Blackstone Code-Chapter 588: Another One Granted a Title

Is being an emperor enjoyable?
Even tyrants and incompetent rulers may not find it enjoyable—let alone an emperor who strives to be a wise and just sovereign.
After enduring a brutal wake-up routine, he was finally able to rest for a bit in his study.
It wasn’t until after he had finished processing all the documents sent in during the night that the Minister of Foreign Affairs arrived—around 7:40, later than expected.
“You must’ve slept in.”
As soon as he saw his minister, the emperor snapped with nowhere else to vent his irritation.
The minister found it odd, but as a noble and a courtier, answering the emperor was a matter of protocol—so he took it as a question.
“Your Majesty, this is the first time in years I’ve gotten up this early. I swear to anyone—I absolutely didn’t sleep in today.”
The emperor suddenly lost interest. He felt there was no shared understanding between him and these people.
He, the emperor, was woken up every day at 4:45 a.m., yet these damned nobles considered waking at 7 a.m.
early
?!
(ノ｀Д´)ノ彡┻━┻
“Just tell me what it is…” He set down his pen and looked at the Minister, then, annoyed again, shifted his gaze to the palace rooftops glinting in the sunlight—only that made him feel slightly better.
The Minister of Foreign Affairs didn’t understand the sudden drop in the emperor’s energy, but work was work.
“Yesterday, customs informed me that someone on the Federation diplomatic mission’s roster arrived early in Gephra—a young man named Lynch.”
Upon hearing official business, the emperor pulled himself together quickly and frowned slightly. “He didn’t arrive with the rest of the delegation?”
After receiving confirmation, the emperor grew suspicious. “So where did he go once he arrived?”
The minister paused, then replied, “He went to Blossom Street in the port city, spent 200 bucks on a stripper in a strip club, and returned to his hotel with his assistant.”
“That club and the dancer—are they under investigation?” The emperor’s instincts were sharp. He didn’t believe a young man who likely had a questionable background—or was possibly being backed by someone powerful—would show up two days early, alone.
And then, of all things, go to a strip club that wasn’t even officially open yet and blow 200 bucks on a dancer, completely disregarding both national and personal dignity.
“There’s definitely something going on here,” the emperor concluded firmly. “Detain the club owner, the bartender who served him, and the dancer. Find out if something’s being covered up. Has anyone been sent yet?”
The minister nodded. “I’ve already sent the police.”
“No, not enough. Send the Special Division. I’ll call them personally.”
The
Special Division
was one of Gephra’s security agencies—officially known as the Gephra Imperial Internal Investigation Bureau. The
internal
part in their name carried meanings like
strike
or
intervene
in local slang, and thus the bureau came to be commonly known as the
Special Division
.
The Special Division was roughly equivalent to the Federation’s National Security Committee, but unlike the NSC, which handled both domestic and foreign matters, Gephra’s Special Division only dealt with internal security. Foreign affairs were handled by the Military Intelligence Bureau.
The emperor deploying the Special Division meant this wasn’t just any routine investigation.
The club owner and the dancer likely had no idea that what they thought was just regular business nearly got them killed—there’s a saying in Gephra: even an iron man won’t hold out against the Special Division; they’ll spill everything.
In a monarchy, the emperor’s will can override the law. Once a unit like the Special Division receives an imperial directive, they don’t play nice like the NSC. They’ll use any method necessary.
You say you don’t know Lynch? That you have nothing to do with him?
Then you’re not just resisting—you’re insulting the Special Division.
Once that was addressed, the two men discussed the diplomatic mission. Gephra’s fleet, assigned to escort the delegation, had already intercepted the Federation’s ship and was now guiding it back. They were expected to arrive at Gephra’s eastern port by tomorrow afternoon and reach the capital two days later.
Originally, the Federation fleet was supposed to escort the delegation directly to the eastern port. But the Minister of Defense opposed it.
If the Federation’s navy mapped the waters around Gephra’s mainland, then in the event of war, they could strike without needing further reconnaissance—sailing right in and bombarding the homeland.
So after negotiations, the plan was changed: the delegation would be handed over at a distance from Gephra’s waters, and the escort would continue under Gephra’s fleet. The ships would even take a detour to obscure the route and prevent the Federation from charting it accurately.
