The next ten years in Nagaryll will belong to the Federation. It will be a decade of rapid Federation revival. Whether the locals have the ability no longer matters; what matters is that they obey.
“Moving forward, our main focus will be twofold…” Lynch spoke amid the crowd, outlining some of his plans and the city’s development direction.
The newly appointed mayor standing behind him felt oddly that Lynch seemed more like the true
mayor,
since the mayor himself knew nothing and needed to know nothing. His only task was to keep signing the documents Lynch handed him. That was all.
Thinking this, his earlier anxiety gradually eased. He recalled the words the previous mayor said before he died, and a faint smile, unnoticed even by himself, appeared at the corner of his mouth.
Me? The next one? No, I won’t be the next.
A dog isn’t worth being next, and bullets cost money!
It seemed pitiful, but at least it meant living longer.
Mayor
—a decent title!
Looking at Lynch’s back, the soon-to-be mayor’s eyes gleamed with a rare wisdom not often seen in someone like him.
The end of the unrest marked the start of rebuilding. The day after the chaos ended, Lynch appeared in the city—not alone, but with many Federation merchants and some international ers invited to cover the story.
The goal was to highlight the difference between Federation people and
foreigners,
so locals wouldn’t immediately associate the Federation with outsiders.
Only in this way could the Nagaryll natives grow closer to and trust the Federation. Achieving this wasn’t difficult—just participate actively in social affairs and take the initiative.
Swarmed by many ers—both international and Federation journalists—Lynch faced them. They had come immediately after the unrest to investigate what happened here.
Of course, they wouldn’t reveal that their focus on Mengu Province was because Lynch offered an irresistible price. Instead, they told the world this was the unrest’s epicenter and the first place it was quelled.
After the unrest, the city was bleak. Once-bustling streets were nearly empty, with dark, oxidized bloodstains dried across the pavement.
Many doors were broken, revealing empty, silent interiors.
Some houses had heads peeking out, their black-and-white eyes void of emotion, watching passersby.
ers snapped photos constantly. The scenes were terrifying—unhealed scars the unrest had left on the city.
“…According to information from the police chief, now the new mayor, this was all orchestrated by an organization called the
Nagaryll Youth Party
,” Lynch said gravely.
“This illegal group, labeled
dangerous
and
anti-government
, had long planned this unrest for selfish, hidden agendas.”
Walking through the crowd, Lynch detailed facts to ers: “Their main targets were the city’s wealthy. They twisted slogans to hide the truth.”
“They blamed poverty and social discrimination on class conflict without considering whether they had made efforts in life or tried to change their fate. They only blamed others, consumed by destructive desires.”
The scenes on the streets were grim as they moved deeper into the city’s commercial areas—far worse than the city center they had passed earlier.
Almost no intact rooms remained; every doorway bore bloodstains. Inside a jewelry store, half an arm was visible.
Amid the ers’ shocked cries, Blackstone Security soldiers quickly set up defenses, creating a tense atmosphere—exactly what Lynch wanted.
Curious locals and ers entered a room utterly destroyed but clearly once finely decorated.
Two bodies lay on the floor. One had a large hole blasted through its head, with only half the brain left. The heat had severely dehydrated it, and a foul stench was spreading.
The other was a young girl, evidently violently abused before death. Notably, two fingers were missing from her left hand, amputated at the wrist.
The newly appointed police chief explained, “The attackers probably couldn’t remove her ring and bracelet, so they cut off that part.”
“The other injuries were likely acts of pure rage.”
Cameras recorded these brutal scenes as truthfully as possible. Soon people exited, and the police chief ordered the bodies to be disposed of by burning on site.
“This is scarier than war!” said a er from a country that had never known war. His eyes were void of excitement, only filled with fear of chaos.
Lynch heard this and nodded in agreement. “Yes, you’re right. The whole world has entered an era of civilization; barbarism must be eradicated.”
“This isn’t for the sake of a few people but for all humanity. Things like this must never happen again…”
They continued to the worst-hit area—the wealthy neighborhood. The destruction here was far worse, with every household having suffered terrible fates, foreign or local alike.
At first, mobs targeted foreigners, but hatred soon spread to the rich. Everyone suffered.
The community was nearly empty, littered with rubble and horrifying blackened bloodstains.
Bloodied handprints stained the white walls—silent witnesses to the victims’ terror and despair before death.
The mood grew heavy, but this was a reality people had to face, one the international community needed to see.
Nagaryll’s development could not ignore conflicts between indigenous people and newcomers. Cultural, ethical, moral, value, and worldview clashes were inevitable.
When these conflicts erupted, they became major news.
In the past, though people despised backward countries, they oddly sided with them on certain issues, adopting a populist view that supported the weak.
It was like a powerful country invading a weak one—no one would say invasion was right or deserved.
Even if powerless, people gave the weak countries more international support.
Now Lynch sought to prevent this foolishness in Nagaryll by exposing the indigenous people’s cruel and brutal side to the world, so next time, public opinion would naturally favor the Federation.
“Next, I want to take you to meet a victim’s family. They were lucky to survive, but their husband died protecting his wife and children from the mob’s bullets…”
“This hero who sacrificed himself to protect his wife and children is named Simon.”
“Simon and I were very close friends. Just before the unrest began, we had attended a salon together. I never expected that only a day later, he would…”
“Sorry, I’m feeling emotional…”
Lynch’s face showed deep sorrow. A female er from the Federation stepped forward to comfort him. “He is a hero. His family, the Federation, and the whole world will remember his ordinary yet extraordinary deeds.”
The family Lynch was about to visit belonged to Simon. Lynch found it strange that Simon had died, yet his children survived—along with the children of eight other foreign merchants.
This was nothing short of a miracle. Lynch was the first to doubt there was no foul play.
How could it be such a coincidence that these heirs all survived unharmed? Were those merchants truly so great?
He had heard that many of them were indifferent to their local families and only married and had children to better integrate into local society.
They wouldn’t sacrifice their lives for their indigenous wives and children—but that didn’t matter. What mattered was that their money remained, and the events provided abundant news material.
With Jardon’s approval, Simon’s family became the first victim household to be interviewed. Lynch planned to put difficult questions directly in front of the cameras, placing them under the scrutiny of the international community.
Soon they arrived at a courtyard with a tombstone outside, a chilling and surprising sight. Even in some more traditional countries, like Gephra, which still practiced monarchy, burials were only allowed in backyards, not front yards. This went against funeral customs.
Perhaps because people focused so much on the tombstone, the young man who came to greet them forced a sorrowful smile. “When I saw him, he was just lying there. I didn’t want to move him again.”
“He held up the sky for us and kept us safe. He was so tired; let him rest. That way, it feels like he never really left us…”
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