Blackstone Code-Chapter 604: Orderly

“They’re not going to riot…”
In a tall building not far from the royal palace, several well-dressed gentlemen from the civilized Federation gathered, watching the scene outside through floor-to-ceiling windows with subtle expressions on their faces.
One man standing by the glass, holding a wine glass, turned to the others and said, “It looks like they’re not going to riot.”
“I didn’t expect the royal family to tolerate this,” another said with some surprise.
People often conflate
backwardness
,
ignorance
,
barbarism
, and
brainlessness
.
Although these words are usually lumped together, there are times when they must be separated—like now. According to the plan, with so many gathered outside the palace demanding the royal family give them a reason, in Gephra the Royal Guard would already be arresting people.
They had assumed the King of the Kingdom of Nagaryll would not simply stand by. He would surely do something to defend his authority and image.
The gentlemen in this room had predicted that even if he didn’t disperse the crowd, the king would at least step forward to say something to calm the angry, answer-seeking masses.
If he had done so, the
insiders
they had planted in the crowd would have hurled prepared waste at the king, triggering a violent escalation.
But unexpectedly, the king neither sent people to disperse the crowd nor made any public appearance. He chose to remain passive, which disrupted their plans and rendered the planted
insiders
useless.
One gentleman strolled over to the window, looking at the square outside the palace. He sipped his wine and smiled, “Fortunately, we have another plan…”
At that moment, over two hundred Nagarylls gathered expressionlessly around the palace. After receiving an order, they quickly changed into the uniforms of the Royal Guard—the elite force directly under the monarchy.
They knew exactly what they were doing and the consequences it would bring, but they had no regrets.
Compared to the promise of ship tickets to the Federation and legal residency there, what they were doing now was simply a step toward their goal.
As for what might happen—did it matter to them?
With weapons like sticks, whips, and even knives in hand, they surged toward the palace square. From the building where the Federation gentlemen watched, several blue
waves
could be seen crashing into a solid black
rock.
The crowd instantly erupted. The fake
Royal Guards
beat, chased, and cursed at their fellow citizens, shouting at them to leave and not dirty the palace grounds.
The moment the chaos began, the old king sensed something was wrong. He immediately ordered an investigation. It didn’t take long before he learned what was really happening.
The real Royal Guard commanders exchanged confused looks. The king could see nothing useful in their blank expressions—none of the actual Royal Guards had been deployed.
That meant the ones outside were impostors.
The king instantly suspected the Federation. Ever since that article appeared in the newspaper—one that never should have made it to print—he had known the Federation was ready to act.
Seated on his throne, shoulder uneven, chin resting on his hand supported by the throne’s armrest, the old king gazed silently at the people in the palace before finally speaking.
“Have our people change into a different uniform, or at least add some markings. Go out and arrest the impostors.”
“What’s done is done. We must try to salvage it. Also…”—he turned to his butler—“get things ready. Once we uncover the foreigners’ conspiracy, I will deliver a national address.”
At first, he hadn’t planned on taking such steps or positioning himself in open opposition to foreign powers. But between the recent s and this
attack,
it was clear:
the foreigners had made their move
.
Nagaryll’s unique political structure made the monarchy fragile. The regions were highly autonomous, and the royal family was essentially the most powerful clan. The king was more a provincial governor than a true monarch.
The foreigners could ignore other power holders and target him directly—there would be no savior coming.
This wasn’t like traditional monarchies, where stripping a ruler of power took time, careful dismantling from the ground up. In Nagaryll, attacking the royal family was much simpler and far more direct.
The monarchy would not withstand the Federation’s assault. The old king could no longer pretend to be oblivious. He had to tell the people: these are extraordinary times, and some want to take everything from them. He is their final guardian.
If he falls, this land will become a paradise for foreigners.
The butler was surprised, but obeyed. Meanwhile, the real Royal Guards began to move.
But unexpectedly… some people in the crowd suddenly fought back, swinging fists and improvised weapons from nearby.
The fake Royal Guards broke ranks and fled almost immediately—so quickly that many didn’t even understand what was happening.
But some did—and those were the ones who fought back. They clashed violently with the actual Royal Guards just emerging from the palace.
Cameras around the square flashed non-stop, capturing everything clearly and unmistakably under the sunlight.
The journalists were ecstatic. In peacetime, nothing drew attention like this. It meant wealth, fame, status—and maybe their own column, if they didn’t already have one.
The real Royal Guards were quickly overwhelmed. Some were beaten bloody before they even understood what was happening.
Commanders tried to lead a retreat back into the palace, but the scene was too chaotic. Initially hesitant guards, once bloodied, finally struck back—sparking a full-scale street battle between the monarchy and its people.
The day after the chaos outside the Nagaryll palace, Governor Drag of the Magulana Province learned everything—and now faced another pivotal decision in his life.
In front of him lay a letter and an unfolded sheet filled with dense handwriting.
It had been sent by Lynch, delivered to Drag not long ago.
The sunlight outside was bright, but inside Drag felt consumed by shadows. Moments ago, he had felt hot; now he felt like he had fallen into an icy pit—numb and cold.
The letter’s message was simple and clear: Drag had to make a choice.
The first option: continue as Governor of Magulana under the Kingdom of Nagaryll, publicly maintaining his stance.
No matter how Nagaryll changed, the Joint Development Company and Lynch would cut all deep ties with him. He would become a symbolic figure—neither interfered with nor allowed to interfere in their affairs.
A
peaceful separation
, on the surface. But Drag knew it was anything but peaceful.
Today’s youth cared less about ideology or loyalty to a nation. They would rather work for the Federation.
Maybe nothing would seem different at first, but as the Federation’s companies grew in Nagaryll, society would begin to orbit around them. Eventually, the upper management of these companies—especially the board of the Joint Development Company—would replace the traditional rulers.
They would dictate education, livelihood, and work. Their rules would become the laws society followed.
Drag didn’t want the first option, but the second wasn’t easy either.
Lynch had only one request: when the time came, Drag must step forward and advocate for the creation of a city-state or principality—seceding from the Kingdom of Nagaryll to achieve true autonomy and independence.
This choice was just as difficult because Lynch wanted him to
advocate
—which meant being the first to step forward and speak.
Honestly… that was hard for him to accept, even though he understood Lynch’s logic: if independence was inevitable, then rather than silently following others, it would be better to be the first to declare it and turn that act into a personal advantage.
But… he was still a Nagaryllan, the governor of a Nagaryll province. For him to be the first to stand up and declare independence—it seemed impossible.
His palms were soaked in sweat. His mouth was dry, his limbs cold, and yet his body was drenched.
He kept picking up the letter and putting it down, over and over again.
He couldn’t make up his mind. Neither option was what he wanted, but he also knew he had to choose—and soon.
If someone else stepped forward first to call for secession from the Kingdom of Nagaryll, all the
first-mover advantages
would be lost. By then, no matter what he chose, it would no longer be the best choice.
That damned bastard—always forcing people into hard decisions!
Governor Drag slammed the table.