Blackstone Code-Chapter 590: At Least We Have a Bottom Line

We often say that everyone is an independent individual.
Yet, somehow, our fates are intricately intertwined.
After two days of torture, the bar owner was released.
Not long ago, agents from the Special Division extracted over a dozen nails and a saw blade from his body, then treated some of his wounds.
Ever since he was inexplicably detained, the Special Division kept asking him questions he’d never heard of, never thought about, and didn’t understand:
What’s your relationship with Lynch?
What information did Lynch pass to you?
How do you normally communicate?
Who’s your superior? Who’s under you?
It was all complete nonsense to him. As a Gephran, the bar owner knew the Special Division’s methods well. So from the start, he was honest and straightforward:
I don’t know any Lynch!
I have no idea what you’re talking about!
I’m just a bar owner, not an intelligence agent!
I told you, you’ve got the wrong guy!
The Special Division responded with intense enthusiasm—he came to truly understand their cruelty.
In fact, he broke on the first day. He even made up lies just to appease them, hoping to ease his suffering a little. As for the future?
Who knew if he’d survive—might as well enjoy a bit of peace before death.
But since he truly didn’t know who Lynch was, nor the real nature of what was going on, the lies he fabricated to satisfy their torture were full of holes.
One team leader from the Special Division even told him the next morning,
I’ve never seen such a tough intelligence agent before. Keep it up. Be a true warrior!
The bar owner was completely bewildered. Telling the truth didn’t work. Lying didn’t work either. He began to suspect maybe a competitor had set him up.
Just when he was about to give up and accept death, he was released.
The team leader who interrogated him offered him basic medical care and even apologized.
To be fair, the Special Division was surprisingly thorough. They returned everything he had on him when he was arrested, gave him a wheelchair, and even offered him a free round of medical treatment.
They also promised to help him apply for state compensation.
Even as he sat in his wheelchair being pushed to the hospital, the bar owner still had no idea what had happened or why it had happened to him.
As for why he was released, the reason was simple: the Special Division and the Intelligence Bureau had realized that Lynch hadn’t gone to those bars to pass messages—he was simply there to spend money, just as previously ed.
A group of federal delegates had rented out an entertainment venue and
helped
all the girls who needed assistance, all while journalists captured the whole thing on camera.
People who saw the news were furious. The federal delegates clearly showed no basic respect. Though key figures like the delegation leader didn’t take part, it still sparked outrage.
At first, the Emperor considered suppressing the story. But then he changed his mind—he wanted the people of Gephra to see the arrogance of the federals. It would strengthen his rule.
Only when faced with this kind of foreign humiliation would the people truly rally behind their emperor.
It was also a painful wake-up call to himself—a reminder of the cost of falling behind.
If it could unite the country, then so be it.
The next morning, all of Gephra’s major newspapers ed that on the first day of the federal delegation’s visit, they had gone straight to Blossom Street. For the proud people of Gephra, this was a massive insult. Some even launched petitions urging the emperor to expel the delegation.
The situation seemed tense, but in truth, it was just theater.
No formal diplomatic protest was lodged. Authorities merely ordered all similar entertainment venues to shut down for the duration of the federal delegation’s visit to prevent further embarrassment.
This, in turn, made the Deputy Foreign Minister realize a deeper shift—the times had changed.
Gephra’s age of dominance was over. The age of the Federation had begun.
That morning, on the plaza outside the port city’s municipal hall, the delegation attended their first formal reception. Local officials warmly welcomed them, and the mayor expressed hope that cooperation between Gephra and the Baylor Federation would help secure global peace and elevate both countries’ standing.
To help the public get to know the delegates, each member of the delegation was introduced—Lynch included.
Originally, this wasn’t planned. The last-minute change was edly the Emperor’s idea—to publicly expose these men, to let the world see who exactly had gone out the night before to
help
those girls instead of staying in the hotel.
Since the federals clearly had no shame, the Gephrans stopped caring too.
Regardless of what the delegation thought, or how the Gephrans reacted, one man was left stunned—Mr. Herbes.
He stared at the television screen for a long time, unable to recover.
On screen, in the sunlight, Lynch smiled brightly—nothing like a diplomat. He looked like he was on vacation. Everyone else wore stern faces. Only he was beaming.
To Mr. Herbes, that smile looked like the face of a demon.
Suddenly, he turned and walked to the corner, picked up the phone, and asked:
“Why is Lynch a member of the diplomatic delegation?”
That was the one question he wanted answered more than anything.
He’d been uneasy for days. So he reviewed every potential point of failure, tried to eliminate all risks.
After weeks of patching up loose ends, he believed Lynch had no path to a comeback.
Convincing the Minister of Finance alone would be nearly impossible—let alone getting through to the Emperor of Gephra.
Even setting aside the Emperor’s temperament and willingness to be persuaded, the first step was gaining an audience.
Use your brain—even an idiot could see the Emperor would never randomly take a call from a stranger and chat for half an hour, then be completely swayed.
To persuade the Emperor, it had to be a real person, with a real identity, standing face-to-face.Lynch couldn’t do it—not even that much.
It was impossible for him to appear before the Emperor and tell him what would best serve everyone’s interests. The Emperor wouldn’t casually meet with a federal businessman. For Lynch to arrange such a meeting was no simple task.
Even Mr. Herbes himself hadn’t yet qualified for a private audience with the Emperor, and he had many connections on this side. As for Lynch, with virtually no international contacts, it was absolutely impossible for him to convince the Emperor.
And if he couldn’t persuade the Emperor, then no matter what he did, it would have no impact on the final outcome.
But despite all his calculations, Mr. Herbes hadn’t anticipated that Lynch would become an official member of the federal diplomatic delegation—a named member, not just some
entourage staff
.
Being a named delegate meant Lynch had a voice. He could directly interact with Gephra’s various ministers, and even the Emperor himself would—if necessary—be obliged to listen to his views, at least indirectly through official channels.
They might not meet in person, but they could still communicate. This completely caught Herbes off guard.
Everything that had once felt stable now seemed to be unraveling. Herbes’s face darkened; he stood by the phone, trembling slightly, agitated to the point where he couldn’t bring himself to listen to the meaningless words coming from the other end of the line.
He cut the speaker off mid-sentence, spitting as he shouted in frustration. His loose facial skin quivered slightly with the motion, and his face turned crimson.
“I don’t want to hear this right now! You should’ve told me earlier—now you’ve ruined everything!” he yelled, slamming down the receiver.
The person on the other end was a federal government official—equally furious. Despite working within the federal system, even he had no access to such high-level delegation lists before they were publicly announced.
Asking around too much would only attract the suspicion of the National Security Council. Even though the world seemed at peace on the surface, on the invisible front lines of intelligence and influence, the war never stopped.
Of course, this phone call wouldn’t affect his relationship with Mr. Herbes. As long as Herbes kept writing thank-you letters, he’d continue selling small, unimportant bits of intelligence.
Before long, several people gathered at Mr. Herbes’s home, all of them visibly uneasy. It was clear the news had shaken them.
Lynch had slipped in completely undetected—and now had the qualifications to directly communicate with Gephra’s ruling elite. That was terrifying.
Looking at these bankers—who not long ago had been fantasizing about retirement—the whole situation now seemed absurd and pathetic.
Still, as the leader and mastermind of the entire plan, Mr. Herbes tried to calm everyone down. “Lynch won’t be able to change the Emperor’s mind so easily. We still have a chance.”
“And even if he does change it, all we lose is a bit of interest. The gains from the one hundred billion galil’s appreciation are more than enough to make this investment a success.”