Blackstone Code-Chapter 490: The End and the New Mayor

“The Federation people really know how to enjoy themselves!”
Standing atop the reinforced bus, the hunting squad leader had a cheap, mixed-flavor Coluff cigarette from the Federation clenched between his lips.
Unlike the pure Coluff, this mixed variety contained a significant amount of tobacco, making it suitable for inhalation and quite potent.
The manufacturers repeatedly claimed that as long as the mixture didn’t exceed certain limits, it wouldn’t seriously harm the body, yet every year many people still died from overuse.
Despite this, sales remained high because of its strong effect.
This effect wasn’t like the
buzz
from alcohol that causes loss of control; it induced dizziness and a strange pleasure without impairing physical control.
The whole world seemed to spin slowly; people became excited and slightly short of breath, but otherwise showed few other symptoms.
After large exports of Coluff flooded Nagaryll, some local elites became addicted to this source of pleasure.
Its quick effect and preservation of sharp judgment made it especially suited for hunting teams on the plains.
Alcohol was banned because drunken hunters couldn’t respond effectively to wild animal attacks—a history marked by multiple such tragedies.
Drunken hunters were once wiped out by beasts at night, so hunting parties were forbidden to bring alcoholic drinks.
Mixed Coluff solved this problem: easy to carry, strong, just a few sticks tucked into ammo belts, lit when needed, inhaled, extinguished, and put back—loved by hunters.
By now, the summoned hunting squad was nearing the city outskirts, one of the last forces to quell the chaos.
It’s ironic—Kingdom of Nagaryll never really had a large, organized army. In more primitive, barbaric times, power struggles between the government and theocracy were bloody, but armies then were more like clan militias.
They answered only to provincial governors, who were themselves clan leaders or their servants. Over time, private militias faded as society evolved.
The central government—the royal family—consolidated military command. Deploying the army required royal approval, making governors reluctant to call on
official
forces.
They preferred to use their private troops or hunting squads, which is why the governors sent the hunters back to deal with the unrest.
As the hunting squad reached the city edge, they encountered rioters. The squad leader, cigarette in mouth, raised his weapon, checked the ammunition, disengaged the safety, glanced sideways at his companions, and asked, “Ever hunted people before?”
His assistant hesitated. Then gunfire erupted.
A wild-eyed teenager, about fifteen or sixteen, holding a stone, prepared to throw it at the convoy. A single bullet tore through half his face, sending him flying two or three meters before he rolled to a stop.
Blood spread quickly, staining the ground.
The shotgun’s power was immense—these guns were made for beasts, the weakest of which were stronger than humans. Bullets that could kill those beasts easily killed people.
The rioters blocking the road, some fleeing, others throwing stones and whatever they could find, quickly fell into chaos.
Their attacks were futile. The leader laughed wildly, instinctively raising his gun, aiming, and pulling the trigger.
They had lived in constant killing—from initial discomfort, to acceptance, to fascination, and finally numbness.
Shooting had become as natural as breathing.
Every trigger pull, every gunshot meant a life ended. Without full awareness, they had become masters over life and death.
Some wondered whether killing people felt the same as killing animals.
Some doubted, some had tested it. For those who hadn’t, now was the chance.
That gunshot marked the bloody beginning. Hunters with modern weapons on the trucks began freely firing, each bullet taking a life, just like on the plains.
No moral guilt, no horror of killing their own kind—only brief excitement followed by pale numbness.
“Go back to your homes. If I see you on the streets again, you’ll end up like that rotten meat by the roadside!” The hunting squad roared through, leaving bodies behind but sending a clear message: return home.
This suppression was better than preaching. There were no protests, unlike the Federation, where people insisted on proving their freedom under gunfire.
Though people hoped for good luck and were indifferent toward life, no one truly wanted to die.
Those who wanted to die were already dead; those still standing wanted to live.
The hunters cut into the city from multiple routes. Wherever there were rioters, the hunting squad appeared, like predators moving through urban bushes, hunting all who broke the rules.
In just one day, by nightfall, the nearly two-week-long unrest was essentially over.
On empty lots, under the hunters’ guns, conscripted outcasts carried bodies to piles of firewood for burning.
Even in late October, Nagaryll’s air remained hot and humid, perfect for bacteria to thrive.
With so many dead, failing to dispose of the bodies risked a plague.
Rioters who had been arrogant before the hunters arrived were now scared and timid, barely daring to look up.
A crude incendiary bomb spun through the air and was tossed onto the woodpile. Flames instantly spread, consuming all ugliness and sin in a roaring blaze.
“The air won’t smell great for a few days…” In a refined room, with fine wine and food on the table, a band played soothing music—everything seemed peaceful.
Lynch shook his head and said, “But the good news is, things will go more smoothly from now on.”
“We have no competitors left; the market is firmly in our hands. But don’t think that without more rivals, market control is guaranteed. That won’t be allowed.”
“The Federation and Nagaryll’s friendship endures through time. Though some Federation laws aren’t explicitly recognized here, we still ought to follow them.”
Around Lynch were many Federation merchants who had been fearful recently, especially today.
The gunfire outside nearly made them think the rioters were staging a coup. Only when it ceased did they realize the unrest was over.
This gave them a strange feeling. In the Federation, similar disturbances would be handled by militias maintaining order, not by shooting those who caused the chaos.
But here, the best way to end the unrest was to eliminate those who caused it, which instilled fear—some things were slipping beyond their understanding and control of reality.
Lynch had become their crucial support for working and living here.
“Next, we will implement a new city plan. I must mention the mayor and his family, who were attacked and killed by rioters during the unrest. This has made us realize how important peace is.”
Lynch suddenly turned and beckoned to the police chief standing nearby, who looked confused but straightened his clothes and gear, then strode over with his head slightly lowered. “Mr. Lynch, any orders?”
Lynch shook his head, smiling as he gently grasped the chief’s arm and looked at the others. “There is sadness, but also hope.”
“The police chief performed exceptionally well during the unrest. After consulting with Governor Drag, we’ve decided to promote him as the new mayor. I’m confident he will handle the role competently.”
He smiled and extended his hand. “Congratulations, Mayor.”
The smile on his face was subtle. Given Lynch’s intelligence and understanding of the situation, he had already guessed the outcome easily.
Promoting the police chief was a good choice—he was smart and obedient, which was very important.
After a brief stunned moment, the chief’s eyes shone with disbelief. Overacting, he clasped Lynch’s hands tightly and bowed his head. “I will not let you, Mr. Lynch, nor anyone else down…”