Blackstone Code
Chapter 318:

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"…At that time, we were very close to the migrating herd of Bovine. The grass on the plains was tall, and we had no idea that danger was lurking all around us…"

In a spacious and brightly lit room, the cream of high society—gentlemen and ladies alike—had gathered. Some sat, others stood, but each one carried themselves with impeccable decorum, exuding elegance as they listened intently to the legendary tale spilling from Lynch's lips.

Their attention was riveted. What Lynch recounted wasn't just hearsay; it was his own lived experience, something none of them had ever encountered before. And precisely because it was unfamiliar, it captivated them.

When he described the peril of hunting leopard-lions, every person in the room held their breath. Several ladies pressed trembling hands to their chests, a testament to how thrilling—and terrifying—his story truly was.

Lynch stood at the center of their collective gaze, holding a glass of wine. His slicked-back hair, styled with pomade, and slightly dated attire only accentuated an air of unusual composure—a maturity that transcended his years.

He nodded slightly, raising his glass ever so subtly. "Right then, a leopard-lion burst out of the bushes to my left. It saw me as its prey—it intended to hunt me."

The women gasped, while the men took measured sips of their drinks, trying to steady themselves against the tension gripping the room.

"A massive mouth, wide enough to swallow my head whole, yellowed teeth, and a putrid stench—I thought of death in that instant."

The room fell silent, save for the lingering echo of Lynch's final syllable. He scanned the crowd. "Yes, I thought of death for the first time. Before this, I always believed death was something reserved for the elderly or the unlucky. I was young—I shouldn't have been thinking about such things. But in that moment, I felt it."

"The preciousness of life... and my awe and fear of death."

Every heart in the room swayed with the weight of his words. He paused briefly, allowing the gravity of what he'd said to sink in.

Life had always been a solemn topic, and Lynch had struck a chord by weaving it into his personal narrative.

After a moment, a faint smile broke through his serious expression. "I must thank God for not abandoning me, even though I stood on foreign soil. I survived because I ducked in time…"

He mimicked a dodging motion—an act considered unrefined in such refined company. Yet, no one reproached him. On the contrary, they leaned forward, eager for more.

"The leopard-lion could leap high—three meters? Four? I'm not sure." He shook his head and continued, "All I know is that it lunged at me, intending to make me its meal. But alas, I wasn't ready to oblige. I evaded its fatal bite, and it sailed over my head. My neck brushed against its fur, feeling the scrape of its coarse hairs against my skin."

"I lived to tell the tale, which gives me the chance to share everything I witnessed on that land with you today."

"You're incredibly fortunate, Mr. Lynch, These stories have me both thrilled and on edge." Interjected a young woman, unable to contain her excitement. Her voice trembled with nervous energy. Lynch's eyes flickered momentarily to her heaving chest, confirming her anxiety.

Language really was a miraculous thing.

"Miss." Lynch emphasized with a smile. "These aren't mere stories. These are events I've lived through—no embellishments whatsoever. God Himself can vouch for me."

The young woman's already flushed cheeks deepened in color, and she lowered her head slightly. "My apologies, Mr. Lynch. I used the wrong word. You're a true adventurer."

Lynch chuckled, pointing at her playfully. "Adventurer—I like that term."

Turning to the rest of the group, he continued, "In truth, we're all adventurers. My journey through Nagalier was an adventure, but isn't life itself an adventure? Our nation, too, is currently navigating uncharted waters."

"I define any exploration of the unknown as an adventure—be it life, work, or even forging international relations under the leadership of our President. We're all adventurers."

His words resonated deeply. One gentleman rose to his feet, raising his glass high. "To adventurers. To Mr. Lynch."

Arms shot up like trees in a forest, glasses clinked, laughter bloomed like flowers. Lynch fit seamlessly into this world. Since returning to the Federation, he'd leveraged his pre-departure influence and his tales of adventure to give speeches and appear on numerous programs.

