In the room, Lynch watched Jardon, who kept his head down, staring at his toes.
If the most famous surrealist painter in the Federation were placed here, they might immediately create a painting titled
Flame and Ice
based on the relationship between the two men and the atmosphere in the room.
The two sitting separately in wicker chairs represented fire and ice—Lynch was the fire, Jardon the ice—and their space was a battlefield.
The painting’s style would be exaggerated and abstract, highlighting the presence of the two figures while blurring the surroundings, turning the entire room into a
battlefield
.
The red aura radiating from Lynch resembled raging flames ready to ignite the room, while the layered gradients of blue around Jardon symbolized melting defenses, emphasizing Lynch’s dominant position in this confrontation.
And indeed, just a simple stare nearly pushed Jardon to the edge of a psychological collapse. Lynch had uncovered Jardon’s greatest secret with a tone of
I damn well already knew
, paired with a gaze of
I damn well don’t care
, placing unbearable pressure on him.
Jardon’s bowed head wasn’t humility—it was the weight of pressure that kept him down.
“I…”
There was no surrealist artist, no fire or ice—just a single word that shattered illusions, whether Jardon’s own or Lynch’s idle thoughts.
“What should I do, Mr. Lynch?” Jardon still kept his head down but voiced his question.
Jardon felt as if he carried a mountain on his shoulders, but Lynch appeared completely at ease. Leaning back in his chair, one leg crossed, he said, “Recruit workers.”
“Jardon, if you want people to tolerate you, to forgive you, then you must give them a reason to forgive.”
“Do you know how the wealthy in our country, the Baylor Federation, resist power?” Lynch laughed. “We rally the workers against the government. Whenever they make decisions against our interests, we organize protests.”
“Hundreds, thousands of workers are enough to give anyone headaches—even members of parliament see this as a serious problem. It’s the same here.”
“The conflict between locals and foreigners just calmed down. We all know this is a sensitive time—not just sensitive for locals but for outsiders too.”
“Recruit more workers. In two days, tell them that two vicious foreigners want to take their livelihoods, that countless workers will lose their jobs. Those workers will make decisions for you—and give you the answers you need.”
Lynch paused briefly. “Simon and I were good friends. You are his son, inheriting everything from him. I hope you can become a remarkable businessman.”
“Remember, some methods are dirty and useless. You may not agree with me or the Federation’s approach, but you must admit these things don’t come from petty theft or cheap tricks.”
“I know what you want to ask: my stance won’t favor anyone, but I lean toward keeping capital in Nagaryll.”
“This place is too poor; it needs money and investors willing to make a difference. You are one of those people, aren’t you?”
Lynch’s words steadied Jardon’s wildly beating heart. Summoning courage, Jardon quickly glanced up. Lynch smiled, and for a brief moment, their eyes locked—Jardon was momentarily stunned.
He soon looked away. “Thank you very much… I don’t know what to say, but I want to thank you.”
Lynch carried an imposing and gracious air as he laughed, “You don’t need to thank me. Just help me build Nagaryll into a rapidly developing and prosperous country—that’s the greatest reward.”
“After all,” he raised an eyebrow, “I have massive investments here. The better this place does, the more I profit. So strictly speaking, my interests align with the whole nation’s. We all want prosperity and strength!”
It was the first time Jardon heard Lynch analyze issues from another perspective. Since Simon’s death, like many locals, Jardon had believed that foreigners were nothing but exploiters.
Even as the son of a foreign tycoon, he held that belief.
Outside the low walls of their home, the poor barely had enough to eat. Just a wall apart, they lived in conditions unimaginable to ordinary people.
They didn’t have to work hard; a few calls would funnel huge profits into Simon’s accounts—money sucked directly from Nagaryll’s people.
That was why Jardon supported the Nagaryll Youth Party—foreigners were vampires.
But Lynch’s words shattered his old views on foreign businessmen, and they were logically sound.
Lynch’s heavy local investments showed he wanted Nagaryll to develop better.
If Nagaryll ever became like the Federation, a ten-thousand investment today could yield hundreds or thousands of times that return in the future. Wasn’t that better than sucking society dry?
This also made him realize how foolish his father and Simon had been in trying to monopolize the market and stifle Nagaryll’s economic freedom.
When one admires another, even their flaws become endearing.
“Thank you for telling me this… no one ever has. I don’t know what to say—thank you so much!” Jardon’s gratitude was sincere.
Lynch not only taught him new ways to see things and offered solutions but was also willing to support him.
Before coming, Jardon was anxious—everyone knew the Federation was
invading
Nagaryll, and maybe Lynch wanted the backward, poor Nagaryll to stay that way to control its economy fully.
But now, he realized how narrow-minded that was and felt ashamed of his assumptions.
“Good that you gained something. Now go, get to work,” Lynch said, standing up. Jardon rose as well. After a brief handshake, Jardon left.
At the room’s edge, Lynch watched him go with a faint smile.
This was a prime opportunity to ease hatred between foreigners and locals.
Lynch never lied; he sometimes expressed different views depending on perspective, but never deception.
He despised Simon and the so-called Preyton Trading Company’s rules—greedy, shortsighted dogs.
They had no real skill, only seeking to cement their privileges by restricting Nagaryll’s social and economic development.
They didn’t understand that real wealth comes not from monopolizing in a poor country but from setting industry rules in developed nations.
Like those financial sharks in Eminence—they create the rules. Once a company reaches a certain scale, it must accept their investment and shares. Is there anything more profitable?
No, absolutely not.
Just trading those stocks brings unimaginable wealth to these tycoons, who invest before companies even go public.
Meanwhile, Preyton’s foolish methods both limited Nagaryll’s growth and deepened the divide between locals and foreigners.
Some foreigners might boast about being the
third ruling class
, but they never realize it means being the hated third class in the people’s hearts.
People despise these foreigners and their destructive exploitation. That’s why the recent unrest escalated so quickly from riots to rebellion, with Lynch’s subtle influence pushing it along.
But ultimately, the deep-rooted hatred built up over time made the outbreak hard to control.
Thanks to the previous unrest, much of the hatred was resolved, and tolerance toward foreigners increased again. This was the best outcome for the Federation and people like Lynch.
What remained was to develop the economy together. As he said, only if Nagaryll grew stronger and wealthier could his investments yield huge returns.
On the day Jardon left, all his factories reopened recruitment to the public. Not just his—local heirs who survived the unrest and inherited foreign-owned businesses also began mass hiring.
They were connected; Jardon must have informed them. So everyone started doing the same, and their combined efforts would be even more powerful.
Since the weather cooled, Nagaryll’s stench lessened. High temperatures had accelerated decay, but with the longer time from freshness to rot, people had time to clean up.
Two days later, an open-air meeting was held in the town hall square. The invitees included not only local elites but also many respected and influential ordinary citizens.
They gathered to discuss one issue only:
sanitation
Reading Settings
#1a1a1a
#ef4444
Comments