significant rise in social status. They could begin to enjoy public amenities, their children could attend school, and their entire lives would transform dramatically.

Of course, not every girl was so fortunate. Most weren't lucky enough to receive such blessings. Around the age of seventeen or eighteen, these girls would be sent back home. The temples couldn't afford to keep so many, and they would shift their focus to the next batch of holy maidens.

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