The capital also had to perform final checks to avoid any embarrassing incidents during the reception.
By a little after 8 a.m., the emperor ended the meeting. Under the butler’s urging, he put on a forced smile and climbed up to the palace wall to wave at the citizens and tourists gathered outside.
This wasn’t a daily duty—only twice a month—which made the palace especially crowded on those days.
The emperor felt pathetic, like an animal being put on display. He hated this job.
Around 9 a.m., Lynch finally got out of bed.
“This mattress is too soft—makes my bones ache,” he complained, twisting his waist and back as he walked into the bathroom.
He wasn’t talking to himself. His assistant, still lying in bed, offered a different opinion. “You’re such a weirdo. I think this mattress is amazing—softer than any bed I’ve ever slept on.”
Many in the Federation—and really, people from most countries—had an odd fondness for springy, soft mattresses. Their bodies didn’t seem to mind.
But not Lynch. He was used to hard beds. Even if he didn’t get physically sore when he first arrived in this world, he’d suffer from psychological discomfort and insomnia.
Eventually, he went back to sleeping on hard beds and immediately felt better. Now in Gephra, the soft mattress made him uncomfortable again.
While showering and looking out over the port city, Lynch reflected on his previous night.
He hadn’t returned until after 9 p.m. The bar experience had revealed to him the biggest difference between Gephra and the Federation—a certain attitude, specifically toward outsiders.
While helping the dancers at the club, Lynch noticed something: the patrons were naturally divided into three groups.
Gephrans clustered around the best stage. No one said it out loud, but other races or foreigners like Lynch wouldn’t dare crowd in.
The bartenders even advised guests not to cause trouble.
People from poorer or defeated countries were pushed to the smallest, worst corners. Meanwhile, visitors from more developed nations—those allied with Gephra or on similar footing—formed a middle class.
They looked down on those from worse places, yet were themselves looked down on by Gephrans.
This stood in sharp contrast to the far more inclusive Federation, and for Lynch, it was a new and rather unappealing experience.
A seemingly prosperous era, but full of hidden cracks.
After his shower, Lynch enjoyed a massage from his assistant. In the afternoon, he strolled through the library, and by evening, just as he was preparing to visit the bar again, he was surprised to find a
Temporarily Closed
sign hanging outside the place he’d been to the night before. Some items had also been placed at the entrance to block entry.
According to a few onlookers, there had been a conflict there recently, after which the police took away the bartender and the owner. The establishment was then shut down.
“This probably has something to do with us,” the sergeant whispered in Lynch’s ear at just the right moment. “We arrived only yesterday, and something already happened today…”
Lynch nodded. “Seems like someone’s trying to warn us not to wander around.” He looked around at the nearby businesses still open, sensing the faint stares from within the crowd. A mischievous grin curled at the corner of his mouth. “The smart move would be to return to our room—but I’m not feeling very obedient.”
Soon, he and the sergeant entered another venue, exchanged some more money, and played the role of cheerful guests. The staff, unaware of what tomorrow would bring, were still thrilled to welcome such a generous customer.
Unsurprisingly, that venue was shut down the next day too. But none of this had anything to do with Lynch—because the Federation’s diplomatic vessel had just arrived at the port.
The leader of this mission had, until recently, been the second-ranking deputy minister of foreign affairs. The former first deputy, having performed exceptionally well, was now tasked by the president with leading a major development initiative in the western regions. So, the second deputy had moved up a rank.
It was rumored that he might be promoted to Foreign Minister next year. For now, he was a rising star within the ministry.
Assigning a deputy minister to lead this state visit was, in some respects, a slight downgrade in terms of diplomatic protocol.
But in essence, this visit wasn’t about traditional matters of state—no military or political negotiations were on the table. The focus was primarily on commercial cooperation and development.
Neither the Emperor of Gephra nor the Foreign Minister would engage directly with the delegation regarding substantive matters. On Gephra’s side, the real negotiations would be handled by representatives from several major conglomerates and the deputy foreign minister.
Everyone understood that commercial cooperation and development had a far greater impact on society than military or political deals—but people are hypocrites. They’d never admit that business is more important than war or politics.