Blackstone Code-Chapter 290:
Nagalier was a coastal nation situated between the subtropical and tropical zones, a backward land covered with primeval jungles. People had long believed that beneath its soil lay abundant mineral resources, alongside rich forestry reserves and various precious spices. By all rights, this should have been a prosperous country. Yet it wasn't. Instead of wealth, poverty reigned—a poverty perpetuated by the very structure of Nagalier's society. frёewebnoѵel.ƈo๓
The people of Nagalier adhered to their indigenous religion, which taught them that the workings of heaven and earth were immutable. Periodically, they believed, the world would face destruction, followed by rebirth. Their role, according to this faith, was not to change anything but to submit to these cosmic cycles. Under the yoke of such primitive thinking, the upper echelons of society ossified and began to rot. They felt no fear of being overthrown or killed by the discontented masses below because, in their minds, everything was preordained by fate!
Did the common folk hate these rulers? Of course, they did. When the elite flaunted their power atop the bones of the oppressed, resentment naturally brewed among some. But the religion offered a comforting answer: curses. The priests assured the people that every act of oppression committed by the ruling class would condemn them to an eternity of unending torment in hell. The more fervently one cursed, the greater the suffering those tyrants would endure when the great collapse came.
Scattered throughout Nagalier were peculiar structures known as "Chambers of Admonition." These buildings served a unique purpose. Whenever someone could no longer bear the injustices of society, they would visit one of these chambers. There, resident priests would guide them along the long walls adorned with carvings and paintings depicting humans enduring unimaginable tortures at the hands of monstrous creatures. The priests would explain that the tormentors—the hated oppressors—would suffer exactly what was depicted on the walls, forever trapped in an endless cycle of agony.
Most visitors left these chambers feeling strangely at peace. After all, those who caused them pain were destined for eternal damnation, while they, the righteous ones, would ascend to become superior beings. It was a self-contained religious system, perfectly designed to control the populace. This gave the priesthood authority rivaling even that of the political rulers. The friction and conflict between theocracy and secular power had consumed much of Nagalier's history, leaving little room for progress. Civilizations younger than Nagalier now surpassed it in every way, far surpassing it.
There had been attempts to introduce foreign ideas, to challenge the entrenched ignorance of Nagalier's religious culture, but these efforts failed. Though adept at internal strife, the ruling classes united swiftly against external threats, motivated solely by the desire to preserve their own power, never considering the welfare of others.
Such was the state of this nation. Many avoided visiting this desolate place to escape trouble, yet for Lynch, it held an irresistible allure.
"Hiss..."
Stepping off the ship, Arthur stood at the port and glanced back at the passenger liner still docked for supplies. His eyes concealed something subtle—something difficult to discern. Was it nostalgia? Regret? Helplessness? Pain? A complex mix of emotions swirled within him.
He had returned home. With each breath, the air filling his lungs confirmed it. The air carried a peculiar stench unique to Nagalier—a blend of sour sweat, unwashed body odors, and the salty tang of the sea. It wasn't quite nauseating enough to make one vomit, but it lingered unpleasantly, evoking both disgust and familiarity. Arthur didn't know if this smell existed elsewhere; in his memory, it belonged only to his homeland.
The streets bustled with locals. Foreigners rarely ventured here for business anymore, though there had been exceptions. In the past, merchants and scientific expeditions arrived, lured by rumors of untapped mineral riches hidden beneath the primordial jungles. But after a time, these outsiders vanished without a trace. No one bothered investigating their disappearances—not even their home countries, who deemed it futile to engage with such a backward and superstitious society. Gradually, foreigners became scarce, though not entirely absent.
The local elite still craved luxury and indulgence, yearning for the comforts of developed nations while simultaneously fearing them. They needed intermediaries to bring the trappings of modernity to their doorstep, allowing them to enjoy distant pleasures without leaving home. Those few foreigners who remained played precisely this role, acting as exclusive purveyors of imported goods to the upper crust. Each of them grew obscenely wealthy.
Arthur snapped out of his trance and headed toward the city center. There were no sidewalks or designated lanes here; the so-called roads were mere dirt paths where pedestrians and vehicles mingled chaotically, causing frequent traffic jams. Once, walking through such scenes, Arthur barely noticed the constant physical contact with strangers. Now, reflecting on it, he found it revolting. But this time, no one touched him. People eyed his clothing and instinctively kept their distance, their actions tinged with a mixture of respect and simmering hatred.
They saw him as someone important. Avoidance was instinctual, as was resentment.
As he exited the dock, Arthur spotted several locals standing outside, engaged in loud conversation. Crowds instinctively kept away from them, recognizing the foreign-made clothes they wore. In Nagalier, anyone who could afford imported attire belonged to the upper class, wielding terrifying privileges. They could execute those they disliked without trial, provided they paid a hefty fine—around ten thousand Galiars.
Galiar was Nagalier's currency. Officially, one Federal Thor exchanged for forty Galiars, meaning ten thousand Galiars equated to a month's salary for a federal worker. However, the black-market rate told a different story: one Federal Thor often fetched ninety to a hundred Galiars. This was the true exchange rate!
Paying the fine absolved the offender, as the money was said to reach the gods themselves. Through divine omens interpreted by the priests, the gods almost always forgave such transgressions. If anyone harbored hatred for these elites?
Let them curse them! During the next great collapse, their souls would wail eternally in hell.
Among the crowd, a small group reacted visibly upon seeing Arthur. One man, about fifty years old with streaks of gray in his hair, stepped forward. Despite his age, his physique remained robust and strong. This was Arthur's father, who had fathered his first child at seventeen. Arthur was his third, though not the youngest.
"Welcome back," his father greeted, peering past Arthur's shoulder. "Where's the boss you mentioned?"
In Nagalier, identifying a person of importance was simple: just observe whether people kept their distance. As father and son conversed, Arthur's siblings gathered around, chiming in with playful banter.
Over the years, Arthur's mysterious acquisition of permanent residency in the Baylor Federation had elevated his once-lowly family into the upper-middle class. The money he sent annually ensured they lived comfortably without needing to work. Thanks to Arthur, the family now enjoyed a respectable status locally.
Their conversation was interrupted by a shrill whistle. Suddenly, the chaotic throng began to scatter, pressing toward the sides of the street. Men wearing wide-brimmed hats and uniforms resembling those of developed nations' police appeared, brandishing two-foot-long batons wrapped in cloth. They struck at anyone slow to move aside, herding the crowd further back.
When they reached Arthur's group, however, they refrained from using their batons, instead tipping their hats in deference. Such was the stark division of power and rigid class hierarchy in Nagalier.
Only then did a convoy of cars slowly advance down the cleared road. From inside, curious gazes fell upon Arthur's family. One girl caught Arthur's attention. She was beautiful, unlike the fair-skinned, voluptuous women he'd grown fond of during his years abroad. Her beauty resonated differently—it aligned with the cultural aesthetics he'd grown up with. Intricate patterns adorned her face, and she wore traditional yet opulent Nagalier jewelry. Everything about her seemed perfect.
Her gaze met Arthur's briefly, and she smiled. Perhaps his demeanor, distinct from that of Nagalier's lower classes, intrigued her. But that was all.Please vote for this novel at https://www.novelupdates.com/series/blackstone-code/There are advance chapters available nowAccess will be granted 24 hours after the donationTier 1: 7 Advance chapters Link
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