Blackstone Code
Chapter 320:

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Rumors of gold mines and gemstone deposits in Nagalier had persisted for generations, with many convinced that such riches lay hidden beneath its soil. Yet, despite the fervent speculation, no authoritative exploration report had ever surfaced to substantiate these claims.

Numerous factors deterred people from discovering and exploiting these resources, the most significant being the uncooperative stance of the Nagalier government, which discouraged many would-be prospectors.

Developing mineral resources wasn't as simple as declaring, "I'm here." From large-scale initial exploration to discovery, extraction, transportation, local refining, and finally international shipping via ports—almost every step required cooperation from the local government.

The Nagalier government's clear lack of cooperation made it impossible to complete many essential steps, and these processes couldn't bypass the authorities. Thus, for various reasons, the rumors remained just that—rumors.

Listening to Lynch's somewhat provocative counter-question, Mr. Waldric didn't grow angry. Instead, he found this young man bold and intriguing. Most importantly, Lynch had zeroed in on the core issue—profit.

When there was profit and benefit to be gained, Mr. Waldric was known as a paragon of high society. But without profit or benefit—or worse, with potential losses—he became a cold-blooded capitalist.

At this moment, his gentle smile indicated that Lynch had struck a chord. Gold mines, gold itself—they were crucial to any company, even to a nation. And Waldric believed Nagalier held more than just gold.

Lynch's audacity to use this point as "bait" suggested he had a plan to make it happen, something Waldric understood well. Otherwise, he would have ensured Lynch—and anyone else who dared deceive him—understood why some believers called the Federation a den of devils.

Still, understanding aside, Waldric wouldn't skip asking the necessary questions.

From a box on his desk, Mr. Waldric retrieved a rare pale golden Colofu—a pure color variant. Unlike the common red, blue, yellow, green, or purple varieties, this pale gold version was seldom seen on the market.

It resembled a slightly miniaturized spindle, thicker in the middle and tapering at both ends, plump and shimmering like a layer of gold foil reflecting the brilliance of precious metal.

A single stick of this "Golden Jubilee Edition" pure-color Colofu cost over five hundred bucks. It wasn't available through regular channels or pre-orders. Its annual production was limited, reserved exclusively for shareholders of the producing region.

Mr. Waldric was undoubtedly one such investor. As Lynch eyed the Colofu, he couldn't help but think of their discussion—gold.

"Very fitting," Lynch remarked, skillfully accepting the cutter and blowtorch Waldric handed him. After lighting it, he took a cautious puff, surprised by the rich, creamy sweetness and the intense, multi-layered sensation that followed.

He didn't inhale deeply; pure-color Colofu wasn't meant for inhalation. Only the multicolored spirals could be smoked. The overwhelming texture in his mouth was astonishing yet delightful—but inhaling it would spell disaster.

Slowly exhaling, Lynch nodded appreciatively. "A very unique experience. There's a milky aroma. I always thought milkiness had nothing to do with things like this…" He waved the Colofu in his hand. "…but it seems I was wrong."

Waldric was pleased with Lynch's assessment. He explained briefly: the tobacco leaves for these Colofu were handpicked by sixteen-year-old girls and meticulously processed. A special technique involved using the first natural secretion of certain mammals to wash and soak the leaves three times, infusing them with a genuine milky fragrance—not artificial additives.

This wasn't cow or goat milk; it came from another mammal whose secretion everyone could tolerate. This explained the product's scarcity—it couldn't be mass-produced easily.

The milky aroma stood out clearly without overshadowing the original flavors. Layer upon layer of taste and fragrance built up to a final crescendo. At five hundred bucks per stick, the price wasn't unreasonable.

Sometimes, it wasn't merely a luxury for indulgence; for some, it symbolized status and prestige.

"What's your plan?" Waldric lit another stick, nonchalantly pulling one from his box. Whether he finished it slowly or discarded it after a single puff didn't concern him.

Elaborating on his own question, he added, "What you've said—we know it, and we don't. But if I'm to convince others, I need something tangible. Do you understand?"

