Blackstone Code

Risking your life for a small sum isn’t worth it.

He still had a bright future and countless riches waiting to be squandered—he wasn’t about to throw himself into danger.

In the end, he chose to pay an extra million to have Lynch record the entire operation.

After the young middle-aged man left, Lynch asked Austin, “How long do you think it would take if we sent people to handle this?”

Without hesitation, Austin replied, “If they don’t hide, we could eliminate all the criminals within a day or two.”

This was the pride of federal soldiers. If the same question was posed to the Gephra Army Minister, he’d probably be more concerned about how many compensation checks he’d have to prepare…

Well, that’s a joke. No matter how bad the Gephra army is, there’s no way they’re worse than some street gangs.

As Lynch pondered this, Austin’s expression shifted slightly.

Just a few words, six million in hand.

She thought it was six million—four million as an advance, two million as a deposit. She guessed Lynch wouldn’t return the deposit, and she was right.

With just a few words, so much money went straight into Lynch’s pocket.

He only needed to spend less than a million to nearly complete this military operation; the rest was profit.

That’s capitalism. In their eyes, everything ties back to money. To maximize profit, they’d dare to do anything.

Austin actually misunderstood Lynch a little—maybe because that shameless woman cleaning beside Lynch earlier that morning had soured her mood.

She thought Lynch was a bad person, which led to her misjudgment.

By market standards, such a military operation would cost roughly 1.2 million.

Each operative faced the risk of dying in a foreign country, without any honor attached to such death. So paying each three to eight thousand wasn’t unreasonable—that’s the price of selling one’s life.

Then the company had to provide all the military gear, weapons, short-range radios, a ship, a speedboat, and corresponding landing equipment.

Such overseas military strikes couldn’t openly request cooperation or land blatantly at major foreign ports.

That would be stupid and would let the targets slip away.

After the mission, there’s cleanup—bringing the team back and giving them a long vacation.

The total budget was at least 1.2 million, with over half going to pay the operatives, the rest covering miscellaneous expenses.

Like paying to prevent unexpected disputes—bribing some to cover their tracks, silencing others, or making some disappear forever.

Are the military supplies disposable?

No. The budget counts them as one-time expenses. If you care, you can take them after the mission…

All of that costs money.

Every Blackstone Security military operation in Amellia, coordinated with local Gephra officials and military, never cost less than a million.

Of course, that sounds like a lot, but compared to compensation paid to the Gephra army, it’s quite affordable.

Normally, such an operation would be priced between 1.5 and 2 million, plus a 1 million deposit.

But this time Mr. Geruno handed Lynch the meat to bite directly, prepared for heavy losses—that’s why he was willing to pay Lynch to side with him.

As the largest private military contractor in the Federation, Lynch’s Blackstone Security was unquestionably number one.

If Lynch objected to something, it would become a problem for others.

Spending millions to keep Lynch quiet—no one really knew who profited or lost.

Soon, Mr. Geruno learned about it and bit Lynch hard for being so greedy, but Lynch didn’t mind.

Millions were nothing to him; what mattered was whether the plan could succeed.

Meanwhile, the killers who took Mike’s goods in Sugra were enjoying the spoils of the battle.

The table was piled with exquisite goods. Anything from the Federation sold well here, since a huge, unbridgeable gap existed.

Outside goods had a good market here, but why weren’t many foreigners selling products?

Simple: the market wasn’t developed yet.

Put plainly, the goods were available and demanded, but couldn’t fetch a good price.

Merchants seek profit. Ordinary Sugra residents couldn’t afford them; those with some money bought with non-international currency, so their resale was limited locally.

What unique goods did Sugra have?

A few, but not many, and even fewer could keep value or turn profit.

Shipping an item costing one Sol at two Sol’ cost was madness, so even if ordinary people had money, they could hardly afford Federation merchants’ goods.

Federation merchants only accepted precious metals, gems, whole beast pelts—items easy to carry, easy to cash, and with large price differences.

But the local market was small; ordinary families couldn’t find that much gold, gems, pelts, or spices to trade. So these foreign merchants served only the truly wealthy and gold seekers.

This caused another problem: a market with demand but scarce goods naturally led to high buying prices. So those seemingly worthless items on the table were very expensive here.

Several gang members had moved the warehouse goods to their own storage. The gang leader was a nearly forty-year-old, overweight, scarred middle-aged man.

Sitting on a wicker chair, he gazed greedily at the goods.

“The cops are here…”

Someone hurried in. Just as he finished speaking, two police officers barged inside.

Their eyes immediately caught sight of the Federation goods scattered everywhere—items they couldn’t look away from.

After about ten seconds, the lead officer finally tore his gaze away from the treasures.

He was the police chief’s younger brother and more worldly, so he recovered faster.

Frowning, he said, “The Federation diplomats are protesting again. The mayor is under heavy pressure. You caused this mess, so you deal with it yourself.”

“Pressure?”

The gang leader sitting at the head of the table stood up. His broad, sturdy frame intimidated the others.

Sugran natives were generally short, adult males averaging about five feet tall—roughly 1.5 to 1.6 meters—with many under 1.6 meters.

But this guy was nearly 1.8 meters tall (5′11″), which made others feel extra pressure around him.

Covered in scars, even the police averted their eyes uneasily.

“What pressure?” he sneered, showing no respect for the mayor or police chief. He casually grabbed a handful of Federation goods and told his men to pack them into cloth bags.

He then stuffed in several handfuls of cash, bulging the bags before handing them over.

“Still feel pressure now?”

The officers were silent for a moment, then took the bags, looking relieved.

Sugra’s poverty and backwardness left many problems after a failed political reform years ago. The central government no longer had control over the region.

Gangs and clans kept rising locally, refusing to obey the Sugran government, which had no effective way to control them.

Backward technology widened the gap between government and civilians. Sometimes, a few knives and a fearless heart were enough to make a name in Sugra.

Owning a few homemade guns made you a major force.

The leader looked down at the officers with a smile. Since they’d taken the bribe, the oppressive atmosphere vanished instantly. The officers quietly exhaled in relief.

“Just grab some prisoners from jail, kill them, toss them out, and say the culprits have been found and executed. Problem solved.”

He sat back down, his presence still as imposing as the two standing officers.

“Any other issues?”

The police chief’s brother hesitated. “I’ll discuss this with the chief, but you need to keep a low profile for now. The Federation is very strong right now…”

The gang leader shook his head as if he’d seen through everything. “No matter how strong they are, they won’t spend endless money coming here over some small-time merchant and a little cash.”

“I’m just a nobody. It’s not worth their trouble!”

He said this with arrogance, not humility, laughing loudly afterward.

His laughter brimmed with pride. Because he knew this, he dared to challenge the Federation.

Everything was going as he expected. The Federation kept condemning and demanding the Sugra government catch the killer. But what else could they do?

Nothing.

Conflicts between the central and local governments meant the central government couldn’t directly arrest anyone locally. He had local leaders well fed and loyal—no one would touch him.

At least for now, and likely for many years to come, no one would dare move against him.

He wasn’t a rock; he was a man with followers and guns, willing to fight to the death.

Who’d dare go up against someone like him?