Blackstone Code

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Lynch's arrogance knew no bounds. With Mr. Truman absent, no one else dared to intervene. The others could only watch, seething with impotent frustration.

To these observers, diplomatic negotiations shouldn't be like this. Even if there were indeed some issues between them, at the very least, a veneer of civility should be maintained—courteous and gentlemanly, as decorum demands.

The representative from Nagalier furrowed his brow. "What do you mean by this?"

"Nothing profound," Lynch replied with a shrug. "Have you ever heard the saying, 'If we cannot be friends, we must be enemies'?"

If the Nagalier delegate hadn't grasped Lynch's intent by now, he was either a fool or surrounded by fools. Yet reality proved otherwise. The delegate stiffened, his voice sharp. "Are you threatening my nation?"

Lynch smirked. "Merely sharing a personal perspective. Interpret it as you will."

"The Baylor Federation champions freedom. Its people revere peace. We would never coerce you into decisions against your interests. The choice is yours—we will not interfere."

A junior negotiator attempted to interrupt, but Lynch's icy glare silenced him. In diplomacy, internal discord was deadlier than any adversary's demands. A fractured front invited exploitation—divide, conquer, collapse.

The young man, recognizing the unspoken warning, muttered an apology and fled to alert Truman. Fortunately, he still had the sense to observe some of the most basic diplomatic taboos, preventing these issues from erupting in front of the opposing negotiators. But as for the Nagalier delegation… They were fools, plain and simple.

They'd allowed Lynch to speak unchecked instead of stalling with platitudes like, "We must consult our government," or "Truman should address this." Small nations often faltered for lack of skilled diplomats.

After the brief interruption, Lynch straightened himself and turned his gaze back to the Nagalier representatives. "The Federation faces challenges. We need a war—even a minor naval skirmish. We crave victory. To prove our strength, to remind the world that our absence from global conflicts isn't fear, but restraint."

"For us, fighting the Pretton pirate group is one thing…" He paused, fixing the Nagalier representative with a pointed and deliberate stare. "…but fighting someone else would serve just as well."

The unspoken words lingered heavily in the room. Though Lynch didn't explicitly mentioned the Nagalier United Kingdom, the implication was unmistakable. The diplomats seated nearby nearly bolted to their feet, but fortunately, Lynch seemed to catch the silent alarm in their minds. He stopped short of uttering the name, leaving the situation still salvageable and the tension from spiraling completely out of control.

"Yet a war with others might better suit our people's desires. They've suffered no harm from Pretton's syndicate. But some… have betrayed our friendship. Traitors, every one. A war against them would be justified."

The delegate's face paled. Lynch pressed on. "Our navy is ready. Where we strike, whom we target—it's a matter of pointing at a map."

"Enough," boomed Truman, striding in. He'd returned earlier but waited, letting Lynch corner Nagalier. Lynch's role was clear: as a private citizen, he could spout provocations under the guise of free speech—a loophole Truman exploited masterfully.

"You've overstepped," Truman chided, feigning severity. "You've just leaked critical information. This is a serious breach of duty, Lynch."

"Am I a public servant?" Lynch shot back.

Truman turned to the room, theatrically baffled. "Why wasn't I informed Lynch isn't part of the diplomatic corps?"

The other diplomats were momentarily dumbfounded. Lynch had been added to the negotiation team at Truman's request—how could he not know whether he was a government official or not?

But no mature person would dare to question their superior so brazenly. Most of them feigned confusion, except for the young staffer who had earlier gone to notify Truman. Sweating profusely, he stammered, "My apologies, Mr. Truman. This is an oversight on our part."

Truman's gaze lingered on him a moment longer before giving a slight nod. Sometimes, what a leader needed wasn't a competent subordinate but someone willing to take the fall for them.

"Since Mr. Lynch isn't a government official, charges of dereliction of duty clearly don't apply…" He paused thoughtfully. "Escort him out. And inform the guards that he must pay a hundred-bucks fine before leaving."

Everyone stared in stunned disbelief as these two shameless men turned the room into their own theatrical stage, performing with operatic flair. The Nagalier delegation, in particular, looked as though they were on the verge of suffocation. Yet Truman brushed the matter aside with casual ease.

Lynch had already left, but his words hadn't exited with him—they lingered stubbornly in the minds of the Nagalier representatives.

After sitting back down, Truman offered an apology for his earlier departure. "I was delayed by some matters. Now, where were we?"

It wasn't a question. He tapped his temple lightly. "Ah yes, you seem to have some concerns about establishing diplomatic relations between our two nations?"

The representative from the Nagalier United Kingdom sat stiffly, his lips pressed tightly together. His face was pale, almost bloodless.

After a long pause, he finally spoke. "I need to consult with my government. I suggest postponing further discussions for a week."

Truman immediately stood up and instructed his aides to gather the documents. Extending his hand proactively, he said, "Then let's reconvene in a week."

His briskness caught the Nagalier representative off guard. Throughout this diplomatic process, the Federation had always been the more eager party, far more proactive than Nagalier. But now, their attitude had shifted.

This change was unsettling, even unnerving.

The Nagalier representative opened his mouth as if to say something but ultimately remained silent. Rising to his feet, he shook Truman's hand and departed with his entourage.

Standing outside the office building, Truman watched the retreating convoy. Pulling a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, he extracted one and tossed it toward Lynch, who had just emerged from the door. The two lit their cigarettes and exhaled slowly, wisps of smoke curling into the air.

"I'd give your performance a ninety out of a hundred," Truman said earnestly. "You could make a career as an actor."

Intimidating the Nagalier delegation had been part of their negotiation strategy. Diplomacy wasn't always about sitting down and calmly hashing things out; the real game was far more intricate and dramatic than outsiders realized.

Lynch chuckled. "This wasn't acting. I meant every word."

Truman froze, his cigarette hovering mid-air. Frowning, he looked at Lynch. "If they refuse… you'd really push for war against Nagalier?"

Lynch nodded, smiling faintly. "We need victory, Truman. And we need an enemy. Victory will give us confidence, and an enemy will unite us. That's exactly what we need right now—what the Federation needs."

"We'll start by picking an easy enemy and defeating them. The people will gain immense confidence from the victory and the elimination of that enemy. Then we'll move on to the second, the third…"

He flicked ash from his cigarette, careful not to let it fall on his shoes. "By the time we can't find any more enemies to fight, we'll be the most powerful force in the world."

Truman stared at Lynch, his expression both intense and unsettling. "Your words excite me, but they also terrify me. If we truly do this, we'll be declaring war on the entire world."

Lynch casually flicked away the half-smoked cigarette and walked toward the car parked by the curb. He left Truman with only his back and a final remark:

"If opposing the world makes us great, then so be it."

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