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The tune Lynch was humming carried a certain charm—a cultural resonance that was hard to describe but unmistakably present. It was something one could feel immediately.
Arthur, curious, asked, "Mr. Lynch, is this a Federation song?" He touched his forehead, frowning slightly. "I don't think I've ever heard it before." Sёarch* The NovelZone.fun website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.
Lynch glanced at him, smiling as he nodded. He stopped humming for a moment to offer a brief explanation. "It was popular during the Cultural Filling period. Later, the Education Committee stopped promoting it. So, it's no surprise you haven't heard it—many people in the Federation haven't either."
The Federation's history wasn't long or illustrious. A group of bandits had carved out their nation on someone else's land, so there was little they could boast about. While others spoke of grand dynastic shifts or sang epic poems celebrating heroes who seemed like miracles, the Federation had nothing comparable to take pride in. Thus, the term "Cultural Filling" was born. They stuffed the indigenous culture into the Federation's history, awkwardly reframing acts of invasion, occupation, and massacre as "a new chapter in the progress of civilization." Meanwhile, the peaceful lives of the natives were dismissed as "feudal barbarism filled with dross."
Though feudal systems were brutal in their own right, this fabricated history effectively patched over the glaring gaps in the Federation's past, stretching its timeline from a mere few hundred years to over a millennium. It was absurd, tragic, and revealed the deep-seated inferiority complex the Federation harbored when it came to history. Desperate to appear as though they had an ancient lineage like other nations, they clung to these borrowed narratives.
During that era, the Federation pushed numerous policies and propaganda campaigns, including a song called The Hunter's Tune (19). Originally sung by hunters returning home laden with game, it was part of the indigenous tribes' oral tradition before persecution began. Its upbeat melody and folkloric charm made it a staple in elementary school curriculums during the Cultural Filling period.
But soon, it vanished. Indigenous rights groups exposed documents and data revealing that settlers had hummed this catchy tune while slaughtering native populations. In archival footage, men in waistcoats, top hats, spurs, and bloodied faces could be seen trampling piles of corpses, belting out the cheerful refrain. The song died a social death; no one dared mention its lively rhythm or uplifting lyrics anymore. Arthur's unfamiliarity with it was entirely understandable.
Around six o'clock, the convoy pulled up outside a sprawling estate resembling a palace. Through Arthur's introduction, Lynch learned it wasn't some historical relic but the residence of the Provincial Governor. The architecture followed a symmetrical shape layout, with a central building flanked by four outward-extending wings. Beyond lay manicured lawns and an artificial river whose clear waters teemed with fearless ornamental fish. Wealth and power once again demonstrated their magnificence—and their menace.
Mishahaya himself rushed out to greet Lynch. Technically, Mishahaya was hosting tonight's banquet, and his position was prestigious. However, the true host was the Provincial Governor, relegating Mishahaya to a secondary role. If Mishahaya didn't personally welcome Lynch, would the Governor have to do it instead? With a warm smile and an affable demeanor, Mishahaya took on the duties of a valet, opening the car door for Lynch.
"You're too kind," Lynch said, feigning modesty. "It makes me a bit uncomfortable."
Mishahaya shook his head vigorously. "No, tonight you are our most honored guest. You should enjoy every moment without hesitation." He ushered Lynch into the main hall—a vast, opulent chamber.
Words like "exquisite" failed to capture the extravagance within. Gold, jewels, taxidermied animals adorned every corner. Entire pelts of lions or tigers served as carpets at various entrances. Despite the absence of incense, the air carried a subtle yet pervasive herbal fragrance. The primary material used in construction was a rich red wood threaded with golden veins, giving the space an almost surreal glow.
Lynch found himself lingering on those materials—the crimson hue, reminiscent of blood-soaked timber, and the mysterious golden threads weaving through it all. The Federation's temperate climate meant such flora and fauna were rare there, making them highly valuable commodities. Gems, jewelry, and animal specimens abounded here too. Humans, eager to assert dominance, hunted apex predators and preserved them as trophies to symbolize humanity's supremacy over nature. Some tycoons even boasted private "zoos" filled with lifelike mounts of their kills, flaunting them to guests.
Such practices were now illegal in the Federation, thanks to the Environmental Protection Agency, which prohibited deforestation, industrial waste disposal, and hunting endangered species. They'd even established one protected area after another for these things. Ironically, three reserves had been established specifically for indigenous peoples, ostensibly to protect their human rights. Outsiders struggled to reconcile treating humans like animals with the concept of human rights, yet the protection was undeniably thorough.
As the heavy doors of the main hall swung open, an even larger, more awe-inspiring room unfolded before Lynch. Towering ceilings soared above ten meters high, evoking a sense of insignificance. Words faltered in describing the sheer luxury—it was simply breathtaking.
Inside, a throng of expectant guests buzzed with anticipation. Thanks to Arthur's two-week publicity campaign, word had spread across the city and province: a billionaire from the Federation intended to invest in Nagalier. Privately, the Provincial Governor had already investigated Lynch's assets to avoid being duped—a lesson learned after previous scams. According to reports, Lynch possessed over 10 billion galiars, solidifying the decision to hold the banquet at the Governor's mansion.
"This is the Chief of Police. You two met yesterday already." Mishahaya introduced, starting with the most prominent figure. The police chief removed his cap, tucking it under his arm, and extended a hand to Lynch. "If you encounter any security issues in this city, please feel free to contact me anytime, Mr. Lynch. I am at your service."
His deference stemmed from his low standing among the elite. In Nagalier, the Chief of Police was little more than the ruling class's enforcer—a lackey with limited authority or prestige. Upper-class families avoided the position, leaving it to commoners who served as tools for the real power brokers. These officers often treated civilians harshly, discarding them when convenient to quell public discontent. Thus, the Chief of Police held minimal status.
Next came local officials, wealthy merchants, celebrities, and socialites, culminating in the arrival of the Provincial Governor himself. This marked Lynch's first meeting with the man. Clad in attire distinctly styled after Nagalier traditions, the Governor stood apart from the crowd. Around him, elites favored international trends, reflecting a blind admiration for developed nations. Yet the Governor embraced his heritage fully, wearing a flowing maroon skirt-like garment paired with an indescribable top—a simple piece augmented by draped strips of fabric coiled around his body in an oddly captivating manner.
His face radiated kindness, neither stern nor sharp-voiced, suggesting approachability.
"Allow me to introduce," Mishahaya bowed slightly, "the esteemed Provincial Governor of Magura Province, a dear friend to the people, our mentor and confidant on life's journey—Mr. Delage Biler."
Mishahaya's choice of words underscored the Governor's unparalleled stature. In Nagalier, the role of Provincial Governor approached semi-hereditary status. With upward mobility stifled, the upper echelons grew increasingly stagnant. Power became a private possession, abused freely and passed down seamlessly across generations. Without term limits, decades-long reigns allowed rulers to crush dissent and groom successors effortlessly.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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