Blackstone Code

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In any negotiation, terms are flexible—they can be discussed and altered with relative ease. What's truly difficult to change, however, is attitude.

The Nagalier delegation's attitude had shifted once again, perhaps shaken by Lynch's earlier threats.

What did they have to back up their demands? A nation incapable of producing its own bullets or fuel, relying on Pretton Trading House for imports—how could such a country even utter the word "military strength"?

They had no real power, no independent force. Their police and soldiers were effective only when it came to beating and intimidating ordinary citizens. As for taking on the Baylor Federation in battle? That was nothing more than a pipe dream conjured up by their rulers during moments of half-sleep. Deep down, even their subconscious would reject such an absurd possibility.

If they couldn't earn respect through their own strength, would allying with Gevra be a better option?

No—it would be just as disastrous. Aligning with Gevra's military might against the Baylor Federation would turn all of Nagalier into a war zone. Shells would rain from the skies, homes would burn, and lives would shatter. Whether Gevra won or the Federation emerged victorious, Nagalier would face ruin either way. War reparations and the costs of hiring mercenaries often amounted to the same thing: extortion, plain and simple.

After much deliberation, the delegation had reached a consensus. What none of them realized, however, was that their decision was at odds with the central government of the Nagalier United Kingdom.

The central government wanted to stall—to wait until after the Baylor Federation and Gevra's Royal Navy clashed in a naval battle before making any decisions. Whichever side emerged victorious, they'd throw their support behind it. This strategy would safeguard Nagalier's interests: no fires of war ignited on their soil, minimal payments or reparations required, and they could claim alliance with the winner without lifting a finger. It sounded ideal, but there was one glaring issue—they lacked the ability to execute such a plan. Unbeknownst to everyone, the Nagalier delegation had decided to take matters into their own hands. They resolved to negotiate directly with the Baylor Federation while representing the official stance of Nagalier—a move born out of desperation and internal discord. This disconnect between the delegation and the central government highlighted the fundamental flaws in Nagalier's social system, flaws embedded in its very name: the United Kingdom.

For the members of the delegation, ensuring their personal interests remained unscathed was paramount. There was almost nothing they wouldn't agree to if it meant protecting themselves.

Lynch suspected that if Truman had adopted a firmer tone—or perhaps sent someone else to intimidate the delegation further—they might have caved entirely. Perhaps they'd have agreed to make the Federal Thor the legal tender across certain provinces of Nagalier. It may not have seemed like diplomacy, but then again, diplomacy had always been a dance of both kindness and coercion.

"I'd like to add some supplementary clauses," Lynch said, flipping through the transcript of the third round of negotiations. He leaned back, his mind racing with ideas.

Truman poured them each a glass of wine, sitting opposite Lynch with a notebook and pen ready to jot down every word. Watching him so earnestly prepared made Lynch chuckle. "You're making me feel awkward."

Truman replied seriously, "This is how I show my respect. In my eyes, though you're a businessman, you care about this country more than many politicians do."

It was a sentiment that had grown within him over recent days. Before, Truman hadn't held businessmen or capitalists in high regard; he disliked those whose sole focus was profit. But recent events had softened his perspective. Compared to politicians willing to abandon their principles for money or influence, Lynch's vision offered something far more beneficial for the nation's long-term future.

Truman's words caused a subtle shift in Lynch's expression. He didn't know what had transpired during his absence from Bupayne, but he could sense that Truman's demeanor had changed. If Truman wished to share, he would. Otherwise, Lynch wouldn't pry.

Shaking off the fleeting thought, Lynch gathered his thoughts and began, "First, let's talk about something we shouldn't openly admit…"

He took a sip of his chilled liquor, the ice cubes dulling its sharpness while retaining its potency. With two fingers of his glass-holding hand, he gestured vaguely into the air. "Pretton must stay alive—or at least appear to be alive."

"I've thought this through," Lynch continued. "A living Pretton—alive in every sense—is far more advantageous to our interests in the Eastern Ocean than a dead dog ever could be."

