Blackstone Code
Chapter 314:

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Music with religious themes often carries a soothing quality. Such melodies have the power to calm tense emotions, and some religions even weave psychological suggestions into their hymns, subtly reinforcing faith until it becomes unshakable.

The music of Nagalier's local religion was no exception—it was gentle, though today there was an unusual undertone of cheerfulness mixed in. As the flower-decorated float began its procession, Lynch noticed something unexpected: families with young daughters had gathered along the roadside. These girls were barely teenagers—fifteen, sixteen, perhaps seventeen years old. According to Nagalier's laws, girls reached adulthood at sixteen.

Their parents had dressed them beautifully, adorning them with garlands of flowers. Their youthful faces held traces of confusion, as if they themselves didn't fully understand what awaited them or what fate might bring. On the float, people took notice of these girls dancing by the roadside. They commented on their appearances, dissecting each one like connoisseurs appraising goods rather than discussing living, breathing human beings.

"This one won't do," said a representative from one of the noble families, his fingers brushing against the railing of the float. "Look at her hair—I don't like that dull yellow color. It lacks luster."

"That girl is promising," another remarked, tossing a gilded wreath prepared for the occasion toward a dancer below. The family of the chosen girl erupted in joy, forcing her to kneel alongside them in gratitude. But the girl herself remained bewildered, unaware of how this moment might alter the course of her life forever.

This scene repeated itself endlessly. Families who received wreaths knelt in fervent thanks, while those left empty-handed sighed in disappointment. Some scolded their daughters; others blamed each other. Yet all around, the festival continued in full swing. People sang, danced, and celebrated, their laughter filling the air. This was the Festival of Flowers.

……

The parade route wasn't long—only two streets in the city were suitable for such processions. The rest were either too narrow or too uneven to accommodate both the floats and the throngs of revelers. By midday, after a brief pause for rest, the festivities drew to a close just past two o'clock in the afternoon. The floats returned to the largest temple in the Magura Province, perched atop a hill on the outskirts of the city.

Calling it a "hill" was generous—it was more akin to a blemish on Mother Earth's face, artificially carved and shaped to resemble something grandiose. Clearly, great effort had been made to construct this artificial mound in the otherwise flat plains, all to lend an aura of majesty and reverence to the temple above.

At noon, the golden-painted walls of the temple gleamed under the sun, casting dazzling reflections visible even from the base of the hill. From below, looking up, the structure seemed almost divine, like a dwelling fit for gods.

"Boss…" Arthur called out softly. He had been waiting at the foot of the hill, unable to join the flower float during the parade because he wasn't part of the aristocracy, nor a wealthy merchant, nor a foreign dignitary. Though the reasoning sounded absurd, it was undeniably true. Fortunately, Arthur bore no resentment. Over the days, he had grown accustomed to the peculiar norms of this place.

He handed Lynch a damp towel soaked in ice water. Lynch accepted it gratefully, wiping his face. The cool sensation instantly soothed the heat that had built up over hours under the relentless sun. With the chilled cloth pressed against his skin, he took a deep breath, letting the refreshing coolness seep into his body, calming the restless energy within.

After a moment, he removed the towel and wiped the dust from his exposed skin. The pristine white fabric quickly turned black from the grime of the city. Handing the used towel back to Arthur, Lynch began ascending the steps leading to the temple. "What's next?" he asked casually.

Arthur passed the towel and basin of ice water to a servant—a member of his household staff. Earlier, Arthur had mentioned his concerns about changes in his family during his absence. Thankfully, Lynch's counsel had helped him come to terms with the situation, and his demeanor had grown calmer.

Following closely behind Lynch, Arthur replied, "The high priest will offer prayers, then the deity will descend to bless everyone. Afterward, there will be closing ceremonies, and the festival will officially conclude."

Lynch nodded but didn't press for details. Instead, they discussed plans for their departure. "Everything we need has already been loaded onto the ship at the port. We can set sail the day after tomorrow. If conditions are favorable, we should reach the easternmost port of the Baylor Federation in three to four days."

Their journey here had taken a week, slowed by the cruise liner's multiple stops to exchange passengers, cargo, and mail. This time, however, Lynch had hired a cargo ship without intermediate ports, ensuring faster travel. If the seas cooperated, they could make the trip from Nagalier to Baylor in roughly three days.

As they climbed higher, Arthur added, "We've also arranged interviews with journalists from major outlets back home—the Federal Daily, Federal Times, Federal Television, Eastern TV, and Northern United Television. All have agreed to cover our story."

Lynch paused briefly, considering this. "Issue each of them a check for five hundred credits. We're not asking them to promote us—we simply demand accurate reporting."

On the surface, this request seemed reasonable. Lynch wanted to ensure his message wouldn't be distorted by malicious actors seeking to undermine him. In truth, Lynch was a rising figure among the more radical voices in the Federation, and opposition forces often twisted facts to serve their agendas. Media manipulation was a common tactic in politics.

Propaganda was a critical battleground. Ordinary citizens rarely experienced reality firsthand as Lynch or other elites did. Instead, they relied solely on media reports for information about domestic issues and international affairs. Without access to alternative perspectives, they tended to accept whatever they read or saw as absolute truth, becoming unwittingly naive.

Thus, ensuring truthful coverage mattered deeply. Many political groups and individual politicians owned newspapers or television stations specifically to control the narrative. For Lynch, however, the goal wasn't merely to counteract potential distortions—it was to shape the narrative himself.

None of the journalists covering the event had visited Nagalier recently, if ever. They knew nothing about the region firsthand. But Lynch did. His insistence on "accurate" reporting meant bypassing any additional context and presenting only the version of events he wished to convey. To him, this was accuracy.

Arthur nodded emphatically, watching Lynch ascend the final stretch of stairs with admiration. Against the backdrop of sunlight and the glittering temple, Lynch appeared radiant, almost otherworldly. At just twenty-one years old, he exuded a quiet magnetism that left Arthur awestruck.

Realizing he'd fallen behind, Arthur hurried to catch up. Reaching the summit, Lynch surveyed the scene before him. The temple courtyard was filled with girls—the same ones who had danced beside the road earlier. Inside, incense burned, releasing a cloyingly sweet aroma. The girls sat uneasily, some appearing dazed, as though intoxicated.

Nearby, their parents stood beaming, bowing low and humbly queuing to receive small wooden talismans. Their ecstatic expressions starkly contrasted with the bewildered looks on their daughters' faces.

People often spoke of life as precious and invaluable—but only when shielded by privilege. Step outside comfort zones, and such sentiments rang hollow. Here, lives were cheap. A simple piece of wood—a low-tier sacred token—could dictate the futures of these girls.

Compared to the ornate bone-and-gold talisman Lynch carried, the wooden tokens were insignificant. Yet eighty percent of the population would never attain even this basic level of spiritual recognition. Possessing one granted minimal privileges: access to public facilities (a farce designed to impress foreigners and human rights organizations), discounted train tickets, expedited medical care, and permission for children to visit libraries wearing their own talismans.

Such perks drove families to vie for social elevation through a single means—offering their daughters to the temple. Those deemed worthy by divine favor (manifested through priests or guests acting as temporary vessels for deities) became holy maidens, elevating their families' status.

Though cruel and archaic, this practice had become ingrained in local culture—a grotesque relic of a distorted tradition.

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