Blackstone Code-Chapter 509: It’s Not Freedom That’s Imprisoned

“I hate everything about this place. I can’t wait to leave!”
In the hotel room, Mrs. Simon was complaining.
She had planned to watch TV to pass the time, but to her surprise, the hotel’s channels were just repeats of what she had seen a few days ago.
After asking the front desk, she learned that Nagaryll had no local TV station and no real-time programming. The hotel’s TV content came entirely from videotapes.
These tapes were changed weekly, but due to cost constraints, there wasn’t much new material—usually only enough for a day or two before everything repeated again.
Some relatively well-off locals, with no connections to foreigners, regularly stayed at the hotel two days a week just to watch these programs. This had become a new trend in Nagaryll.
But for the mother and son from a developed country, this was quite unsatisfactory.
She turned off the TV and grabbed a bottle of alcohol to relax. Just after a few sips, the young man standing by the window headed toward the door.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“I’m going out to unwind. You’re not going to stop me, are you?” He looked at his mother, who swallowed the words she was about to say.
She shook her head. “Of course not. I just mean… when you come back, bring me some hard liquor.”
It was a tactful response, avoiding her earlier attempt to stop him.
“Sure, I will.”
The young man left the room. He wasn’t foolish enough to stay inside all night. He was restless and, after such a bad day, needed a distraction to put an end to his bad luck.
Meanwhile, in the hotel lobby, the impulsive man ran into trouble. Hotel staff stopped him.
“If you don’t have a proper reason, sir, you can’t come in!”
The staff blocked the man from taking the elevator. He wasn’t recognized by the lobby employees.
High-end hotels in Nagaryll followed an unspoken rule: they didn’t serve local lower-class people, only foreigners and local wealthy elites.
The man’s cheap clothes and unkempt hair and beard clearly marked him as someone outside the upper class. The hotel naturally wouldn’t let a low-status person disturb their VIP guests.
Besides, tensions between locals and foreigners were still sensitive, though calmer than before.
With many foreigners staying at the hotel, management had to prevent any incidents, so any possible threat was blocked.
Two staff members stopped him, while a few security guards nearby stood watch with batons in hand.
This was just his first problem. His second was that, although he knew the names and origin of the people he sought, he had no idea what they looked like.
It sounded ridiculous, but it was his real situation—alcohol had impaired his judgment.
In silence, the staff and guards advanced. If he couldn’t provide useful answers, they would politely escort him out and possibly bar him from causing further trouble.
At that moment, the elevator dinged, drawing attention. A well-dressed man stepped out.
He noticed the scene but didn’t care much. His focus was on how much it would cost to find some fleeting pleasure in this city. Maybe the hotel manager could help.
Changing his mind, he headed to the bar. Perhaps his movement helped the impulsive man get into the current rhythm. The man stated his purpose: “I’m here to find two people from… this place—a lady and a gentleman. I have important matters to discuss, but I can’t say them here.”
The young man, just learning some tricks from the manager, paused, suspecting the man meant him. Curious, he looked at the strange man.
He didn’t recognize him. Locally, he had no friends except his damned half-brother.
The lobby manager, noticing the young man’s reaction, ordered, “Get the irrelevant person out! This isn’t the street—no one just walks in!”
But the young man raised a hand, stopping them from throwing the man out, and moved closer, saying, “I don’t know you!”
He truly didn’t know him. His words expressed curiosity, not fear. Protected by staff and strong security, he didn’t think a local could harm him and wanted to resolve his doubts.
That phrase made the impulsive man realize this was the person he sought, though he wasn’t certain. Killing an innocent would alert the real target. To confirm, he said, “I’m here for the inheritance.”
Though drunk and distracted, at that moment he entered a state he couldn’t explain.
His focus sharpened like never before. The world narrowed to the young man’s facial expressions, every subtle change magnified many times.
Seeing surprise, confusion, and anger on the young man’s face, he knew this was who he wanted.
He expected the young man to speak but was interrupted by the lawyer who had nearly collided with him earlier.
More precisely, it was the lawyer’s words that mattered. The young man stepped back, triggering the impulsive man to draw his gun.
Without hesitation, he fired—aimed, shot, all in one swift motion. Blood blossomed on the young man. Staff gasped and rushed toward the shooter, with two rushing to aid the victim.
The recoil showed the impulsive man the ejected shell and the next bullet chambering. He fired again too hastily, missing his target.
He quickly aimed at the attackers and, after a glance at the fallen young man, fled.
Now, he could only hope the first shot was fatal. He regretted firing so quickly, wasting the second bullet.
The shooting at the hotel was swiftly documented and ed to Governor Drag and Lynch.
Compared to the governor’s casual “Noted,” Lynch studied the seriously.
Since the old king’s noble
patriotic
performance at a recent meeting, the governor’s attitude had subtly shifted.
Lynch noticed but said nothing, leaving the governor to deal with it.
Lynch called this nervous, uncertain attitude
the drama of the traitor
, which would fade with time.
“Is there a death?” Lynch flipped through the thin two-page , then tossed it aside.
In the room, a small salon was in progress. Newly arrived visitors gathered, discussing investments with Lynch.
Lynch needed to guide them, which seemed like helping others get rich but was also beneficial to him.
First, he could invest in some businesses. As long as his partners weren’t fools, these shares would build a vast network controlling society’s commercial structure—potentially for decades or even forever.
Secondly, only when more people make money in Nagaryll will more investments follow. More investments mean the market will flourish faster, allowing Lynch’s infrastructure projects to enter their long-term profitable phase sooner.
By helping others find ways to get rich, he is effectively helping himself build profitable channels more quickly.
The police chief shook his head. “No deaths, only one person injured—a shoulder wound. We believe the weapon used by the shooter may be from the batch lost by the police during the recent unrest.”
Lynch nodded without comment. “What was the purpose of the shooting? Why would someone take such a risk to shoot at foreigners inside the hotel?”
He naturally used the term
foreigners
, which implied he considered himself part of the same group. Lynch, like the foreigners such as Mr. Simon, was trying to gain acceptance from the locals.
Compared to Mr. Simon marrying one or several local women and having mixed-race children as a form of acceptance through bloodline, Lynch’s approach was smarter—he sought psychological recognition.
“We investigated and found it might be related to an inheritance dispute. The owner of the inheritance is your friend, named Simon. Perhaps you remember him?”
“Simon?”
Lynch was suddenly enlightened. “Of course. He’s a very close friend of mine!”