"We know he's the leader of a pirate syndicate. To prevent retaliation from him and his remaining forces, we need to establish safe shipping lanes in the Eastern Ocean—not just for our vessels, but also for those of Nagalier and other nations."

Truman's subordinate, who had been furiously scribbling notes, suddenly stopped. He looked up at Lynch in astonishment. "For a moment, I thought I was sitting in the Emperor's Hall of Gevra."

The Emperor's Hall was where the ruler of Gevra conducted state affairs, gathering the empire's most powerful figures every few days to discuss governance. His remark implied that Lynch's statements bore little resemblance to the Federation's usual rhetoric. Instead, they sounded like the imperialistic decrees of a Gevran statesman.

Talk of establishing safe shipping lanes was merely a euphemism for deploying warships under the guise of non-combat patrols. The benefits were clear: the Federation Navy would gain comprehensive intelligence on the entire Eastern Ocean, mapping coastlines, defenses, and resource distributions. Moreover, these ships could swiftly respond to conflicts whenever needed, serving as both a deterrent and a covert threat. No one would know precisely where the fleet was at any given moment—it might be miles away from a region or poised to strike a coastal town within minutes.

Such tactics weren't typical of the Federation, which prided itself on avoiding overt aggression. Yet Lynch had justified his plans cleverly: Pretton and his pirates couldn't be eradicated entirely. By framing the Federation's constant military readiness as a protective measure against piracy, no one could question their presence.

Truman sighed inwardly. Who could rival Lynch's patriotism? While other politicians schemed for personal gain, Lynch envisioned expanding the Federation's influence and authority in the Eastern Ocean. It was Lynch who had reshaped Truman's views on businessmen.

Lynch smirked. "Should I take that as a compliment?"

They clinked glasses, laughing lightly. Lynch pressed on, "We need supply points. Let's leave other locations aside for now. We require a deep-water port in Nagalier—a naval base for repairs and resupply in the Eastern Ocean."

Truman paused mid-note, frowning. "That won't be easy. Stationing our navy at Nagalier's doorstep will terrify them. They'll assume we can attack at any time."

Lynch's mind raced. "What if Pretton's pirates harass their coastal regions repeatedly? What if they retaliate with raids and arson?"

He leaned back, crossing his legs and brushing invisible dust from his trouser leg. "Constant harassment. They don't have the capability to seize a coastal city, but they can plunder resources and torch key buildings. Once they can tolerate, twice… three times…" Lynch hesitated briefly, shaking his head. "No, remember—each province in the United Kingdom operates almost independently. Someone will cave."

"Once we secure this naval base in Nagalier, our armed deterrence across the Eastern Ocean will skyrocket."

Truman nodded, catching on. "So, Pretton and his pirates flee before us, and we use the chaos to build bases elsewhere, ostensibly to protect more people. Is that right?"

Lynch nodded. "Exactly. It's a grand display of selfless internationalism."

"Yes, yes, noble indeed," Truman chuckled. "You really sound like a politician when you drop all pretense." Sometimes, he marveled at how close he'd grown to Lynch, despite their age gap. It felt strange yet refreshing. He'd tried befriending younger individuals, even his own children, but failed. Perhaps Lynch was unique—the exception.

As his laughter subsided, Truman studied Lynch intently. "Have you ever considered entering politics?"

"The Federation Charter allows politicians to hold jobs outside government service—even business ventures," Truman explained, his tone tinged with hope. "You wouldn't have to give up anything. Becoming a politician would bring countless advantages and conveniences."

"If you became a member of Congress…" He paused, correcting himself. "No, when you become one, you'll have a platform to voice your opinions without relying on anyone else's political clout. Wouldn't that be ideal?"

Initially, Truman hadn't been enthusiastic about forming political alliances. Bupayne was rife with cliques, and he'd avoided joining most of them. But recent events had taught him that going it alone wasn't enough. To truly serve the nation and its people, he needed allies. Lynch was an excellent candidate—they worked well together on certain issues and shared no conflicting interests.

But under Truman's gaze, Lynch shook his head. "No, I haven't considered it. At least, not for now."

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