Blackstone Code-Chapter 563: No Charge

“I brought in a batch of goods. Contact all the merchants on our side and tell them to try selling them to the locals…”
Lynch was referring to the goods being unloaded at the docks—fresh off the assembly line and transported here directly.
Many people believed what Lynch was doing was wrong. Even within the Joint Development Company, when word got out that Lynch was preparing to sell goods to the Nagaryll natives, it was met with ridicule and scorn.
They had their reasons. Nagaryll had a large population, yes, but it was also severely underdeveloped. The average annual income was likely under one hundred federal sols. Dumping goods there now was unlikely to yield any returns.
Only when the market had matured—when per capita income reached at least three to five hundred sols—would a consumer boom begin.
Some top graduates from the Saint Harmony Society—true academic elites without prestigious backgrounds or luck, just raw academic ability—had joined the company.
This gave them a higher starting point than others: upon graduation, they could directly serve major capitalists, often starting at mid-to-senior levels.
Unlike graduates from ordinary universities, who might only get the chance to serve the elite and start at lower levels.
These elites formed a think tank, analyzing data, building models, and advising company executives on what could or couldn’t be done, all through mathematical projections.
Some executives treated math like religious dogma—believing in it as firmly as others believe in divine judgment and the afterlife. To them, numbers could explain everything.
Based on global economic models, some senior executives concluded that Lynch’s strategy would only make him a laughingstock. Privately, a few even mocked how someone like Lynch got into the Joint Development Company and secured a board seat.
This resentment stemmed from imbalance: Lynch alone controlled the commerce and development of an entire province, while others had to squeeze multiple people into a single region. Naturally, it caused discontent.
They didn’t dare question giants like Mr. Wadrick or Mr. Patric—but mocking Lynch felt safe enough.
In short, few believed Lynch could succeed by dumping goods into a market that wasn’t ready. They were certain he would fail.
Even Asel felt the same. How could a bunch of poor people afford fine, federally made industrial products?
These weren’t cheap, native hand-crafted knockoffs. These were high-quality, factory-made goods, rigorously quality-checked and nearly identical in appearance—the beauty of industrialization.
The natives simply couldn’t afford them.
“If we start selling now…” Asel cautiously adjusted his tone, “is it… the right time?”
He quickly added, “I don’t mean it’s not the right time, but we just had a massive protest, and many people still don’t have jobs. The goods might not sell well.”
He chose
might not sell well
instead of
won’t sell
out of tact. The more he worked with Lynch, the more he felt a kind of quiet authority around him—something you couldn’t easily resist.
Lynch didn’t wear a stern face or raise his voice.
Instead, he always smiled. But that smile, especially when your opinion clashed with his, carried enormous pressure for those who knew him well.
Lynch shook his head. “That’s not something you need to worry about. I never planned to sell these to everyone. I only intend to sell them to our workers.”
“Make arrangements and pass this on to our partners. I don’t need them to understand—I just need them to do it.” He paused, looked directly at Asel, and slowed his speech, “Understood?”
Feeling the weight of Lynch’s words, Asel nodded repeatedly. “Yes, Mr. Lynch. I understand.”
As soon as he gave his firm answer, the invisible pressure vanished. He wiped nonexistent sweat from his temple and exhaled in relief.
Lynch’s presence was growing more and more imposing.
The convoy soon arrived at Lynch’s mansion—recently completed, slightly removed from the Governor’s Mansion, and situated at the highest point in the city.
Originally, the area was forested. The locals didn’t favor living in elevated places—perhaps because developing and building homes there was too expensive. In any case, it had been undeveloped and remote.
Others feared the cost. Lynch didn’t. With enough money, the area was transformed in just over two months into a grand architectural complex.
The style leaned toward local Nagaryll traditions on the outside, while the interior favored the Federation’s minimalist design. All materials used were top-tier—and cheap locally.
The results proved a simple truth: if you spend enough money, anything that depends on human labor can be done quickly.
“This is… your house?” The assistant, silent throughout the bus ride, finally exhaled in awe at the sight of the mansion.
It overwhelmed her—shattering her worldview.
Armed convoys, the locals’ deference, and this palace-like estate—Helen’s eyes sparkled as she looked at Lynch.
Lynch nodded calmly. In the eyes of a small-town girl like Helen, a few thousand or even tens of thousands of square meters looked like a palace.
She had no idea that what she saw as a palace was barely a fraction of the size of estates owned by others—palaces of over 100,000 or even 300,000 square meters—which Lynch had personally visited.
As they entered, Asel followed behind, explaining the layout while Lynch described how to sell the goods.
Nagaryll was hot, so Lynch’s residence had several pools, similar to those in the governor’s quarters.
In summer, they’d be filled with clean water, open to the breeze on all sides, blending seamlessly with nature. Soaking in cool water, feeling the sea wind, and listening to rustling leaves brought peace of mind.
In winter, the pools were filled with hot water instead, offering a completely different yet equally rare experience.
Being rich—was wonderful.
Each room featured an abundance of handmade art: curtains, veils, ornaments, even furniture—a fusion of local and federal styles that pleased Lynch greatly.
“Very thoughtful. I’ve noted it. As for what I mentioned earlier—you need to stay on top of it.” After a tour, Lynch returned to the entrance and gave a final instruction.
Asel’s face brightened. He nodded repeatedly, then hesitated before cautiously bringing up another matter.
“Mr. Lynch, you know I didn’t have children in the Federation. But after I came back…” his dark face reddened slightly, “I now have a son. According to local customs, we’re holding a ceremony. I hope you’ll attend.”
“You got married?” Lynch was surprised. “I didn’t know. You should’ve told me then.”
Asel’s blush deepened. He hesitated, unsure if he should explain.
Eventually, perhaps out of trust—or simply due to local norms—he confessed, “Not exactly. The mother is… my brother’s wife.”
He briefly explained the situation. Lynch, usually unshaken, was left speechless. Even he found it hard to comprehend.
Still, in the end, he nodded in agreement. After all, it was the local custom, wasn’t it?
After watching Asel leave, Lynch turned and walked back into the room. The young assistant suddenly popped out from somewhere. She glanced around stealthily, making sure no one was nearby.
Then she quickly approached Lynch and whispered, “Wanna try?”
The next morning, a group of seemingly honest locals showed up punctually outside the construction site. Ever since a batch of workers had been fired—and their protests failed to achieve anything—everyone had become much more obedient.
The site easily recruited people willing to accept the current wages. The workers had no bargaining power.
If someone refused to work, there were plenty who would.
But today, something felt different. People noticed a makeshift booth next to the site, set up to sell goods. It seemed to be run by foreigners.
Curious—since looking didn’t cost money—a local walked over to the booth. Seeing all the practical everyday items inside, he couldn’t help but feel tempted.
He was just days away from hitting 100 days on the job. Once that happened, his pay would rise to over one federal sol a day. He might actually be able to afford some of these things.
His eyes settled on a small, finely made iron pot. Pointing to it, he asked, “How much is this?”
The foreigner in charge of the booth responded with a warm smile, “It’s free…”