Blackstone Code-Chapter 586: Gephra

Looking at himself in the mirror, Richard nodded in satisfaction.
He wasn’t exactly handsome, but he had a rare quality that could quietly draw people in and make them listen to him patiently.
He was also smart—he knew how to maintain relationships with clients in the simplest and most direct way. If necessary, and if the client was a woman, he could even deepen the relationship through more intimate means.
He was the kind of man who could cast aside all ideals and morals for money. But he took something that didn’t belong to him, and so he accepted Lynch’s judgment.
He was to be exiled. If Lynch publicly revealed what he’d done, no major company would ever hire him again, and he’d be left scraping by at the very bottom.
Fortunately, Lynch didn’t do that. Instead, he gave him a chance to prove his worth.
For more than a year, Richard had been developing a plan based on the core concept Lynch gave him. Now, with a fairly complete theory in hand, he was excited—he was about to embark on a journey to wealth.
But he was also afraid. His stage was no longer the Federation, but Gephra.
Still, it was a golden opportunity to realize his life’s dream. He’d run the numbers—if he had just one year, and he didn’t get caught during that time, he could retire.
He would gain hundreds of millions, and in Gael no less. He’d become one of the richest people in the world.
The rest of his life would be spent lying on piles of money, carefree and content—the way it should’ve always been.
He closed the mirror one last time—it was mounted on the inside of a cabinet door to save space.
Since Lynch discovered his betrayal, Richard had done everything he could to return the money he had stolen. This made his current life a bit tight financially.
But that was temporary. Things would soon get much better.
He glanced at his outfit again, put on a finely tailored suit, grabbed his suitcase, and took a company car to the port.
People were already waiting. He wasn’t the only one with dreams of rising above—several of his subordinates had similar ambitions and were willing to risk it all in Gephra.
After successfully boarding, he stood on the deck of the ship headed for Gephra. Watching the Federation grow smaller behind him, it felt like he was saying goodbye to the past.
The sea wind was cold, but it reminded him of a truth—man cannot live without money.
Over half a month of ocean travel was dull. Lynch suddenly thought he should invest in those researching airplanes. Ships were just too slow. Two months of his life had already been wasted on boring sea voyages, and there would be more. It wasn’t fair.
Life was precious. It shouldn’t be wasted.
Lynch arrived in Gephra two days before the Federation delegation. It was early spring—pleasant weather. The sea wasn’t as turbulent as in summer, so after twelve days of sailing, they reached Gephra.
Setting foot on Gephran soil, Lynch took a deep breath. A scent different from the sweet freedom of the Federation or the pungent vegetation of Nagaryll hit him—it was the smell of decay.
“The ruling class must live in extreme luxury,” he muttered, looking down at the tiles beneath his feet.
In the Federation, in Nagaryll under construction, and in most other countries, tiles at ports and stations were built tough to handle the traffic. No matter how nice they looked, the patterns would wear off within a month.
But here, the tiles were brand new.
They were probably freshly laid to welcome the Federation delegation—or perhaps it was part of a scheduled renovation.
The clean tiles and intricate designs formed a scene across the port floor. From above, one could see a palace under the morning sun, statues outside it, and a line of text at the bottom: “Long live His Majesty the Emperor.”
Lynch looked around. The people outside the port wore clothes he couldn’t quite describe—unfashionable, rigid, but upheld by a unique dignity.
Not unpleasant—just solemn.
Gephrans were proud. Even when they glanced at Lynch’s group in passing, they didn’t turn their heads. They only moved their eyes, observing with their peripheral vision. It gave them an overly upright appearance.
“We’ll be staying here for two days. I’m already looking forward to life here,” Lynch said. He enjoyed novelty, and his curiosity and thirst for knowledge were strong—every girl who had ever spent time with him knew this well.
They found a decent hotel near the port. After a brief rest, Lynch, full of energy, set out to explore the nearby streets.
His assistant didn’t go with him this time. The sea voyage had worn her out—she gave Lynch massages every day, and there was nothing fun on the ship. She needed rest.
Lynch and the sergeant left the hotel and hit the streets.
Their outfits stood out, drawing occasional looks.
The sergeant carried no firearm—he was a private security consultant and had no legal right to carry weapons in the Gephran Empire. He only brought basic self-defense tools.
At the moment, he was holding a map, squinting at the swirling decorative script and complex patterns, feeling like an idiot. He couldn’t understand a thing.
That was an exaggeration—he just couldn’t read the stylized script. In the end, he failed to give Lynch any useful suggestion, and the decision went back to Lynch.
Lynch’s decision was simple. He and the sergeant got into a cab. Lynch handed the driver a freshly exchanged ten-Gael bill.
“We’re tourists looking for fun. Take us somewhere exciting.”
The driver glanced at the money, pleased, and floored the gas.
Two minutes later, they were dropped off at the busiest part of the port city—Lynch could even see the window of his hotel room from here.
“I think we got scammed,” the sergeant said uncertainly. “It’s less than two hundred meters in a straight line from the hotel. That bastard just drove us in a circle!”
He was a little embarrassed, worried it would affect Lynch’s opinion of him. But Lynch didn’t care.
Without spending that ten Gael, they might still be wandering. But now they’d saved time.
“Come on,” Lynch said, turning into an alley.
It wasn’t really an alley—it was a street, just different from the others. The pavement wasn’t asphalt or concrete but old bricks, giving it a historic feel.
There were no cars, only rickshaws. Neon lights lined both sides.
It was still a bit early, but people had already begun to gather.
As the largest and most important port in eastern Gephra, this place had once docked many warships.Compared to the unreliable army weaklings, the navy was Gephra’s true pride.
Navy personnel often spent long stretches on missions at sea, only rarely docking for brief repairs before heading back out. Since Gephra didn’t prohibit solicitation or adult services, this area had become the city’s largest entertainment hub.
Along both sides of the street were display windows, each with a woman sitting inside—none of them wearing much. Around their wrists or necks were collars or bands with a number and a price.
They were displayed like merchandise. Anyone who could pay—even a beggar or a drifter—could buy whatever kind of pleasure they wanted.
Lynch and the sergeant picked a large-looking bar to relax. There was nothing shameful about it.
It was a standard bar. At the entrance was a small, reinforced window like something out of a rural bank. Behind it sat a receptionist who believed herself to be male and was bare-chested—though she was clearly female.
She knocked on the glass. “Need change, gentlemen?”
Lynch couldn’t help but laugh. Tilting his head toward the sergeant, he said, “Just like the Federation.”
Bars back home offered the same service—exchanging bills for smaller notes to better tip dancers and encourage their performances.
Lynch exchanged two hundred Gael for a stack of one-Gael notes. Along with the change, the receptionist handed him a small slip of paper with a phone number written on it. He didn’t know what it meant.
Without giving it much thought, Lynch tossed the slip into a trash bin and stepped into the main bar area with the sergeant.
The bar had six massive stages, each with its own bar counter. The place was enormous.
It wasn’t even officially open yet, but one dedicated dancer was already performing.
Even without much of an audience, she moved gracefully to the music, blending art and beauty for the few guests present.
Moved by her professionalism, Lynch pulled out a few notes and waved them.
With feline elegance, the dancer stepped down in front of him, letting him tuck the bills under a string.
Looking at the girl, Lynch couldn’t help but reflect—exploitation existed everywhere. Here was a girl so poor she couldn’t even afford clothes. Thinking of her circumstances, it was genuinely heartbreaking.