Blackstone Code-Chapter 562: Who’s Cheering

“Where are all these products being sold?”

In the factory workshop, a young worker couldn’t help chatting with his coworker. Everyone wore genuine smiles.

It was hard to believe that just two years ago, they used to look dead inside every time they showed up on the assembly line—bitter, resentful, and filled with complaints as they worked.

Now, their faces were lit up with joy. Work had become something that brought them mental and physical satisfaction. Overtime? Even better.

The smiling workers heard the young man’s question. They didn’t mind chatting during work.

“I don’t care where it’s going,” someone replied. “All I care about is lunch.”

“You know, I haven’t had bread in almost two months. I never realized how good it tastes—especially with that meat soup!”

“My soup yesterday had three pieces of meat. I heard you guys only got two!”

That quickly diverted everyone’s attention.

Factory lunches were basic—some vegetables, whole wheat bread, and a bowl of meat soup. Forget a month or two—many hadn’t eaten solid food for half a year.

During the long economic downturn, families had mastered a vital survival skill: home farming. People started growing edible plants on balconies, in rooms—anywhere they could.

Potatoes had partially replaced bread and grain as dietary staples. But they couldn’t replace bread entirely—people still longed for it.

Factory meals mainly featured that tough whole wheat bread. You had to break it apart and soak it in the meat soup—just the thought made their mouths water.

No one answered the young man’s question. It was drowned in talk of food. 𝘧𝓇ℯℯ𝑤ℯ𝘣𝓃ℴ𝓋𝑒𝑙.𝑐𝘰𝑚

Later at lunch, he traded half a loaf of bread for an answer from the foreman: the goods were headed to the Eastern Ocean port, then shipped south to Nagaryll.

The Nagarylls had money now?

The young man didn’t understand. Weren’t they supposed to be poor and backwards, according to the propaganda? How could they afford these fine federal-made goods?

He buried his doubts. He had a family to support. That flicker of curiosity was too weak to survive under the crushing weight of life.

He returned to the workshop and worked harder than ever. His brief moment of questioning—his instinct to explore—was crushed and forgotten.

Perhaps someday, in a half-dream, the question might return. But it would never be answered.

Days later, the first batch of goods was shipped by rail, arriving at the port the next afternoon. They were loaded onto a ship and sent off.

After four days at sea, the cargo ship slowly docked. New gantry cranes at the port lifted the containers ashore.

Meanwhile, at the passenger dock nearby, Lynch arrived back in Nagaryll.

“This is a perfect place to spend the winter.”

Lynch removed his heavy coat. The climate was pleasant. After the coldest period passed, the temperature had quickly risen to a spring-like warmth.

“I checked the thermometer before we got off—seventeen degrees,” said his assistant nervously. It was her first time abroad, and she clung to the coat Lynch had handed her. ꞦαꞐ𝘖฿Е𝙎

Out at sea, the wind had still been cold. But now, everything felt relaxing.

The breeze carried a hint of local funk, mixed with the earthy scent of lush vegetation. It felt like a cleansing ritual.

The city looked much cleaner—thanks to the most important and correct thing Lynch had ordered the mayor to do before leaving: implement paid waste collection and strict penalties.

Almost overnight, the sanitation issues of the city—and even the whole province—were resolved. The smell disappeared, public opinion improved, and people started showing interest in visiting.

In the distance, an armed convoy approached rapidly. First-time visitors to Nagaryll gasped and tried to run back to the ship. Those who’d been here before glanced around—once they saw Lynch, their faces relaxed.

The convoy was here for Lynch.

The mass protests in Nagaryll had largely been subdued. Change had come faster than anyone expected.

Nagaryll’s youth were taking a different path from their parents. They were expressing themselves in new ways—interesting, but also a little dangerous.

That’s why the security company had dispatched a full convoy to escort Lynch—just in case.

Now overseeing thousands of employees, Lynch had become a true capitalist. If they didn’t want to lose their jobs, they had better pray for his health and prosperity every day.

“Mr. Lynch…”

The driver of the lead vehicle jumped down, gave a crisp military salute, then exchanged salutes with a sergeant.

Lynch nodded and boarded a modified bus with his team. The convoy came quickly and left just as fast.

For first-timers in Nagaryll, the sight of Lynch and his armed escort became their lasting first impression.

“My God, are all those your people?”

On the bus, the assistant barely dared to breathe. Armed soldiers filled the front and back of the vehicle, watching the surroundings with sharp eyes.

Machine gunners manned turrets on the lead and tail armored vehicles. It looked like a scene from a war movie or documentary.

Lynch nodded.

“You’ll have to get used to this. Nagaryll is safe—but also not safe. As long as we take proper precautions, it’s actually safer than the Federation.”

In the Federation, rampant gun ownership made it easy for anyone to become a killer—load a round, pull the trigger.

But in Nagaryll, that wasn’t possible. Ordinary people couldn’t afford weapons. Even if they had money, they couldn’t get them.

Only a select few had access to arms. If anything happened, they’d be dealt with immediately. In that sense, Nagaryll was actually safer.

The assistant swallowed hard and nodded nervously—uneasy, but also curious.

Lynch turned to the man in the front seat, Asel.

“Did anything serious happen during the protests?”

He’d only received word last week. With his time at sea, he had no idea what had occurred.

Asel hesitated, then shook his head.

“Nothing major. A few young men tried to storm a police station—two were shot dead on the spot, the rest scattered.”

“The police chief is investigating whether it was a planned attack and what their intentions were. So far, no real progress.”This was likely the only discordant incident during the entire protest. After hearing about it, Lynch merely frowned and said nothing.

He understood very well that even the most foolish Nagarylls wouldn’t attack a law enforcement agency—unless there was something inside they wanted.

And what do such agencies have?

Police—and the guns they carry.

“Tell the police chief to tighten control over the weapons. Make sure every officer stores their handgun in the precinct’s vault after their shift, and have someone guard the vault at night.”

Asel reacted quickly. Having spent a long time in the Federation, his thinking was more aligned with the federal mindset. He immediately grasped Lynch’s implication.

“You mean… someone plans to steal the weapons?!”

His voice tensed. As a local, he knew Nagarylls weren’t typically a rebellious people. The recent unrest and just-ended protests were already inconceivable to him—and to most of Nagaryll.

For centuries, they had accepted oppression, exploitation, and slavery. No one had ever thought to resist. How had people suddenly started standing up?

Lynch’s mention of a possible attempt to seize firearms seemed impossible at first. But after that instinctive reaction, Asel began to think maybe it wasn’t.

Everything was changing. The collision between foreign culture and local society was bound to produce something unpredictable.

What had once been impossible might no longer be.

Asel then reported more details about the protests. After a period of chaos, the Nagarylls gave up—not because a compromise was reached, but because foreign factories began mass-firing workers who had taken part.

This significantly raised the cost of participating in the protests.

At the same time, some capitalists compiled a blacklist. Anyone on it would never be hired again. Under this heavy pressure, the demonstrations quickly fizzled out.

Compared to the vague hope of getting slightly better pay, continuing to work meant guaranteed income. If they couldn’t work at all, they’d get nothing.

That’s what people liked about this place: no laws, no labor unions. If this had happened in the Federation, and capitalists dared to fire protesting workers, the unions would have sued them into bankruptcy.