People's curiosity about the outside world was evident here. Most already knew Lynch's stories, yet whenever he appeared, they still flocked to hear him retell them. This only served to amplify his growing influence.

At least everyone now knew of Adventurer Lynch and his exploits in Nagalier—all part of his carefully laid plan.

After over two hours of lively conversation, the guests departed, satisfied with their evening. Lynch received a few notes slipped discreetly into his hand. Some ladies hoped to discuss potential business ventures—or perhaps share private tales of adventure, like cave explorations.

Of course, Lynch politely declined. He prided himself on being a man of integrity.

As the last of the guests trickled out, one remained. Lynch locked eyes with him, and the man returned his gaze steadily.

After a few seconds of silence, the guest nodded approvingly. "A fantastic story. Did you make it up yourself?"

Unfazed by the skepticism, Lynch shook his head. "No, these are my real experiences."

The guest chuckled, shaking his head. "I don't believe you…" Glancing toward the hotel staff waiting outside, he suggested, "Shall we grab a drink somewhere?"

This venue—the grand hall of the Bupayne Hotel, rented specifically by Lynch—was ideal for hosting meetings and events. Lynch understood well the importance of packaging and promotion.

Now that the storytelling session was over, the hotel staff waited patiently to clean up. They wouldn't rush him, but Lynch knew it was time to leave.

Raising his wrist to glance at his watch, Lynch nodded. "Certainly, Mr. Truman."

Yes, the remaining guest was none other than Truman, the head of the Office of International Affairs and Policy Research. Rumors suggested he might soon join the Cabinet rather than remain the director of an office in the presidential palace.

Recently, Truman's insights into diplomatic affairs and international policy shifts had proven remarkably prescient, as usual. He'd also introduced a controversial doctrine—National Interest First—that made some uncomfortable.

Though capitalists had long adhered to similar principles, Truman reframed it within the context of international policy, using sharp rhetoric to drive home the point that sentimentality and morality held little sway in global politics.

The President seemed to admire this approach, though others found it unsettling.

Since returning, Lynch had aggressively promoted his adventures, framing them as personal legends. Yet Truman sensed something deeper beneath the surface.

Changing into casual clothes, the two men found a quiet corner table in an ordinary bar. Ordering drinks and light snacks, Truman posed a question: "What do you intend to do?"

He didn't believe Lynch's whirlwind of salon appearances and TV spots was aimless. Having studied the young man, Truman knew Lynch operated with purpose. Every move he made was calculated.

Lynch's gaze fixed on the glass in his hand. He swirled the amber liquid, watching it shimmer with hints of blue under the shifting lights. The aroma wafting from the rim tempted him, yet he resisted taking a sip. Instead, he pondered.

After nearly twenty seconds, he lifted his eyes to meet Truman's. "Do you know what a gold prospector is?"

The abrupt question caught Truman off guard, but he quickly grasped Lynch's implication. "You want to turn Nagalier into the Wild West?"

Both spoke in interrogative tones, yet their certainty transformed the questions into declarations.

Lynch took a sip of his drink, set the glass down, and swallowed slowly. Meeting Truman's gaze, he declared, "Gold everywhere."

"Material or immaterial, gold abounds. Bend down, and you'll find wealth at your feet. It reminds me of what people called the best of times—not so long ago."

Truman remained silent, studying Lynch. He doubted the young man's motives were so simple.

A wry smile tugged at Lynch's lips. "But we have many opponents. I'm not afraid of them—I'm confident I can defeat them. However, it will take time."

"Mr. Truman, progress moves too quickly in this era. I don't have the luxury of tackling this step by step. I need help—reliable allies to assist me."

Furrowing his brow, Truman uttered a single word: "Prospectors."

He now understood Lynch's vision, though he found it both absurd and amusing. "Are you really that confident?"

"When you hesitate," Lynch replied, delivering a line that startled Truman, "you've already surrendered to fate."

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