Blackstone Code

At this moment, most people were gazing up at the airplane soaring through the blue sky. The President let out a long sigh, as if lamenting that humanity had taken yet another step in its struggle against nature.

It also felt like a sigh of helplessness at human insignificance—conquering the skies only revealed more unknowns and mysteries ahead.

But really, it was just a sigh. Sometimes, people don’t need complicated thoughts to explain a simple breath.

Everyone focused on the airplane—except for two guys, whose eyes were darting around the hangar. One of them even tried to stuff something into his pocket.

Everyone has their role to play. Some push the wheels of civilization. But not everyone is destined for greatness—most just live to survive, forming the background for the exceptional few.

The chief engineer coughed, fully following Lynch’s orders to keep a close eye on these people.

The scientist from the Defense Ministry, caught trying to sneak a metal shaving the width of a thumb into his pocket, gave an innocent smile and put it back.

He even wiped off the dust.

Mr. Lynch wasn’t wrong—you really can’t afford to relax. Who would’ve thought even Defense Ministry scientists were this sneaky?

Clearly, they wanted to analyze the metal composition of the airplane—but still, that kind of behavior was… questionable.

“You can have them come down now…” The President, after his sigh, had finally returned to himself.

The Defense and military officials began closely observing the airplane’s landing process. airplane development hadn’t progressed far yet—mainly because landings were notoriously hard to manage.

The first airplane, with a pure aluminum fuselage, circled down and reduced engine output. On the final pass, it initiated the landing.

Several agents instinctively shielded the President. At air shows, crashes often cause damage equivalent to an artillery shell.

Every year, unlucky bystanders near runways are injured—or even killed—by falling debris.

Everyone held their breath and watched silently.

With a sharp, grating sound, the rubber wheels hit the ground and deformed instantly. The fuselage dipped slightly, but surprisingly didn’t break. Instead, it bounced upward.

That brief contact—less than a second—slowed the airplane significantly. It was now gliding purely on its structure.

Three or four seconds later, a second contact. This time, the tires deformed less, the fuselage bounced again, then settled.

Over half the runway in, the airplane had landed safely. The pilot, elated, helped ground crew push it aside—another plane was still coming down.

The aluminum-wrapped airplane landed more smoothly than the full-aluminum one. Wood’s flexibility gave it better impact resistance during touchdown.

Both airplane had completed their missions perfectly—takeoff, flight, and landing—all without issues.

Pilots, researchers, and officials from the Defense Ministry and military were visibly excited.

The first to speak was from the Navy. “Mr. Lynch, how far can this… airplane fly at most?”

A crucial question. If it couldn’t go far, it had value—but limited value.

The world is big. The Federation couldn’t spend its life fighting wars at its own doorstep—that would be foolish.

If war ever reached their homeland, the President and the Defense Minister would bear the blame.

That’s why fighting on foreign soil had become a deeply ingrained concept in the minds of Federation officials. The horrors of past wars had left them terrified of conflict erupting at home.

So, the airplane needed good range to support naval and ground forces.

Lynch smiled, walked a few steps, turned his back to the research institute’s entrance, and asked, “Why don’t we discuss this somewhere warm, with a cup of coffee?”

The President didn’t hesitate and walked forward.

He welcomed the suggestion. He was probably the oldest one there. February wasn’t warm, and since underdeveloped industry hadn’t yet ruined the planet’s climate, winters were still harsh.

After standing in the cold wind for over twenty minutes, his knees were starting to ache, and his elbows were sore. He needed warmth.

A large group followed Lynch into the institute’s conference room. The blackboard inside had been wiped clean, with its contents archived on photo film.

“If we mount extra fuel tanks, our prototype airplane has a theoretical one-way range of about a thousand kilometers.”

The chief engineer suddenly coughed hard—choking on his own saliva.

They had delayed briefing Lynch for over a month precisely because of unexpected issues.

For instance, to achieve more stable output and higher takeoff speed, they’d slightly sacrificed range.

Currently, without extra fuel tanks and carrying one adult, the airplane’s round-trip range was about 220 kilometers. Even with extra fuel, it couldn’t reach a thousand kilometers.

“Are you alright?” Lynch glanced sideways at him. Before the engineer could speak, Lynch said, “If you’re not feeling well, go take a break. I know you’ve been working hard on this.”

The chief engineer had wanted to speak up—but then saw the subtle look Lynch gave him. It clearly said: “Shut up. I know what you’re about to say. Just shut up.”

Confirming the look, the engineer forced a smile and thanked Lynch for his “kindness,” then quietly stepped aside.

Lynch already knew the airplane couldn’t fly very far, but that didn’t stop him from exaggerating its performance a bit.

It wasn’t a thousand kilometers—maybe not even a hundred—but “not a thousand” includes 999. And there was no specification for the size of the fuel tank. The question was only about maximum range.

It was like those car salesmen—you think they’re selling you a complete vehicle, but they spend most of the time talking about accessories.

Only after you believe them do you realize what they said and what you heard were completely different.

Those great-looking features and interiors? All optional extras. If you want what you imagined—you’ll have to pay more, sir.

Lynch was playing the same game. Forget not reaching 1,000 kilometers—he’d claim the airplane could reach the edge of the atmosphere if asked.

And when it came to actual operations, they’d just use various reasons to gradually revise the numbers downward—until they landed at the real ones.

After all, we have theoretically confirmed its feasibility!

The gentlemen in the room all nodded. A range of a thousand kilometers—if they built some resupply stations across Amellia, they could potentially fly these planes straight to Gephra’s mainland.

Though none of them could explain why, they instinctively considered Gephra the hypothetical enemy when discussing this scenario.

Many other questions were asked—about actual combat performance, bombing accuracy, ease of resupply. At that moment, Lynch became an aviation expert, answering everything without hesitation.

He wasn’t just bluffing. He simply polished the data provided by the chief engineer and researchers before presenting it.

It’s common knowledge that theoretical numbers always look better than real ones—like how a girl standing tall can give even a flat chest a hint of curve.

And if there’s even a hint of curve, who’s to say it’s not a wave?

So if theory has discrepancies—it’s normal!

Once the short round of technical questions ended, Lynch quickly took control of the room.

Using the topic of “future trends in warfare,” he steered the Q&A into a solo presentation.

He realized that if the questioning continued, he might not be able to answer much longer—so it was time to change the subject.

“airplane are the most important invention in human history and the key to our victory in war.”

“I’ve previously mentioned three-dimensional warfare. While other nations are still fighting in two dimensions, we’ve already evolved to multi-dimensional capabilities. We hold the key to victory.”

“We can attack any target, any facility, from any faction without restriction—even execute a ‘decapitation strike’ to secure the outcome of the war from the very beginning!”

The military officials loved hearing this. A major in attendance asked, “Mr. Lynch, what exactly do you mean by ‘decapitation strike’?”

Lynch appreciated this kind of receptive and cooperative audience. He waved a finger.

“The brain controls the body. If we personify war, then the command center is its brain.”

“If our airplane suddenly appears above the enemy’s command center and drops bombs—what happens?”

“If our airplane appears over the enemy’s capital and delivers explosives to the nation’s central organs—what happens?”

“Gentlemen, from this moment on, the nature of war has changed!”

“If we can’t keep up, we’ll fall behind. And I hope the ones falling behind… won’t be us.”