Lynch nodded. Though Waldric was a director of a major conglomerate and a capitalist capable of influencing national policies, even he needed to persuade others to believe him.

The higher one climbed, the harder it became to sway others. Convincing young newcomers might require little more than slogans and grand visions of the future to inspire blind dedication. But to move those at the upper echelons of society—to get them to make decisions—you had to earn their trust with facts, not empty promises.

"In Nagalier, control over gold, jungles, and mineral resources doesn't lie with the central government of the Nagalier United Kingdom or the Provincial Governors. It rests in the hands of religion…"

At that moment, Severella happened to pass by the study door. She had just finished her etiquette lesson. With increased interaction between the Federation and the international community, not only did the Federation welcome foreign dignitaries, but major conglomerates also began deepening international collaborations.

Recently, Waldric's group planned an energy development partnership with a small nation's royal family—their first step into international ventures, carefully chosen as a manageable project.

To emphasize its importance, Mr. and Mrs. Waldric, along with their daughter Severella, would join the delegation visiting the country. They'd stay in the palace for a while to discuss the collaboration.

To avoid embarrassment—for themselves, for the prestigious Waldric name, and for the Baylor Federation—Mr. Waldric hired a court etiquette teacher with twenty years of royal experience to instruct Severella in palace manners.

She had just bid farewell to the teacher, who had given her quite the headache, and was heading to practice piano when she passed by the study.

The door wasn't fully closed. In this household, no one dared overstep their bounds. Hearing her father and Lynch talking, she couldn't resist peeking through a crack.

Inside, Lynch sat relaxed and composed across from Waldric, who faced him with an expression of seriousness that left no doubt about his focus. Sunlight filtered through the ornate curtains, softening its intensity. Tiny dust particles danced in the air, mingling with the rising wisps of bluish smoke.

The scene captivated her. Never before had she seen a young man behave so confidently in her father's presence—she struggled to find the words to describe it.

Her father had never treated a young person with such gravity. Those who dared speak boldly before him were few and far between. Yet here, on this afternoon, all conventions were shattered.

Lynch exuded confidence that seemed to infect everything around him. His subtle gestures—the way he handled the Colofu, the faint smile playing at the corners of his lips—formed a picture etched deeply into her mind.

"Ahem…" Waldric quickly noticed his daughter "peeking" outside. Lynch paused mid-sentence, glanced back, and waved casually at the girl before returning his attention to Waldric.

Waldric shot Lynch a glance, then turned his gaze toward Severella. "Isn't it time for your piano practice? Don't keep your teacher waiting too long, alright?"

Blushing, the girl apologized for her behavior and quietly closed the door. Waldric chuckled, explaining, "She's mischievous."

But Lynch corrected him without hesitation. "No, she's lively."

The two men exchanged a brief look, then seamlessly resumed their conversation.

"Gold holds a particularly sacred place in Nagalier's native religion. Everything golden does. So whether or not to develop the mines—and how to do so—ultimately hinges on convincing the High Priests."

"Do you know I brought someone back with me this time?"

Waldric shook his head. He didn't ask why he hadn't been informed; he simply didn't care about insignificant individuals.

"He's the favored son of the High Priest of Magura Province. How should I put it?" Lynch furrowed his brow momentarily. "The High Priest is akin to our diocesan patriarch, wielding absolute control over religious power within the diocese. And they're hereditary."

These words alone weren't enough to impress Waldric. Struggles within religions were no simpler than those among politicians or capitalists. Everyone had enemies—even the president, even himself.

But Lynch's final statement hit home. A hereditary diocesan patriarch—what could be more corrupt than that?

Nothing was more corrupt, true—but also nothing was more perfect. It represented absolute power. And now, the key to unlocking that power rested in their hands.

In that fleeting moment, Lynch ceased to appear as a mere youth to Waldric. Instead, he saw a man full of determination, cunning, and intelligence—a peer, an opponent.

Gone was the underestimation. In its place stood respect—and caution.

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